Chapter Twenty-Three The Space I Made
Braxton
By the time I came back inside, my hands were numb and my shoulders ached in the slow, insistent way that only cold work could manage. My jacket smelled like damp wool, and there was snow clinging to the cuffs no matter how many times I brushed at it.
Dex had insisted we finish the far edge of the parking lot properly.
Not just clear enough for cars to pass, but wide enough that guests would not have to step into slush in dress shoes.
William had agreed, pointing out the places where snow always drifted back in, no matter how often it was cleared. He had been right, as usual.
We had worked without much conversation. Shovels scraping and breath fogging the air. The steady, unglamorous work of making something functional.
It was easier than thinking.
When I pushed through the side entrance and stamped my boots on the mat, the inn felt different than it had an hour ago.
Warmer, yes. Louder, definitely. The wedding had crossed some invisible threshold while I was outside.
There were more voices now. More footsteps.
More people moving with purpose instead of preparation.
People were arriving to the inn, ready for the joyous occasion.
I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, then paused.
Jane was visible from where I stood.
She was near the edge of the kitchen, clipboard tucked against her arm, speaking quietly to Erin. Her posture was straight and composed. She looked exactly like someone who had everything under control.
She glanced up, saw me, and gave me a polite nod.
Just a nod.
No smile. No softening. No look that said thank you for coming back or I am glad you are here.
The absence of those things landed harder than any sharp word could have.
I waited, stupidly, for her to walk over. Or for Erin to move away so I could step closer. Neither happened. Erin agreed with whatever Jane had said then turned back to the stove while Jane moved on to Molly, pointing at the prep list and adjusting timing.
She did not look back at me.
The realization settled slowly and then all at once, like cold water soaking through layers.
She was upset with me.
Not distracted. Not overwhelmed. Upset.
And I deserved it.
I leaned against the doorframe and watched for a moment longer, replaying the morning in my head with a clarity that bordered on cruelty.
Inviting Carly had been my idea. I had framed it as strategy, even to myself. James would latch onto her. Carly liked attention, James needed it. They would orbit each other, and Jane would be free to work without being cornered.
I had thought I was being clever. I didn’t ask Jane if that was what she wanted or if she thought the idea would work. I had simply acted on my own to my folly.
I had put two people who excelled at pressure in the same room with her, the woman who didn’t like confrontation or pressure.
I had underestimated Carly’s inquisitive nature and her ability to always think she knew what was best for the people around her.
I had underestimated James’ willingness to use any opening to his advantage to pressure Jane into doing what he wanted.
And I had wildly overestimated my ability to manage either of them once they were set loose.
Jane had trusted me. Not with a speech or a promise, but with something quieter. She had let me stand beside her and had believed, reasonably, that I would not make things worse.
And then I had walked out of the kitchen.
The excuse had been real. The snow did need to be moved to make the lot clear and the other members of the family had been setting up for the wedding, making sure things were as perfect as possible for the bride and groom.
The timing had been disastrous.
Jane had been standing there alone with them when I stepped into the snow. What had they said or done in my absence?
I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself to breathe.
Of course she’s angry.
I straightened, intending to cross the kitchen immediately. To apologize and explain. To tell her I had tried to help and failed. Own my mistake outright.
Before I could take more than two steps, Lucy appeared at my elbow.
“Braxton,” she said quietly. “Do you have a second?”
I looked down at her. She was calm, but her eyes were sharp in the way they got when she was managing multiple crises at once.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“The bride has decided to take James’ suggestion of curving the chairs in a sort of half circle rather than leaving them in sensible straight rows. It’s all hands on deck to get it done because people are arriving as we speak,” Lucy murmured with frustration.
I huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances.
I glanced back at Jane again. She was still focused on the clipboard, speaking to Molly now, her voice low and even. She didn’t look in my direction.
“I don’t know what’s going on right now between you two,” Lucy added gently, reading my hesitation. “Just… give her a minute.”
A minute. Or an hour. Or until the wedding was over.
I nodded, even though it felt like agreeing to a step back that I didn’t want to take. “Okay.”
Lucy squeezed my arm once and disappeared down the hall.
I stayed where I was a few seconds longer, hoping Jane would look up again. She didn’t.
The message felt clear.
Not now.
So I turned away and followed Lucy, my steps heavier than they had been when I came in from the cold.
The rest of the afternoon blurred into a series of necessary tasks and half-conversations.
Chairs were moved, then moved again. Programs were misplaced and found in time to hand out to guests.
The runner had been removed when moving the chairs so it was placed back down again for the entrance of the wedding party.
I lifted, carried, adjusted, and made myself useful in ways that did not require speaking to Jane. My soul grew heavier for it.
Every so often, I caught sight of Carly moving easily through the space. She spoke to people she had just met as if she had known them for years. She complimented the inn without sounding patronizing. She laughed at the right moments. She never once looked uncertain.
This was her world. Social navigation and effortless presentation.
She glanced over, catching my eye. A flash of guilt crossed her face before her expression became reverted back to her usual calm. I closed my eyes for a moment in pain.
I wondered if she knew what she had done. Or if she genuinely believed she had helped.
Carly often thought she was helpful and helping when she wasn’t.
She interfered with little remorse because she generally was right and she genuinely cared.
The problem was she had meddled into something fragile and new.
Something I desperately wanted and this time, I wasn’t sure if I could forgive her if my chance with Jane shattered before we could really try.
The thought sat uneasily in my chest.
Dex caught up to me near the back hallway, holding a folded schedule.
“Client called,” he said quietly. “Nothing urgent. Just reminding us the proposal deadline in a couple of days is still firm.”
I nodded. “Figures.”
He studied me for a second. “You look like someone who knows he messed up.”
A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “Is it that obvious?”
“With Jane,” he guessed, tilting his head to the side and studying me.
“Yes.”
Dex leaned against the wall beside me. He didn’t rush the conversation or even ask for details. Dex was a solution orientated person. “You're going to talk to her.”
“After the wedding,” I said. The words came out more certain than I felt. “She doesn’t need another complication at the moment.”
“That is probably true,” Dex said. “She is carrying a lot.”
“I added to it,” I admitted.
Dex clapped my shoulder once. “Then you apologize. Clearly. Without explaining it away.”
I nodded. “That’s the plan.”
It sounded solid when I said it out loud.
Apologize. Own it. Fix what I could. Let her be angry if she needed to be.
After the wedding.
I clung to that timeline like a promise.
Every time I saw Jane after that, she was surrounded.
Helen hindering her in the kitchen. Kitty hovering, making sure Jane stuck to the schedule which was entirely unnecessary.
Jane was the master of her kitchen and everything came out perfect.
Lucy passing updates from the bride and groom.
There was never a clean opening that didn’t feel like interruption.
And she didn’t make one for me.
That was the part that hurt most.
She was busy. I understood that. However, she didn’t seek me out.
I caught her eye once across the room as I helped to serve de. She looked at me, then looked away, returning her attention to the person beside her without pause.
She’s angry, I reminded myself.
And she has every right to be.
I didn’t push. I wouldn’t corner her the way James cornered people when he wanted something. I waited, because waiting felt like the least selfish option left to me.
So I volunteered for any assignment the Bennets would give me, making myself useful to pass the time.
As the afternoon slid toward evening, the inn settled into that strange suspended moment before a major event. Everything was nearly ready, but nothing was finished. The air felt tight with anticipation.
I found myself standing near the dining room floorboard where William and Helen had once hidden their time capsule. I had only learned about it days ago, when William mentioned it casually while we were fixing a draft along the baseboard.
“Forty years,” he had said. “We figured if we were still standing together after that, whatever was inside would feel like a gift.”
The idea had lodged in my mind and refused to leave.
Forty years.
Not a pause. Not a break. A life.
I looked toward the kitchen again, where Jane was laughing softly at something Molly said as they came out to the hallway to have a quick peek at the wedding as it was about to start. The sound reached me faintly over the noise of the room.
She laughed easily with them. Comfortably. Like someone exactly where she belonged.
I wondered if she would ever laugh like that with me again.
I told myself yes. After the wedding. After I apologized. After things calmed down.
That was the plan.
I just hoped I had not already done damage I could not undo.