Her eyes started to drift shut as an image of Jack met her behind her closed eyelids. His smile, his strong arms, the way he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in his world. The image followed her into sleep, leading her into dreams of a future she was finally allowing herself to believe in.
JANE
Jane sat at the corner table of the café, checking her watch for the third time. Pamela was twentyminutes late.
“Fashionably late,” some people called it. But no matter what spin you put on it, late was late. Unless there was a very valid excuse, it was rude and disrespectful. Something her grandmother had taught her from a young age.
Just another reason Jane was grateful she’d been raised by Julie Christmas and not by Pamela Martin.
Jane tried to imagine what her life would have been like if Pamela had raised her. Actually, scratch that. If the nanny had raised her while Pamela paraded her around as an accessory whenever she thought having a daughter would boost her social status.
Jane shuddered at the thought. She would probably be just like Pamela. Shallow, manipulative, caring only about appearances and money.
“Jane, baby!” Pamela’s voice cut through her thoughts as the woman slid into the chair across from her, immediately snapping her fingers at a passing waiter. “These people are so slow here.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’m so glad I left this insignificant little town when I did.”
What a snob, Jane thought, about to voice her opinion when the waiter appeared with a big, friendly smile.
“How can I help you?” the young woman said cheerfully.
“You could have done that a few minutes ago by being here as soon as I sat down,” Pamela admonished her, looking down her nose at the waitress. “Bring me a flat-bottled water and ensure there are zero calories in it.”
Jane’s eyebrows rose along with her hackles. “Please,” she added quickly, smiling warmly at the waitress. “Pamela meant to add ‘please’ to the end of her order.”
The woman’s eyes shone with gratitude.
“You’ll have to forgive her,” Jane continued sweetly. “Big city types tend to forget how to act or mind their manners in the real world.”
The waitress bit her lip, clearly trying not to smile, as Pamela let out an indignant hiss.
“Could I please have one of the Christmas gingerbread lattes?” Jane asked before Pamela could speak. “And don’t spare any of the whipped cream or cinnamon.”
“Of course,” the waitress said gratefully, then fled before Pamela could say anything else.
“Jane, how can you put that poison into your body?” Pamela said with disgust. “Did that woman who raised you or your Neanderthal father teach you nothing about nutrition?”
“My grandmother and my perfect gentleman of a father taught me enough to know that water, unless flavored, is naturally calorie-free,” Jane stated calmly, watching Pamela flinch at the correction. “And I inherited my grandmother’s perfect metabolism that allows me to eat what I want and stay trim. Plus, I exercise regularly and eat a balanced diet. Just like I treat the people around me with respect and kindness, again thanks to the incredible family that raised me.”
The dig landed exactly asJane intended.
“Why do you have to be so hateful towards me?” Pamela asked, looking genuinely hurt and taken aback by Jane’s response. “I’m your mother. I’m trying to help you.”
“Are you really asking me about being hateful?” Jane looked at her in disbelief. “You treat people like they’re dirt beneath your shoe, like you’re above everyone else. Well, you’re not. In fact, you’re a horrible person. You cheated on your husband and abandoned your three-year-old daughter without a backward glance. Not even a birthday card or phone call in thirty years.” Jane leaned forward, her voice steady and firm. “Now, all of a sudden, you’re wanting to play concerned mommy, and just because you reached out, you’re expecting to be named mother of the year? Get real, Pamela. Drop the act and tell me what you’re really after.”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re being so passive-aggressive,” Pamela said, clutching her oversized Louis Vuitton purse tighter. The purse probably cost more than Jane made in a month. “I came here for you to sign some papers so that when Victor buys the inn for us, you get listed on the deed.”
Jane stared at her. There it was again. Pamela trying to get her to sign things.
“Okay,” Jane said calmly. “Let me have them and I’ll get my attorney to look them over.”
“What?” Pamela’s grip on her bag tightened visibly. “No. Absolutely not. Your attorney probably has ties to your father.”
“Or you just don’t want anyone to read what you’re really trying to get me to sign,” Jane stated, tired of the game. “I’ll tellyou again. I can’t sign the inn over to you. That would take all three signatures, and trust me, Gran and Dad are not going to sign anything you put in front of them without our attorney going over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“You don’t trust me?” Pamela looked flabbergasted.
“Nope,” Jane said honestly. “Not one little bit.”
Pamela’s eyes narrowed nastily. “It’s not me you shouldn’t trust. It’s your grandmother. And your father was probably in on it, too. They’re the ones who have been lying to you about why I really left.”
