Chapter Five Candlelight Supper
Lucy
Dinner was supposed to be calm. A reward for surviving the inspection, the fire, and my uninvited ex-boss.
Instead, the table looked like it was preparing for a food-based reenactment of the apocalypse.
There were mismatched plates, three different sets of silverware, and at least five separate conversations happening at once.
The faint scent of smoke still clung to the curtains, blending unpleasantly with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, cinnamon-glazed carrots, and Jane’s biscuits.
It was cozy, chaotic, and so perfectly Bennet that I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Mom stood at the head of the table, beaming like she was hosting a cooking show. “Everyone sit down, please! William, carve the chicken. Lucy, stop adjusting the candles. Braxton, you’ll sit beside Jane. Dex, you can sit next to Lucy. She bites sometimes, but only if provoked."
“Mom!” I whispered in embarrassment.
Braxton laughed, sliding into his seat with the casual confidence of someone who fit anywhere. He leaned towards Jane with a conspiratorial grin. “I think Dex can handle that.”
Jane turned bright pink, which made her even prettier, and reached for the rolls like they might save her from embarrassment. “Would anyone like some bread?”
“Yes, please. These rolls smell incredible,” Braxton said warmly.
“They’re just rolls,” she mumbled.
“They’re perfect,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made her blink.
Mom sighed dreamily. “Isn’t it wonderful when people appreciate good cooking?”
Jane almost dropped the bowl of peas that she was passing to Dad. “Mom, please.”
Dex reached for his glass, perfectly composed as always. “Dinner looks wonderful, Helen.”
“Thank you, Dex. You can call me Mom if you like,” she replied without missing a beat.
He froze.
I kicked her under the table. “Helen is fine.”
She ignored me, keeping her smile fixed on her face. “I just want everyone to feel at home. That’s what this inn is for. A place of welcome for all who enter.”
I took a sip of water before I could say something regrettable. Dex caught my eye, one brow arched ever so slightly, the faintest smirk playing at his mouth. Of course he found this amusing. He thrived under pressure. I, on the other hand, was drowning in gravy and secondhand mortification.
Dinner began in earnest. Plates clinked, laughter rose, and the conversation bounced like a pinball machine.
Dad told a story about accidentally wiring the garage door to the Christmas lights, and Mom laughed so hard she snorted.
Jane blushed every time Braxton spoke, which seemed to encourage him.
And Dex observed everything in that quiet, analytical way that made me feel like I was being studied under a microscope.
He hadn’t said much, but his eyes missed nothing.
“So, Dex, just how long have you and Lucy worked together? Two years, was it?” Mom began the inquisition, her eyes alight with curiosity and mischief.
“Five,” Dex corrected her.
I sighed. When Mom got like this, there was no telling what she might say.
“Five years!” she repeated, impressed. “My goodness. You must know each other very well by now.”
“Not particularly,” I muttered, thinking that Dex had barely stopped by my desk. Mostly he had been emailing, texting, or short calls dictating what he needed and when it was to be delivered.
I opened my mouth to stop Mom, but she was already gaining speed. “Lucy is so responsible. She used to organize all her sisters’ projects in school. Remember the bake sale, Jane? She made color-coded charts.”
“Mom,” I tried.
“She had a spreadsheet for frosting,” Mom fondly recalled.
“Mom!”
“She even scheduled bathroom breaks." She had a chuckle of amusement.
Dex looked faintly entertained. “That sounds accurate.”
Braxton leaned forward, grinning. “You color-code frosting?”
I stabbed a carrot. “It was one time. I was ten.”
“She still uses spreadsheets for everything. She built one for my entire firm’s deadlines,” Dex added mildly.
“That’s called being efficient,” I said through my teeth.
“I called it being terrifyingly organized,” Braxton added.
Mom clasped her hands in delight. “You see? Even her bosses think she’s perfect.”
“I never said perfect . Lucy is effective,” Dex amended.
“Same thing,” Mom decided.
“Could we please stop talking about me while I’m here?” I rhetorically asked, certain it would continue anyways.
Across the table, Braxton chuckled. “Sounds like you miss her, Dex.”
My pulse skipped. “Miss is a strong word.”
Dex met my gaze. “Accurate, though.”
I dropped my fork. The room went quiet for a heartbeat. Jane’s jaw fell open. Mom looked like she might faint from excitement.
“Miss her, do you?” she asked, leaning forward, her eyes bright.
Dex took a measured sip of water. “Professionally.”
“Of course,” Mom said, trying and failing, to hide her grin. “Well, sometimes work partnerships turn into something more.”
“Not this one,” I blurted, too fast. “We are very... separate.”
“Separate buildings,” Dex added.
“Separate worlds,” I muttered.
“Separate philosophies on how to store files,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
I glared. “You alphabetized rather than filter by project due date, Dex. No jury would side with you.”
Braxton’s laughter broke the tension, warm and genuine. “I can see why you two worked well together.”
Mom sighed. “You remind me of me and your father.”
Dad didn’t look up. “Heaven help them.”
Dinner rolled on. The wine was cheap but good, and the flickering candles softened everything.
For a while, I even started to relax. Braxton asked Jane about her baking, and she lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in months.
She was bright, animated, and alive. Dex watched her quietly, then gave me a small approving nod as if to say she’s talented.
It was the first moment we agreed on anything in years.
I shouldn't have been noticing him, yet I was. The way the candlelight caught the line of his jaw, the way his sleeves were still rolled up from earlier, revealing strong wrists and forearms. He was too composed, too still and I realized I might just be attracted to the calmness since I had grown up in a world of family chaos. Which was precisely the problem. I shouldn’t be attracted to him at all.
“Lucy,” Mom chirped suddenly. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“I’m eating,” I quickly replied.
“And thinking,” she said, hoping I would continue the conversation.
“About the wiring in the guest rooms,” I improvised, knowing that I wasn’t about to admit I had been eyeing my boss. Ex-boss, I reminded myself.
“That’s boring,” she said cheerfully. “Think about something else. Jane!”
Jane froze mid-bite. “What?”
“Tell them about your old job!” Mom enthusiastically requested.
“Mom." Jane shook her head, obviously not wanting to be the center of attention.
“She used to work under a famous baker. Perhaps you’ve heard of James Elman?” Mom continued, oblivious to her daughter’s widening eyes.
“James Elman?” Dex repeated, raising a brow.
“He has a bakery on Fifth. His desserts are incredible,” Braxton supplied knowledgably.
Jane’s blush deepened to crimson. “Mom, please don’t.”
Yet Mom was unstoppable. “Jane’s former boss is famous. He had multiple bakeries and that show on the streaming service. You know the one with the flaming soufflés! He’s quite the celebrity.”
“Yes. My sister loves that show. She watches it quite religiously,” Braxton agreed politely.
Mom nodded eagerly. “He’s also known as a bit of a womanizer.”
Jane looked like she wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole. “Mom!”
“And,” Mom went on, utterly unbothered by the rising horror around her, “Jane and James are dating! I’m hoping for a spring wedding.”
The silence that followed was so sharp it hummed.
Dex’s expression froze halfway between polite disbelief and uncertain amusement as though he wanted to laugh, which was odd because in the five years I had known him, I had never heard him laugh.
Jane made a small strangled noise and covered her face. I pressed my napkin to my mouth to stop the laugh threatening to escape. This was beyond salvaging.
“Mom, Jane and James are not dating,” I said gently.
“But he sent her a Christmas card that said ‘You’re unforgettable!’” Mom protested. “It’s obvious that he likes her. Why else would he do that?”
“He sends that to everyone. It’s printed on the card along with his signature. James never signed the cards individually,” Jane whispered, mortified.
“Well, it’s still a lovely sentiment,” Mom said with a sniff.
Braxton, bless him, jumped in. “For what it’s worth, I agree. Unforgettable suits Jane.”
Jane’s head shot up, her eyes wide. Braxton cleared his throat and pretended great interest in his chicken. Mom’s smile spread like a cat in the cream.
Dad finally intervened. “Helen.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Stop matchmaking before someone chokes,” he gently advised.
She blinked, all innocence. “Matchmaking? I was just talking. Can’t we just have a simple conversation?”
“Talking,” I repeated dryly. “That’s one word for it.”
Dex’s gaze found mine across the table. For a heartbeat, our eyes locked, and the corner of his mouth curved with not quite a smile, but close. Mutual understanding passed between us, threaded with amusement. My irritation at my parents softened, just a fraction.
The rest of dinner unfolded more quietly.
Jane and Braxton traded shy glances while clearing dishes.
Dad poured himself a small glass of brandy.
Mom hummed under her breath, undoubtedly planning seating charts for a wedding that didn’t exist. The flickering candles made everything look softer which probably didn’t help Mom’s romantic inclinations.
“Why don’t you gentlemen have a tour of the building with William while we ladies clean up? Then we can get to hanging the lights afterward,” Mom suggested.
I sighed. “Mom, we are not putting our guests to work.”
“I don’t mind,” Braxton cheerily volunteered.
Dex muttered something suspiciously like ‘I do’.
Dad rose. “Let’s escape while we can. Why don’t we see what is under one of those panels in the reception room?”
“Hopefully the wall underneath is in good condition,” Braxton replied with enthusiasm as the trio went out of the dining room.
Mom exhaled happily. “Such nice young men.”
“Mom,” Jane moaned. “Please stop.”
I smiled despite myself. “You are unbelievable.”
She winked, unapologetic. “And yet, I am almost always right.”
Maybe she wasn’t right about Jane and James, or about Dex and me, but sitting there, surrounded by candlelight, laughter and disaster, I had to admit she was right about one thing at least. Somehow, this impossible, crumbling, hopeful inn was starting to feel like home.
There were giggles in the hallway and I knew before I saw her that Kitty had arrived.