Chapter Four The Kitchen Isn’t Mine Anymore
Chapter Four: The Kitchen Isn’t Mine Anymore
Jane
I came into the kitchen earlier than usual the next morning, hoping that if I beat the sunrise I might also beat James. I didn't know if that was possible, but I needed to believe it anyway. I was wrong. The moment I opened the kitchen door, I felt something inside me sag.
James was already there.
With a film crew.
At first, my sleepy brain tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
I blinked twice, wondering if I was hallucinating from lack of sleep.
But no, the kitchen really was full of strangers with cameras, lights, and wires that stretched across the floor like traps waiting for me to catch my foot on them.
My spacious kitchen was made smaller by all the people taking up space.
James was standing at my worktable wearing one of my aprons. He had tied it incorrectly so it gathered oddly at his waist, creating a lopsided puff of fabric that made him look like he was smuggling a small pillow under it. He seemed oblivious.
“Jane,” he said brightly. “Perfect timing. We’re doing a morning segment.”
I stared at him. “A morning segment of what.”
It wasn’t a question, it was more of a warning. I was annoyed and tired enough not to be too cautious.
“My show,” he said, waving a hand in the vague direction of the crew. “They wanted to get some candid footage. Authentic kitchen atmosphere. You know. Rustic charm.”
At that exact moment, a man holding a boom mic walked behind me and nearly knocked my elbow with it. When I turned, the microphone hit my shoulder and the man jerked it back so quickly he lost his balance and stumbled into a camera operator. The camera operator swore. The director cheered.
“That is great energy,” the director said. “Can we get that again, but maybe with a laugh from Jane.”
I didn't laugh. I folded my arms instead.
James clapped his hands lightly. “We will just do a little cooking demonstration. Nothing complicated. You don't mind.”
That wasn't really a question either. James took it for granted that I would let him take over.
When had I ever objected to anything he wanted in the past?
The closest I had come to saying no was when I literally ran away from the city to come here.
He had already commandeered half the kitchen.
I noticed he had moved my spices, this time in a pattern that made zero sense.
Paprika sat next to vanilla. Garlic powder had been pushed behind cinnamon. My eyes twitched.
I walked toward him slowly. “You are in my apron.”
He looked down at himself, then back at me, smiling. “Yes. It looked better on camera.”
“ It’s tied wrong ,” I said.
He shrugged. “It’s fine.”
It wasn't fine. It looked like it was trying to strangle his ribcage. My shoulders slumped as I accepted the situation. James was just going to run roughshod over anything I said anyways.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully, shoving a microphone pack into my hands. “Can you clip this to your waistband? We want to catch your reactions.”
“My reactions to what?” I wondered.
“Oh, you know,” she said vaguely, “whatever James does.”
I closed my eyes and took a slow breath through my nose. The woman clipped a microphone onto my shirt, twisting the fabric. I was pretty sure it was going to leave a hole, or at the very least stretch the fabric.
At least it was an old sweater.
I was wearing an old faded sweater with pilling and a loose thread on James’ nationally shown cooking show. My shoulders slumped further.
Outside, the sun still had not come up. Inside, the day already felt too long.
James reached for my flour bin to demonstrate a technique and pulled so hard on the lid that it popped off. Flour erupted everywhere. It spread onto the counter, the floor, and the cupboards. The air turned white.
Someone coughed dramatically. Someone else sneezed. The director whispered, “Beautiful.”
I stood very still as flour settled on my eyelashes and hair. It drifted down the front of my sweater until I looked like a ghost who baked for a living.
“Are you alright?” one of the camera guys asked, probably noticing the scowl on my face.
No, I was absolutely not fine.
I forced a smile. “Fine.”
The moment the word left my mouth, the kitchen door opened. Braxton stepped in and stopped. He took in the scene slowly, his gaze sweeping from the flour snowstorm to James' smug grin to the film crew scrambling to capture footage.
His eyes finally landed on me. I felt my face heat even though it was already covered in flour.
“You have something...” He gestured vaguely at his cheek.
“I know,” I said.
Braxton stepped carefully around a coil of cables and a clipboard someone had left on the floor. His boots made soft marks in the thin layer of flour coating the tile. He moved toward me like he was approaching a startled deer, slow enough that I had time to decide whether to bolt.
I didn’t bolt. I considered it, but my feet stayed planted.
“Do you need help?” he asked quietly.
“I need a time machine,” I whispered back. “Do you have one in your rental car?”
“Not today.” His mouth tugged in the smallest smile. “Do you want me to stay?”
Yes, I thought. No, I thought right after.
This was exactly the kind of morning where needing someone felt embarrassing.
“I will be fine,” I said.
He hesitated, then nodded. “I will be nearby if you change your mind.”
He meant it. I felt that more than I heard it. Before I could reply, Kitty rushed into the kitchen.
“There you are,” she said breathlessly. “Jane, I need you. Right now. It’s an emergency.”
I pointed at the flour avalanche around me. “I am in the middle of something.”
Kitty glanced at the film crew. “So I see. But the lobby is… well… you need to see it.”
James perked up. “Lobby shots are great. Should we move there.”
“No,” Kitty said so firmly that even the director paused. “Jane needs to come alone.”
I wiped my hands and face on a towel, though it did nothing for the flour stuck to my sleeves. I followed Kitty out of the kitchen while James began giving the crew instructions on lighting his face from a forty-five-degree angle.
The hallway felt blissfully quiet compared to the chaos I left behind. I inhaled slowly, savoring the stillness, even if it lasted only a few seconds.
When we reached the lobby, I understood why Kitty had come running.
The bride and groom were here. So were their families, and their friends with a mountain of luggage.
The bride was petite and cheerful, with a smile too bright for the early hour. The groom stood beside her holding a suitcase in each hand, the picture of good intentions and mild confusion.
“Hello,” the bride chirped. “We are so excited to be here! This place is even more charming than the photos.”
“That is wonderful,” I said, glancing at Kitty. “ Isn’t check in time at three? Early check in at one?”
Kitty’s jaw tightened with a smile that was definitely hiding something. “About the rooms,” she began.
The bride waved a hand. “We booked the whole floor.”
My stomach dipped. I looked at Kitty. “What? What does she mean by that?”
She winced.
Behind me, I heard footsteps. Dex and Lucy approached, both holding steaming mugs. They froze when they saw the crowd.
“Is this… all for the wedding?” Dex asked.
“Apparently,” Kitty whispered.
A member of James’ crew wandered over from the far corridor. “We still have three more rooms to check into,” he said cheerfully. “We need space for our equipment.”
The equipment, I assumed, was the reason the hall currently held a tripod and a portable softbox light leaning against the wallpaper like it lived there.
Kitty blinked hard. “Three more rooms. I thought you only needed two.”
“We added a sound engineer,” he said. “And a continuity assistant. Yesterday was a disaster without the rest of the crew.”
I stared at Kitty. “Just how many rooms are we talking about? Can we handle all this?”
Kitty whispered, “We’re full.”
The bride’s mother approached, clasping her hands. “We are so grateful you could fit all of us. Small inns often cannot handle wedding parties this size.”
Kitty made a sound I could only describe as a quiet internal scream.
Lucy gave her mug to Dex, coming forward to look at the guest book. “What are we short ?”
Kitty mouthed, “Two rooms?”
I glanced reflexively toward the stairs. The small apartment Lucy and I shared was at the top. It had two cozy bedrooms, a couch, a small kitchenette, and a pretty view of the courtyard. We had worked so hard to make it feel like home.
Kitty followed my gaze. “I am so sorry.”
“You didn’t think to say there weren’t any vacancies?” Lucy muttered under her breath, giving Kitty a dark look.
“Jane and Lucy,” Kitty said quietly, “I need your apartment.”
I nodded once. The knot in my stomach tightened but didn't surprise me.
“Where are we supposed to go? Jane can’t sleep in the kitchen and I can’t sleep on a sofa,” Lucy logically stated.
Kitty winced again. “I need the apartment. We have to move you to the pool house. Just for the week.”
“The pool house,” Lucy repeated in a flat voice. “The drafty one with questionable heating.”
“It has a double bed,” Kitty said brightly. “And walls.”
“That is a low bar, Kitty.”
I swallowed hard because I felt the same disappointment. Losing the apartment felt like losing the small sanctuary I had managed to carve out for myself. But the lobby was full of guests who needed rooms, and this wasn't a battle I could reasonably fight.
“We will make do,” I said softly.
Lucy set the guest book down before she dropped it. “I am not thrilled about this.”
“Neither am I,” I admitted.
Dex stepped forward. “Braxton and I can help you move your things.”
Kitty brightened. “Yes, please. And while you are here, just how long were you staying?”
Lucy shot Kitty a look sharp enough to cut glass. “They are paying guests. You can’t throw them out.”
Kitty put both hands up. “I wasn’t going to throw anyone out. I was only asking.”