“You are thinking about Braxton,” she guessed.
“No,” I said too quickly.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her head to better look at me. “You absolutely are.”
I stared at the ceiling. “He said he is interested in someone.”
Lucy made a soft hmph like she had already solved this mystery hours ago. “He meant you.”
“He might not have,” I whispered. “He looked comfortable around the bridesmaids.”
“Jane,” she said gently. “No man looks comfortable being chased with mistletoe on sticks. You should have seen Dex before I arrived. His face was pure panic.”
I wanted to believe her. But I also remembered the blonde girl touching his sleeve, tilting her head in that pretty, confident way. Braxton hadn’t looked uncomfortable. Not the way I had felt when people flirted with him in front of me.
I sat up. “I’m getting dressed. It’s time to start the day anyway.”
“You are overthinking this,” she said into her pillow.
“I am thinking the correct amount,” I insisted. The cold hit when I stepped out from under the blankets. My breath came out in a faint cloud. I hurried into my sweater and boots. The morning air would be worse outside, but the kitchen would be warm. It always was.
“You are thinking theJane amount, which means analysing it from every angle and still not necessarily coming to the right conclusion.”
She was right, and I hated that she was right.
“He said he was interested in you,” Lucy insisted.
“We don’t know that,” I murmured, grabbing my coat.
“You’ll see that I’m right. I’m always right.” She ended the statement with a yawn.
“Except for the times where you’ve been wrong,” I remarked before heading out the door.
I crossed the courtyard. The sky was a pale silver and the snow on the ground sparkled like sugar. It should have been beautiful. It was beautiful. I was too distracted to appreciate it properly.
I entered the kitchen first and took a deep breath. It was warm and quiet. I started the coffee and set the ovens to preheat. The scent of coffee drifted through the air as the machines did their work. I set a mixing bowl on the counter and reached for the flour, trying to let the familiar movements settle my thoughts.
I had just cracked an egg into the bowl when someone stepped inside.
“Good morning, Janie,” James said, his tone oozing with sweetness.
My whole body went stiff. I turned slowly, forcing my face into something neutral. “Good morning.”.
He walked toward me with the same smooth confidence I remembered too well. His coat fit him perfectly. His hair was styled like he was about to walk onto a cooking show set. His smile was the one that had once made my stomach lift. It didn't lift now. It knotted.
“You are up early. Dedicated as always,” he observed.
“I need to prepbreakfast,” I replied in a neutral voice.
“You were always an early riser. I used to count on you to have things ready before the rest of the staff arrived.”
There was a time when that sentence would have felt like praise. Now it felt like a hook dragging across old memories.
He stepped closer. “I was thinking last night. Your pastries were lovely for the bachelorette party. Rustic but charming.”
“Thank you,” I said out of politeness. I didn't feel grateful.
“I have been considering my next cookbook. The idea came up yesterday when Braxton mentioned it. A dessert-focused book. Something nostalgic. Something with heart.” James laid a hand on his own heart in a dramatic fashion.
