I had met him only recently this December. Lucy had been in such a frantic state when she came into my kitchen. Her ex-boss Dexter Fitzwilliam had arrived and half the ceiling had fallen on him from Dad pulling down tiles to expose the mouldings underneath. She asked me to get refreshments while grabbing some ice in a towel to give to Dex to put on his head. When I went out to the reception room, balancing an old wooden tray with fresh coffee and warm pastries, I met Lucy.
“Could you take the coffee carafe?” I had asked her, white knuckled from holding onto the tray with the force of will to keep it together. “The tray is old and the handle is breaking. I am afraid I am going to dump everything all over the floor.”
Lucy slid the carafe out of my hands and stepped aside.
That was when I noticed the most handsome man I had ever met standing behind her. He was tall, had blond hair, his darkblue eyes were framed by glasses, and he wore business casual like he was a model.
He immediately came forward, relieving me of the old wooden tray.
“Please, allow me,” he offered in a pleasant voice as he set the tray on a side table. He straightened, looking at me, extending a hand. “I’m Braxton.”
“Blackberry and raspberry. The pastries are blackberry and raspberry. I’m Jane." I babbled, blushing and extricating my hand from his. “I’m needed in the kitchen.”
I fled down the hallway and I silently cursed the fact I was the shyest woman on earth.
The whole encounter had caught me off guard.
Men didn't usually do a gallant thing like taking a tray from me. They either ignored me entirely, or told me they wanted cream with their coffee. I was background noise to most men.
It was because while my mother might say I had a pretty face, I was short and plump. Men didn’t look at shy, plump women.
Braxton had simply helped, and given me his full attention, treating me like a person who deserved his attention.
He kept doing that.
Pulling out chairs. Carrying boxes. Asking if I needed an extra set of hands even when I didn't. He never assumed. Never took over. He just offered in a cheerful voice, and accepted my answer either way.
A gentleman, my grandmother Martha would have said.
The word felt old-fashioned, but the feeling was unmistakable. He was considerate, attentive, and careful with space that wasn’t his.
It made me aware of myself in ways I preferred to avoid. How I looked, whether my sweater pulled at the wrong places(my stomach) when I reached for something, or if I had flour on my face (a common occurrence of a baker).
Braxton didn't seem to notice any of that. Or if he did, he didn't treat it like something that needed fixing.
That was dangerous, I knew. It would be easy to mistake kindness for something else, and I had learned the cost of that once already.
I set a tray down and reached for the next one, deliberately grounding myself in the task of getting breakfast ready. The kitchen was solid beneath my feet. The counters were cool. The work was real and immediate.
This was our first Christmas at the inn. There would be plenty of time later to think about what that meant.
For now, it was enough to keep moving.
Mom swept into the kitchen with the energy of someone who had already been awake for hours. She reached for a mug out of the cupboard. “We should decorate the tree outside. I know we have lights on the eves of the house, but don’t you think it would be so much more festive with the big pine out front lit up as well?”
I nodded automatically. It was always easiest to agree with her.
“Christmas trees always feel festive,” Lydia said, drifting past the doorway with her phone already in hand. My youngest sister was addicted to her social media following. “That is usually how they work.”
Mom didn't even glance in her direction. Years of experience had taught her when engagement was optional.
Dad came into the kitchen quietly, grabbing a coffee, the newspaper tucked under one arm. He gave me a nod that was half greeting, half reassurance, the kind he had perfected over years of raising daughters who all needed different things from him. I felt myself steady at the sight of him, the way I always did.
I quickly began to serve them breakfast so that they could soon help to serve the guests. “Lydia, will you grab the salt and pepper?”
Lydia sighed but did as requested, bringing the items to the table.
Meri appeared next, paused just inside the kitchen, and took in the room with her usual careful attention. Without being asked, she went to the stove, grabbed a pan of hashbrowns and began serving them.
