Chapter Fourteen Almost, Again
Jane
I woke up knowing two things.
First, there was no more avoiding the conversation.
Today I would talk to Braxton. I didn't need a speech.
I didn't need perfect timing. I needed the truth.
I needed to say the words out loud so they stopped rattling around in my head like loose utensils in a drawer.
Second,I needed to put boundaries in place with James.
Lucy was a lump of blankets beside me, hair in every direction, face turned into her pillow. For a second I envied her.
I slid out of bed as quietly as I could, which didn't stop the floor from creaking. I grabbed my coat and boots, my armful of clothes, my toothbrush, and headed for Meri, Lydia, and Kitty’s apartment.
The only one awake was Meri, who let me in with a yawn. She went immediately back to her cozy chair, burying her nose in the latest epic fantasy that she had picked up from a bookstore.
Knowing better than to try to talk to her when she was reading, I headed straight to the bathroom to freshen up.
Once done, I came back to the living room where Meri silently handed me a cup of coffee, made just the way I liked it, still reading her book. I took it with appreciation. “Bless you. Did I just see Lydia recording herself in her sleep?”
“It’s a live video. She has weird fans who like how she snores,” Meri dryly mentioned. “I’ll be down to help once I finish this chapter.”
Taking that for the dismissal it was, I made my way down the hall to go to the kitchen.
We were still renovating. We were still learning. And we were attempting to host a full wedding week on top of it, as if that was a normal decision sane people made.
I could hear voices from the reception room, the scrape of chairs, the faint thud of something being moved where it probably shouldn't be moved without adult supervision.
The scent of coffee drifted through the hallway, warm and encouraging, from the coffee machines that I had insisted on buying which had timers on them.
Braxton stood near the base of the stairs, coat off, sleeves rolled up, talking quietly with Dex.
Dex had a pencil behind his ear and a folded plan in his hand.
Braxton held a tape measure like it was an extension of his arm, relaxed but ready.
When he saw me, he stopped mid-sentence.
His face softened in a way that made my chest tighten.
There you are , his expression seemed to say.
I walked down the stairs toward him. He stepped forward at the same time, like we were both drawn by the same invisible thread.
“Jane,” he said.
“Braxton,” I replied.
For one breath, the lobby felt still.
Then Kitty burst out of the reception room waving a seating chart like it was a distress signal.
“We have a problem,” Kitty announced.
Braxton blinked, his tone wry, “Of course we do.”
“The chair delivery is two dozen short,” Kitty said, eyes wide. “The aisle runner is three feet too long and someone put the florist’s order under Mom’s name, so now she thinks she is in charge of flowers.”
Mom appeared behind her, nodding decisively. “I am.”
Lydia followed, glitter scarf already looped around her neck, looking delighted by the concept of being needed. “I have thoughts about this wedding and how we can really play it up for social media marketing for the inn.”
I looked back to Braxton, ready to apologize.
“We will talk,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” I said. “Soon.”
He nodded and turned to Dex. “Let’s go find twenty-four chairs that don't exist.”
Dex gave me a sympathetic look and followed him with a sigh, like this wasn't his problem but had become his problem by proximity.
I exhaled and followed Kitty into the reception room, where chaos was arranged into neat little piles and labeled as organization.
Kitty unrolled the seating chart across a table, smoothing it as if it were delicate fabric. “I’m sure the guys can sort that out. Now what about this seating plan?”
Lydia lifted a hand. “Could we seat people on hay bales?”
Mom shook her head. “No. Your father has allergies.”
Lydia’s eyes widened in innocent surprise. “It would be rustic.”
“This is not a barn wedding,” Mom firmly replied.
“It could be,” Lydia said, as if the main problem was imagination.
Kitty looked at me. “Jane.”
I pressed my lips together. “No hay bales.”
Lydia sighed dramatically. “Fine. No hay bales.”
The next hour unfolded like a series of near misses.
I would spot Braxton across a room and start toward him, only to be intercepted by someone needing an immediate decision.
Table spacing. Candle regulations. Whether fairy lights counted as emergency lighting.
Whether battery candles were romantic or deeply depressing.
Whether the groom’s aunt who cried needed a seat near the front or a seat near an exit.
By late morning, I had answered so many questions that my brain felt like it was mushy.
In the hallway outside the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Braxton carrying a stack of folded linens. He saw me at the same time and veered toward me, intent clear in his posture. My heart jumped.
“Jane,” he said, stopping close enough that I could smell the clean winter air clinging to his sweater.
“Braxton,” I said, and my voice came out softer than I intended.
He opened his mouth.
Lydia swooped in and hooked her arm through mine.
“Quick question,” she said brightly, as if she had not just intercepted a moment I had been hoping for since yesterday. “Do we prefer ivory or winter white for the napkins?”
Braxton’s eyes closed briefly. When he opened them, he wore an expression of heroic patience.
“Winter white,” I said automatically knowing that the napkins were already in our cupboards and I wasn’t planning on ordering more. “We already have them.”
Lydia nodded. “Excellent. I knew it.”
She began steering me away, already talking about chair sashes and the emotional meaning of ribbon. I glanced back at Braxton, helpless.
His mouth curved into a small smile, but the look in his eyes said, This is absurd.
I mouthed, later.
He nodded once.
By the time Lydia released me, I felt like I had escaped a fashionable tornado.
I turned and nearly collided with James.
“Jane,” he said smoothly, stepping into my path like he had been waiting. “I was hoping to catch you.”
My stomach tightened. “I am very busy.”
“Of course you are,” he said, unfazed. “That is what I admire about you. Your work ethic. Always so eager.”
I held my clipboard tighter than necessary, using it as a barrier against him. “What do you need?”
“I have been thinking,” he said, lowering his voice slightly, glancing past me as if he feared an audience. “About the cookbook. About our opportunity. You and I could create something incredible.”
“There is no time for that,” I said.
“There is always time for the right thing,” he replied, smiling like he was delivering wisdom instead of pressure. “I could introduce you to my agent. You could be in the city again, where your talent belongs. We would be working side by side. You remember how much you enjoyed my company?”
“My talent belongs in my kitchen here at the SnowDrop Inn,” I said, keeping my tone even.
James’s smile tightened. “Janie, you are limiting yourself.”
Before I could respond, Meri appeared at my elbow.
“Jane,” she said urgently. “Kitty needs you right now. Emergency cake storage situation.”
James frowned. “This will only take a moment.”
Meri stepped closer, smiling with alarming cheer. “Excuse us.”
She physically blocked his view of me with her shoulder and began moving me down the hallway with gentle force.
“I will catch you later,” James called after us, sounding far too pleased with himself.
“He will not,” she muttered. “Not if I can help it.”
Once we were safely around the corner, I let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped behind my ribs.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Meri patted my arm. “Anytime. I have excellent peripheral vision and a deep dislike of ego.”
“There is no emergency cake storage,” I dryly said.
“I know,” Meri replied without hesitation. “But he does not. Also, I could create one if necessary. I am creative under pressure.”
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. It surprised me, and it softened something inside my chest.
Meri smiled. “See. You’re still in there.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You,” she said, more gently. “The version of you who laughs.”
My throat tightened. “I’m fine.”
Meri gave me a look that said she didn't believe me, but she didn't push. “Go. I will continue my James intimidation tactics.”
I nodded and headed back toward the kitchen, mind spinning with everything I needed to do and the conversation I still hadn’t managed.
Lucy was reorganizing the prep table with the intensity of someone controlling what she could.
“I am starting to think Meri should be hired as security,” I mentioned
Lucy glanced at me, eyes sharp. “Is James bothering you again?”
“Meri interrupted. She’s very good at diversions,” I remarked, grabbing my apron..
Lucy’s mouth twitched. “Meri security is underrated.”
The film crew wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to film. “Are you prepping for the rehearsal dinner?”
“Maybe,” I conceded.
One cameraman stopped too close to the counter and nearly brushed his equipment against a bowl of batter.
I gently slid the bowl away. “Careful. If you touch that, you are legally responsible for my emotional breakdown.”
The cameraman blinked, then shifted his feet. “Sorry.”
The afternoon blurred into motion.
Chairs were rearranged. Linens were measured and folded again because the bride had changed her mind.
Mom attempted to create a flower hierarchy.
Kitty tried to write a timeline and ended up with arrows pointing in every direction.
William and Dex moved heavy things with the resigned competence of men who had accepted their fate.
Meri continued to materialize whenever James appeared, once interrupting him mid-sentence with a question about parking logistics that didn't exist.
At one point, I watched Meri step directly into James’s path with a bright smile.
“James,” she said, “can you clarify something for me?”
He looked wary. “What?”
Meri flipped her clipboard as if it contained vital information. “If your film crew needs an electrical outlet, do they prefer to blow a fuse in the kitchen or the hallway?”
James stared at her. “Excuse me?”
Meri kept smiling. “We are just planning ahead.”
James backed away slowly, as if the clipboard was contagious.
Meri turned and winked at me.
I loved her.
By late afternoon, the chaos reached its peak.
The rehearsal dinner schedule conflicted with the florist’s delivery window.
Someone discovered the aisle runner wasn't only too long, it was also the wrong shade of white.
Kitty paced like a small storm. Lucy took over negotiations with the brisk competence of a woman who had decided panic was a waste of time.
I stood near the staircase, trying not to laugh or cry.
Kitty hurried over, breathless. “The seating chart needs final approval and Mom and Lydia disagree on where to seat the groom’s aunt.”
Lydia blinked. “Which aunt?”
“The one who cries,” Kitty said.
We exchanged a look.
“Put her near the exit and a full box of tissues under her chair,” I said.
Kitty blinked, then looked impressed. “That’s brilliant.”
“It’s practical,” I said.
Kitty nodded rapidly and hurried off as if she had been handed the key to peace.
I turned, and there he was, waiting patiently for me to end my conversation with Kitty.
“We are still talking today, right?” Braxton asked.
“Yes,” I said, and my voice came out steadier than it had all day. “Even if we have to hide.”
His smile deepened. “I know a place.”
A warmth spread through my chest, easing some of the tension that had been coiled there since yesterday. The idea of being alone with him, even for a few minutes, felt like stepping into a quiet room after a day of shouting.
Then he did the most magical thing. He took me by the hand, leading me through the chaos.