Chapter Ten Old Scars and New Confusions
Jane
I woke before the old heater rattled to life.
It was still dark in the pool house, and for a moment I wasn’t sure what had pulled me out of sleep.
Then I remembered Braxton standing in the lobby the day before, brushing off a bridesmaid’s mistletoe wand with that calm voice of his.
I remembered the girl’s hand possessively on his arm.
And I remembered the sentence that had gotten me through the rest of that chaotic afternoon.
I am interested in someone.
He had said it so simply and so matter of fact. Like it wasn't the kind of declaration that could rearrange a person’s ability to breathe.
I lay there under the blankets staring into the dim light.
He had been talking to the bridesmaids. He had been trying to get them to leave him alone.
He might have meant anyone. He could have meant one of them.
Maybe the blonde with the glitter or the brunette who had leaned so close to him that I had felt something twist in my stomach like jealousy and embarrassment woven into one.
The thought punched me again. I turned onto my side and pulled the blanket up over my chin as I replayed yesterday evening’s events yet again in my mind.
“You’re awake. Why?” she said, her voice thick with sleep as she shifted beside me.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said.
“You are thinking about Braxton,” she guessed.
“No,” I said too quickly.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her head to better look at me. “You absolutely are.”
I stared at the ceiling. “He said he is interested in someone.”
Lucy made a soft hmph like she had already solved this mystery hours ago. “He meant you.”
“He might not have,” I whispered. “He looked comfortable around the bridesmaids.”
“Jane,” she said gently. “No man looks comfortable being chased with mistletoe on sticks. You should have seen Dex before I arrived. His face was pure panic.”
I wanted to believe her. But I also remembered the blonde girl touching his sleeve, tilting her head in that pretty, confident way. Braxton hadn’t looked uncomfortable. Not the way I had felt when people flirted with him in front of me.
I sat up. “I’m getting dressed. It’s time to start the day anyway.”
“You are overthinking this,” she said into her pillow.
“I am thinking the correct amount,” I insisted. The cold hit when I stepped out from under the blankets. My breath came out in a faint cloud. I hurried into my sweater and boots. The morning air would be worse outside, but the kitchen would be warm. It always was.
“You are thinking the Jane amount, which means analysing it from every angle and still not necessarily coming to the right conclusion.”
She was right, and I hated that she was right.
“He said he was interested in you,” Lucy insisted.
“We don’t know that,” I murmured, grabbing my coat.
“You’ll see that I’m right. I’m always right.” She ended the statement with a yawn.
“Except for the times where you’ve been wrong,” I remarked before heading out the door.
I crossed the courtyard. The sky was a pale silver and the snow on the ground sparkled like sugar. It should have been beautiful. It was beautiful. I was too distracted to appreciate it properly.
I entered the kitchen first and took a deep breath.
It was warm and quiet. I started the coffee and set the ovens to preheat.
The scent of coffee drifted through the air as the machines did their work.
I set a mixing bowl on the counter and reached for the flour, trying to let the familiar movements settle my thoughts.
I had just cracked an egg into the bowl when someone stepped inside.
“Good morning, Janie,” James said, his tone oozing with sweetness.
My whole body went stiff. I turned slowly, forcing my face into something neutral. “Good morning.”.
He walked toward me with the same smooth confidence I remembered too well. His coat fit him perfectly. His hair was styled like he was about to walk onto a cooking show set. His smile was the one that had once made my stomach lift. It didn't lift now. It knotted.
“You are up early. Dedicated as always,” he observed.
“I need to prep breakfast,” I replied in a neutral voice.
“You were always an early riser. I used to count on you to have things ready before the rest of the staff arrived.”
There was a time when that sentence would have felt like praise. Now it felt like a hook dragging across old memories.
He stepped closer. “I was thinking last night. Your pastries were lovely for the bachelorette party. Rustic but charming.”
“Thank you,” I said out of politeness. I didn't feel grateful.
“I have been considering my next cookbook. The idea came up yesterday when Braxton mentioned it. A dessert-focused book. Something nostalgic. Something with heart.” James laid a hand on his own heart in a dramatic fashion.
My pulse stuttered. “Braxton mentioned that?”
“Yes. He said his sister is a fan. Evidently she would buy such a book. And I thought, well. Who better to collaborate with than someone who knows my style. Someone I trained.”
Trained. The word made my hand curl slightly around the edge of the counter in an effort to ground myself.
“I don't know if I could do something like that,” I replied non-commitally.
He moved closer again, into my space. “Of course you could. You and I always worked well together. Imagine what we could create. Something warm. Something genuine. Like old times.”
Old times.
The phrase hit me in the chest with a dull ache.
I remembered his voice in his kitchen, the way he used to lean in, just like this, to compliment my work in front of others.
I remembered thinking it meant something.
How proud I felt the first time he rested his hand on my back to guide me past another chef.
I remembered the night he handed me a plate and whispered that I made him look good.
“You always had a crush on me,” he said now, his voice dropping lower. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel the spark we had.”
My throat tightened. He was wrong and he was right. And I hated that both could be true.
I stepped back, but he stepped forward.
“Janie,” he said softly. “We could make something incredible together. Just like we used to do.”
I remembered thinking we were together and being naive enough to tell my family.
I recalled waiting for him after work while he stayed late with a hostess I never saw again.
When I overheard him say I was delusional, that I meant nothing to him.
I remembered him firing me the next day with a small smile that had felt like a slap.
I froze. My body remembered too much. My heart remembered too much. And all of it twisted together into a tight, small feeling I could barely breathe around.
His hand came up, trailing a finger down my cheek. “I missed you.”
Then I heard footsteps.
Braxton entered the kitchen carrying a box, no doubt from the delivery truck that was scheduled for this morning. He stopped when he saw us. His expression shifted. It was subtle. A small tightening around his eyes. A change in the way he held his shoulders. But I saw it.
He saw James standing too close. He saw me frozen. He saw something he misunderstood.
“Morning,” he said politely. He didn't look at me the way he usually did.
James stepped back just enough to appear casual. “Braxton. You can set that box on the counter.”
I opened my mouth to explain. Nothing came out.
Braxton nodded once. “I see. Well. I should let you continue.”
He set down the box and left before I could make my tongue work. The sound of the hallway door closing was soft, but it slammed on my emotions.
James watched him go. “Does he always interrupt conversations? He seems to be around a lot.”.
“No,” I said, though my voice sounded thin.
“You seemed happy to see him yesterday. I thought perhaps there was something there,” James observed, narrowing his eyes.
I remembered how James could be when he thought he didn’t have my undivided attention. He had been cruel to anyone he saw as a threat. He had money and power and blacklisted more than one staff member from the industry.
I stared at the countertop. “There’s nothing.”
“Good,” he said. “Then we can talk about the cookbook without distractions.”
He reached out and touched my arm, resting his fingers lightly against my skin. Every part of me recoiled on the inside.
“You have always been shy,” he murmured. “It is sweet, really. You were never confident enough to take the leap, and I could never push you the way you wanted me to. But a project like this could change that. You would be beside me. Learning. Growing. It could remind you of what we had.”
“We didn’t have anything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled, leaning in closer, pressing lightly against me. “Don’t pretend it meant nothing. You’re my Janie.”
I stepped back until I felt the counter behind me. My hands braced against it. He was too close. His cologne was overpowering. My heart beat too fast.
James lowered his voice. “If we work together again, you might even get the attention you used to want. You always did blush when I called you pretty.”
He reached up as though he meant to brush my cheek again.
I flinched before I could stop myself.
Lucy entered the kitchen with a gust of winter air. I jumped back from James, leaning against the counter.
“There you are,” she said, seemingly unaware of the tension. “The food delivery truck is here.”
James stepped back. “Of course. We can continue this later, Janie.”
I nodded because I couldn’t force anything else out.
When he left, Lucy looked at me. “Are you alright?”
“I need a minute,” I said.
I walked to the pantry, shut the door gently, and sat down on a pail of cornmeal, wrapping my arms around my knees. My breath came unsteadily. My chest felt tight. My thoughts tangled together so fast I could barely see them.
Braxton said he is interested in someone. He saw me with James. He thinks I want James’ attention. He thinks James still matters to me.
And the worst part was that my body had reacted like it used to. The old fear. The old confusion. The old desire to please someone who had never cared for me at all.
I pressed my eyes closed.
I didn’t want James. I didn’t want his praise or his flirting or whatever he thought we had shared. I didn’t want the memories he kept stirring up like they were something sweet instead of something sour.
I wanted…
I swallowed hard.
I wanted someone who made me feel safe. Someone who saw me. Someone who caught trays when they wobbled and moved cables out of my way and looked at me like I mattered even when he didn’t say it.
My throat tightened. I leaned forward, resting my forehead briefly against my hands.
Day three of the wedding party had barely begun, and I already felt unsteady.
I needed to find my footing. I needed to find my voice. And I needed to figure out how to tell Braxton that James meant nothing to me now.
If only I knew how to say any of it without breaking again.