3. Sophie
Sophie Lane discovered three things about Jace Wilder during dinner.
One, the man could cook.
Two, the man considered chili, cornbread, and black coffee a “simple meal,” which suggested he had never attended a bridal tasting where four adults debated the emotional implications of asparagus.
Three, Jace Wilder listened like it was a physical skill.
Not the way Preston listened, with half his attention already rearranging her words into something more convenient to suit him.
Not the way her mother listened, searching for the part where Sophie could be corrected.
Jace listened quietly, fully, with his forearms braced on the kitchen island and his dark eyes steady on her face.
It was unsettling.
Also attractive.
Very inconvenient.
Sophie took another bite of chili and tried not to make an embarrassing sound.
“This is unfairly good.”
Jace sat across from her, broad shoulders relaxed, dark hair slightly damp from melted snow.
“It’s chili.”
“Yes, but it’s good chili. There’s a difference.”
“Not much.”
“Said like a man who has never eaten hotel ballroom chicken at a wedding rehearsal dinner.”
His mouth almost moved.
She caught it.
“I saw that.”
“Saw what?”
“The almost-smile.”
“You keep inventing those.”
“I have excellent observational skills.”
“You drove into a snowbank.”
“That was not an observational failure. That was a weather-related betrayal.”
“By the road?”
“By physics.”
“Hard to argue with physics.”
“Exactly. Very powerful enemy.”
This time, the almost-smile lasted long enough to qualify as evidence.
Sophie pointed her spoon at him.
“There. That one counts.”
Jace shook his head and took a bite of chili.
The cabin felt warmer now, though Sophie suspected that had less to do with the fire and more to do with the fact that she was sitting in a mountain man’s kitchen wearing his flannel while her wedding dress slowly dried in his bathroom like a disgraced ghost.
Her bouquet sat in a mason jar by the window.
He had actually saved it.
The sight kept tugging at something inside her.
She looked away before she did something ridiculous, like cry over flowers.
Too late.
Jace noticed.
Of course he did.
“You okay?”
Sophie let out a soft laugh.
“That question is becoming complicated.”
“Try simple.”
“Simple?” She looked down at her bowl. “I’m warm. I’m fed. I’m not currently being photographed fleeing a religious institution.”
“Good start.”
“And I’m wondering if my mother has already told Aunt Diane, because Aunt Diane has a prayer group and a Facebook account, which is a lethal combination.”
Jace leaned back slightly.
“Aunt Diane sounds like trouble.”
“Aunt Diane once commented ‘interesting choice’ on a photo of my haircut. She’s not trouble. She’s warfare.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
Sophie smiled, then sighed.
“Sorry. I joke when I’m uncomfortable.”
“I noticed.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
She stirred her chili even though she had already eaten most of it.
Silence settled between them, but it was not awkward.
That made it harder.
Awkward silence could be filled. This kind invited truth.
Sophie glanced at him.
“You’re not going to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“Why I ran.”
“You’ll tell me if you want to.”
She stared at him.
“That’s very mature.”
“Don’t sound so suspicious.”
“I’m not used to men waiting for me to decide something.”
Jace’s expression changed subtly.
Not pity.
She would have hated pity.
Recognition, maybe.
Or anger on her behalf.
He set his spoon down.
“That happen a lot?”
Sophie looked toward the window, where snow moved like white static against the dark glass.
“With Preston, yes.”
The name sat in the room like something cold.
Jace said nothing.
Sophie took a breath.
“He wasn’t awful in a dramatic way. That would have been easier, honestly. If he’d been cruel, or shouted, or cheated, I could have pointed to something and said, there, see? That’s why I left.”
“But?”
“But he was reasonable.” She laughed without humor. “Reasonable is very hard to argue with.”
Jace’s gaze stayed steady.
“He helped me improve things.”
“Improve?”
“My wardrobe. My apartment. My career plan. My friends. My opinions in public.”
Jace’s jaw tightened.
Sophie noticed and felt a strange little rush of comfort.
“He never said it like that,” she added. “It was always smoother. ‘That dress is nice, but the blue one makes you look more refined.’ ‘Maybe don’t tell that story at dinner; it runs a little long.’ ‘Freelance design work is unstable, Sophie. You’ll feel better once you have structure.’”
The old embarrassment crept in.
She hated that it still could.
“I started becoming smaller around him and calling it compromise.”
Jace’s voice was low. “That why you ran?”
Sophie nodded slowly.
“At the church, I looked at him and realized he wasn’t excited to marry me. He was satisfied. Like I was finally becoming the version of myself he had been editing toward.”
The words landed harder outside her own head.
She pressed her lips together.
Jace stood without a word, crossed to the stove, and ladled more chili into her bowl.
She blinked.
“I was in the middle of an emotional revelation.”
“You stopped eating.”
“That is your response?”
“You need both.”
She stared at the bowl, then at him.
“You are an oddly practical comforter.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By whom?”
“No one recently.”
The answer came too flat.
Too quiet.
Sophie’s attention sharpened.
There was a story there.
But Jace had waited for her.
So she waited for him.
He sat again, and for a moment the only sounds were the fire and the soft tap of snow against the windows.
Finally, he said, “My mother used to say some people love you like they’re planting a garden, and some love you like they’re pruning one.”
Sophie’s throat tightened.
“She sounds smart.”
“She was.”
Was.
The word was small, but grief lived in it.
Sophie softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Jace nodded once.
Not dismissing sympathy.
Accepting it quietly.
“She would have liked you,” he said.
The words struck her in the chest with surprising force.
Sophie tried to smile.
“Even with the two runaway weddings?”
“Especially with those.”
A laugh escaped her, shaky and warm.
“That is a very generous imaginary endorsement.”
“She liked women with backbone.”
Sophie looked down.
“I don’t know if running counts as backbone.”
“It does if staying would’ve cost you yourself.”
Her eyes stung again.
Jace Wilder was becoming a serious threat to her ability to maintain emotional distance.
Which was absurd.
She had known him for a few hours.
Hours that had included a snowbank, a shoe tragedy, and an excessive amount of satin.
Still.
He looked at her like she made perfect sense.
Not like a problem to fix.
Not like a family embarrassment to manage.
Like a woman who had made a difficult choice and deserved soup.
Fine, chili.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Both of them looked at it.
Sophie had forgotten about it for almost ten whole minutes, which was possibly a personal growth milestone.
The screen lit up.
BECCA.
Her maid of honor.
Sophie’s stomach twisted.
Then a text appeared.
Becca: Are you alive? Text one emoji if yes. Two emojis if you need help. Three emojis if Preston has been eaten by wolves.
Sophie burst out laughing.
Jace lifted a brow.
“Good news?”
“My maid of honor is checking whether anyone has been eaten by wolves.”
“Has anyone?”
“Not yet.”
“Then answer.”
Sophie hesitated.
The phone buzzed again.
Becca: Also I want my duck boot back eventually. No rush. Emotional crisis takes priority over everything else.
Sophie smiled so hard it hurt.
She picked up the phone and typed.
Sophie: Alive. Safe. Duck boot also safe. No wolves.
A response came instantly.
Becca: THANK GOD. Your mother is vibrating. Preston is using his calm voice, which is worse than yelling. I told everyone you needed air.
Sophie’s eyes blurred.
She typed slowly.
Sophie: I needed more than air.
Becca: I know. Call when ready. Don’t come back unless YOU want to.
Sophie stared at the message.
Her best friend understood.
Maybe not all of it.
But enough.
Jace watched her quietly.
“Someone on your side?”
She nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat.
“My friend Becca. Owner of the duck boots.”
“Seems sensible.”
“She would be thrilled by that review.”
Sophie set the phone down, but before she could move her hand away, it buzzed again.
Preston.
The name filled the screen.
The warmth in her chest vanished.
Jace’s gaze shifted to the phone.
Sophie did not pick it up.
The call ended.
Then a voicemail notification appeared.
Sophie stared at it for several seconds.
“I should listen.”
Jace didn’t speak.
Which somehow made it easier to press play.
Preston’s voice filled the kitchen.
Controlled.
Smooth.
Cold at the edges.
“Sophie, this has gone far enough. I understand you’re emotional, but you’ve humiliated both our families.
You need to call me immediately so we can decide how to handle the explanation.
If you’re worried about the marriage, we can discuss that privately, but this public display is unacceptable. Come back tonight. We’ll fix this.”
The message ended.
The cabin seemed to go silent around it.
Sophie stared at the phone.
There it was.
Not, Are you safe?
Not, I love you.
Not even, Why did you run?
Just humiliation. Explanation. Public display. Fix this.
She closed her eyes.
Jace’s voice was dangerously calm.
“He always address you like a misbehaving employee?”
A laugh broke out of her, startling and wet.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“That’s exactly it.”
His jaw was hard now.
She should probably have been alarmed by how angry he looked.
Instead, she felt protected.
Which was dangerously in a completely different way.
“I think part of me expected him to sound heartbroken,” she whispered.
Jace’s gaze softened.
“Sorry.”
“No. It’s good.” She wiped beneath her eye. “It’s awful, but it’s clarifying.”
“He doesn’t get to decide what you do next.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked up at him.
The question should have annoyed her.
It didn’t.
Because he wasn’t challenging her like Preston did, always searching for a weak point.
He was asking whether she believed herself yet.