Chapter Seventeen The Easy Part
Jane
The next morning, the pool house still had one bed, frosted windows, and a heater that produced heat in the same way a toddler produced cooperation. Reluctantly, unpredictably, and only after you had already lowered your expectations.
None of that changed. What did change was me.
I woke up before Lucy. For a few quiet seconds I lay still under the blankets and listened to the muffled sounds of the inn waking up across the courtyard. A door closed. A distant voice called out good morning.
My mind should have immediately started listing everything that could go wrong today. It should have run through the rehearsal dinner, the wedding schedule, the endless tiny details that had to be right so no one cried for the wrong reasons.
Instead, my first thought was Braxton’s hand in mine. The warm certainty of it. The way he had not tugged or rushed, only held, as if he trusted me to walk beside him.
I stared at the ceiling and felt my face soften into a smile before I could stop it.
It was an unsettling feeling. Not because it was bad, but because it was unfamiliar.
I had spent so many years taking happiness in measured doses, like sugar you sprinkled sparingly because you didn’t want to waste it.
Too much sweetness could be taken away. Too much hope could tip into disappointment. It was better to keep expectations low.
Except last night had been easy and this morning, my heart felt like it had been given permission to breathe.
Lucy made a muffled noise beside me, pulling the blanket higher. She murmured into the pillow. “If you are leaving, please take the cold with you.”
“I will do my best,” I whispered, slipping quietly out of bed.
When I stepped outside, the courtyard air slapped me awake properly.
Snow had fallen overnight, a fresh layer that made everything look clean and calm, which was unfair considering the state of my life.
The inn glowed warmly across the way, lights in the windows, garland along the railing, the promise of comfort even when the reality was chaos.
I crossed the courtyard, boots crunching over packed snow, and let myself feel one small, unreasonable thing.
I was looking forward to today.
Inside the Snowdrop Inn, warmth wrapped around me immediately.
In the lobby, the tree lights were still on, twinkling softly, and a few guests sat with mugs, speaking in low voices like they were afraid to disturb the holiday atmosphere.
I headed toward the kitchen, already shifting into work mode, mentally listing all the things that needed to be done today.
Then I saw Braxton.
He stood at the end of the hallway near the linen closet, holding a stack of folded napkins like they were important documents. He was dressed casually, sweater and jeans, hair still slightly messy in a way that made him look very handsome. He turned when he heard my footsteps.
His face lit in that immediate, unguarded way that made my stomach flip.
“Good morning,” he greeted.
“Morning,” I replied, and my voice came out softer than I intended.
He glanced down at the napkins, then back at me. “I was told these are urgent.”
I blinked. “Napkins.”
“Yes.” He nodded gravely. “Apparently we are in a napkin crisis, although I’m not sure what the crisis actually is.”
I let out a laugh, surprised by how easily it came. “Lydia.”
Braxton’s mouth curved. “Lydia.”
I stopped beside him. For a second, we just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him without touching. My brain offered me a dozen things to say, but none of them seemed necessary.
He tilted his head. “How are you?”
“I’m… good,” I said carefully, then decided to be braver. “Better than yesterday.”
His expression softened. “Me too.”
The air between us felt quiet and safe. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… present.
A door opened somewhere behind us and the illusion of privacy vanished. Meri appeared with a clipboard, as always, eyes scanning. She spotted us and immediately paused, a smile blooming like she had discovered a rare bird in the wild.
“Oh,” she said, delighted.
“Meri,” I warned.
“I am not saying anything.” She leaned in slightly, stage whispering anyway. “But if you two stand any closer, everyone will know.”
Braxton coughed, trying to hide a laugh. I felt my cheeks warm.
Meri gave Braxton an approving nod. “Good morning, Mr. Hale. Thank you for continuing to exist in a helpful manner.”
“Happy to,” he replied.
Meri’s eyes flicked past me down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her entire expression sharpened.
“I am going to intercept something,” she announced, then marched off like she was on a mission.
Braxton watched her go. “Is Meri always like that?”
“Yes,” I said.
He looked faintly impressed. “I respect it.”
“So do I,” I admitted.
We carried the napkins into the kitchen together. Braxton began folding napkins on the prep table like he had done this his whole life.
I moved beside him, automatically falling into rhythm when Lydia’s voice echoed from the hallway before she disappeared again.
“Jane. No, not like that. The corners need to be sharp.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Lydia has never folded a napkin in her life.”
Braxton’s smile twitched. “I have noticed she operates mostly on confidence.”
“That is Lydia,” I replied.
We worked for a while, the motions simple, the conversation easy. It should have felt ordinary. Somehow it felt like a gift.
We finished the napkins and moved to prep for breakfast trays. Braxton handed me a plate. Our fingers brushed. It was small. It still made my pulse jump.
“You are thinking very hard,” he observed.
I blinked. “Am I?”
He nodded. “You get this look. Like you are planning for an emergency that hasn’t happened yet.”
I huffed a laugh. “That is my natural state.”
Braxton leaned lightly against the counter, watching me with calm attention. “Did you always have to be the responsible one?”
The question caught me off guard, not because it was intrusive, but because it was accurate.
I set the plate down. “Yes.”
“Oldest,” he guessed.
“True,” I corrected. “I’m reliable and predictable. The one who keeps everyone fed and calm.”
Braxton’s gaze held mine. “That’s a lot for a kid.”
I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “It didn’t feel like a lot. It felt normal. My parents worked hard. Someone needed to… keep things steady.”
“And you chose baking,” he said.
“I didn’t choose it like some grand plan,” I admitted. “It just happened. I liked measuring things. I liked knowing that if you followed the steps, you got something good at the end. I liked that I could make something warm and sweet and people would calm down when they ate it.”
Braxton’s expression softened further. “So you learned to love people by feeding them.”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
He nodded slowly, as if that made sense of something in his mind. “That’s a good way to love.”
My chest tightened, warmth blooming behind my ribs at his easy acceptance.
Braxton’s voice stayed gentle. “What did you want when you were a kid?”
I hesitated. “To not disappoint anyone.”
His eyebrows lifted. “That is not a want. That is a burden.”
I let out a breath. “Fine. I wanted… a place that felt safe. A kitchen. A home. Something that was mine.”
“And now you have the inn,” he said.
“Yes,” I said softly. “Even when it is chaotic.”
Braxton smiled. “Especially when it is chaotic.”
We worked in silence for a moment, but it was an easy silence. Braxton and I finished the breakfast trays, and as we moved through the kitchen, the rhythm between us felt natural.
“I want to tell you something,”Braxton began.
My heart did that unhelpful thing again. “Okay.”
“I want you to know I am enjoying this part. The simple part. Being in the kitchen with you,” he added, voice a little quieter
I laughed, then sobered, meeting his gaze again. “I am enjoying it too.”
His eyes softened, and for a moment I had the distinct impression that he wanted to touch my hand again, yet he didn’t. He waited like he was still trying to make sure I felt in control of the pace.
It was considerate. It was also maddening in the sweetest way.
“What about you?” I asked, because the instinct to know him was suddenly stronger than my shyness. “What did you want when you were a child?”
Braxton blinked. The question clearly surprised him.
He leaned back slightly, thoughtful. “To be liked.”
The simplicity of the answer made my throat tighten.
“Weren’t you liked?” I asked softly.
He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Sometimes I was, but I didn’t really believe it. I was the kid who tried too hard. The one who smiled too much, talked too much, offered too much.”
I stared at him, seeing the vulnerability for the first time. “Why would you think that?”
He shrugged, then hesitated. “My family is not… unkind. But they are intense and believe that everything is a matter of reputation and expectation. Carly could host a gala at twelve. I could barely survive lunch without someone correcting how I held a fork.”
“That sounds exhausting,” I murmured.
“It was,” he admitted. “And when I got older, there were… rules. The right schools, the right friends, the right people to date.”
My stomach tightened at the word date, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Did you want that?”
He looked at me like the answer was obvious. “No, but if you don’t fit in, you become a project. People try to fix you and make you more appropriate. More polished and more acceptable to their standards. I was always a bit of a problem to manage.”
The words landed hard, not because they were dramatic, but because they were true in a way I recognized.
“That’s sad,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
Braxton’s gaze sharpened on mine. “Yes.”
The word sat between us, heavy and simple.
“You aren’t like that,” he added quickly, as if he needed to make sure I understood. “You don’t make me feel like I have to be a certain way to be accepted. You make me feel… normal.”
I laughed softly. “I don’t know if I am normal.”
“You are real,” he corrected. “There is a difference.”
I felt warmth and relief with a quiet sense of being seen.
Behind us, Lucy called into the kitchen, “Jane, we need to talk about the rehearsal dinner. Kitty is spiraling again.”
Braxton’s mouth curved. “Your life is a series of interruptions.”
“It is,” I confirmed.
He hesitated, then lifted his hand slightly, palm up, offering without pushing. “Before we go back into chaos, can I hold your hand again.”
My breath caught.
It was such a simple question. Such a small courtesy. It felt like trust.
“Yes,” I said.
His fingers closed around mine, warm and steady, and my whole body exhaled like it had been waiting for permission.
We walked out of the kitchen together, hand in hand. Braxton’s grip tightened slightly.
I squeezed back.
For the first time in a long time, the day ahead didn't feel like a mountain I had to climb alone. It felt like something we could manage together.