Chapter Fifteen The Library
Braxton
I took her hand before I could talk myself out of it.
The moment presented itself like a narrow opening in a crowd. Jane had just finished answering a question for Kitty. I stepped into her path and reached for her hand, not grabbing, not pulling, just letting my fingers close around hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Come with me,” I said quietly.
She startled for half a second. Then her fingers tightened around mine, warm and sure, and she nodded.
I didn’t let go. Gently guiding us through the crowded room, away from the chaos that threatened to disrupt us yet again, I found our destination.
The library was tucked away at the back of the inn, past a narrow hallway that most people forgot existed.
It was small, barely used, and usually smelled faintly of dust and old paper.
Dex had built it for the purpose of giving Lucy a space for herself, where she could relax and read.
Tonight, it felt like a refuge. I pushed the door open with my shoulder and stepped inside, guiding Jane in ahead of me before closing it gently behind us.
The latch clicked.
The sound was soft, but it felt decisive.
We stood there for a second longer than necessary, hands still linked between us like neither of us was quite ready to acknowledge it. Then we both seemed to realize it at the same time and let go, awkwardly, our hands dropping back to our sides.
Jane laughed quietly and I did too.
The room was warm in that comforting way old rooms tended to be.
Lamps cast pools of golden light instead of harsh brightness.
Bookshelves lined the walls, mismatched volumes donated by guests and more furnished by Dex’s generosity.
There was a small reading nook beneath the window and two armchairs that looked like they had been reupholstered at least twice.
It was comfortable and cozy.
Outside the window, snow drifted down slowly, the town lights glowing softly beyond the glass.
Jane took a breath that sounded like she had been holding it all day.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For kidnapping you?” I asked with the beginnings of a smile.
“For… this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the room, at the quiet. “For stopping the chaos.”
I nodded. “It felt necessary.”
She smiled at that, a small, real smile that made my chest ache.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy with everything we had not said yet. I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how much I wanted to get this right.
“I should say something first,” I said finally.
Jane tilted her head. “Okay.”
I ran a hand through my hair, then let it fall back to my side. “I am sorry about the other morning. I disappeared for a while to think about things.”
“You did,” she said, but there was no accusation in it.
“I thought I was giving you space,” I said. “And maybe I was. But mostly I was protecting myself.”
Her brows knit slightly, not in anger, but in concern. “From what?”
“From the disappointment of being wrong,” I admitted. “From thinking I saw something that maybe wasn’t there. From wanting something and realizing too late that I may have misunderstood.”
Her breath caught just a little.
“I thought we were getting closer, that you might have feelings for me. I certainly have them for you, but after what I saw in the kitchen, I thought you still had feelings for James. I thought you preferred him over me, that I had maybe misread you, that it was all a fancy on my part.” I shook my head.
“And I didn't know how to ask you about it. I was too hurt in the moment so I pulled back.”
Jane’s shoulders slumped, as if a tension she had been carrying suddenly lost its purpose.
“Oh,” she said softly.
“I saw you with him in the kitchen,” I continued. “I saw how close he stood and you didn’t step away. I didn’t know what to do with that.”
She looked down at her hands, then back up at me. Her eyes were steady, but there was something vulnerable in them that made me want to step closer.
“I didn’t step away because I froze,” she softly told me. “Not because I wanted him there.”
I nodded slowly, letting that sink in.
“He has a way of taking up space,” she went on. “Of talking like he owns the room. And when he is near me, my body remembers old habits before my brain catches up.”
The words landed heavily. I felt them in my chest, a dull ache of understanding and anger that wasn't mine to direct.
“I thought if I stayed still and polite, it would be over faster and he would move away,” she said, letting out a shaky breath. “I didn’t realize how it looked.”
“What really happened?” I questioned in concern .
We stood there, the quiet wrapping around us like a blanket. Somewhere in the inn, a chair scraped against the floor. A voice called out. Then the noise faded again.
She moved toward an armchair and sat, folding her hands in her lap. I sat in the other armchair, leaning forward slightly, giving her my full attention.
“When I worked for James,” she began, “I thought we were…
something. At first it was professional.
I worked hard, I learned a lot, I proved myself as a baker.
James started noticing my efforts. He praised my work and made me feel like I mattered.
He would tell the other staff that they should be more like me.
“Then he started touching me. The small of my back, my shoulder, my hand, my cheek. He flirted with me. I didn’t imagine it.
I actually thought he liked me. And the more attention he paid to me, the harder I worked to earn his attention.
I did double shifts all the time. If he asked for anything, I made it happen.
I was happy to let him take the credit for my work because he kept saying how we would do so well, that his success was my success.
“We went out on dates. No place fancy, which should have been a warning sign. James likes publicity, he likes to be seen. He just didn’t want to be seen with me.”
Her voice stayed steady, but I could see the effort it took. She pulled at a stray thread on the end of her sweater sleeve, concentrating on it. My jaw tightened, but I didn’t interrupt.
“I was so tired and approaching burnout. He had overbooked us for catering and the restaurant. I barely slept. When things went wrong, he blamed me and I tried even harder to please him. I thought he loved me and I imagined myself in love with him.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
“I see now I was infatuated and also had been encouraged by James. I let him become almost my entire world. It was stupid of me,” she whispered, glancing up at me. The pain in her eyes made me want to take her into my arms but I knew she wasn’t ready for that so with effort I held myself still.
“I saw him with an actress on television. He called her his girlfriend. They had been together for months. When I confronted him, he gaslit me. He told me I had imagined everything. We were just work colleagues. I was embarrassing myself and I meant nothing to him.
“I left, packed up my things and came home. That was almost a year ago,” Jane softly told me.
“It took a long time to understand that the problem wasn’t me,” she continued. “But even now, when he shows up and acts charming and familiar, it pulls at old wounds. It makes me doubt myself.”
She looked at me then, really looked at me. “I don’t want him. I don’t want the city. I don’t want the cookbook he’s trying to make me help with. I want my life here. I want… something honest.”
Something loosened in my chest.
“I am glad you told me,” I said quietly.
She gave a small, sad smile. “I was afraid you would think less of me.”
“I think more of you,” I said without hesitation. While James had never physically hurt her, he certainly had emotionally abused her. “For surviving it. For building something better.”
Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t look away.
I took a breath, feeling the weight of my own truth pressing forward.
“I should tell you something too,” I said.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“In the past, I have been told I am too much. Too attentive. Too eager. Too obvious about how I feel. It has happened more than once.” I struggled with the right words to convey how I felt.
“I used to push relationships far too quickly. Dex has had to extricate me more than once after I realized that things weren’t as I thought. ”
Jane’s expression softened.
“I have also had relationships where I found out that our ambitions weren’t the same.
I found out later that more than one woman I dated wasn’t really interested in me, they were willing to put up with my awkwardness for the reward of my family’s influence and affluence,” I mentioned with a self-deprecating smile.
“So when I start to care about someone,” I went on, “I try to slow myself down. I watch for signs I’m misreading things. And when I think I might be wrong, I retreat.”
“That explains a lot,” she said gently.
“I didn’t want to crowd you,” I said. “Or assume something you weren’t offering.”
She leaned forward slightly. “The only relationship I have ever had was with James, and it turns out I foolishly imagined that. I was guarding my heart against you because I didn’t want to be hurt again..”
I let out a breath that felt like relief and disbelief combined. “I have no intention to hurt you.”
“I know that now,” Jane murmured.
“So,” I said slowly, “we were both standing very still, waiting for the other to move.”
She laughed softly. “Yes.”
We sat with that for a moment, the tension easing into something warmer.
“I like you,” I said, because it felt important to say it plainly.
Jane’s smile was small but bright, her eyes shining. “I like you too.”
The simplicity of it felt grounding. No grand gestures. No declarations. Just the truth.
“I want to be with you,” I said.
Her breath caught again, but this time she didn't look pained. She looked hopeful.
“I want that too,” she replied.
The words settled between us, solid and real.
For a second, I thought I might kiss her. The urge was strong, instinctive. But something about the moment felt like it deserved care rather than urgency.
Instead, I stood and held out my hand. “Can we start with something small?”
She looked at my hand, then up at me. “Like what?”
“There are sleighbell rides in town tonight,” I mentioned. “I was thinking we could walk. Get hot chocolate. Enjoy each other’s company.”
Her smile widened, genuine and a little shy. “That sounds perfect.”