“But then I saw her with James this morning, and everything I thought I understood shifted.” I shrugged unhappily.
Dex shook his head. “You must have misread the situation.”
“Maybe,” I said, though the word caught in my throat.
“You did. Jane doesn’t get that soft look for James. She gets it when you walk into a room. She looks for you and always is happy you’re nearby,” he insisted. “You say she didn’t push James away in the kitchen, but did she look happy? Was she pleased he was standing close to her?”
The sentence stunned me as I recalled the memory. “No. She didn’t look happy at all. I thought it was because I was interrupting them.”
“Maybe it was because she didn’t want to be near him at all,” Dex suggested.
I steadied another brace and drilled it in place. My hands felt steadier now, not because I was sure of anything, but because I finally understood how wrong my assumptions might have been.
William walked to another beam and tapped it lightly. “If you want to be one of her choices, you had better make sure she knows it.”
Dex nodded. “You can’t let James be the only one talking to her. He is loud enough to drown out anyone else if you let him.”
I let out a slow breath. “I don't want to rush her. Or overwhelm her.”
“Then don’t,” William said. “Start small and be steady. Show her she can trust you. Show her she has more than one path open to her.”
Dex grinned. “And stop assuming you lost before you even started.”
I picked up another board. The wood felt solid beneath my hands. Unlike the thoughts that had been twisting through my head since the morning. The cold air no longer felt sharp. It felt clarifying.
William inspected our work, then stepped back with a nod. “Good. That will hold.”
Dex gathered tools to put them away and I helped.
William placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let James make you think he’s won. Until Jane makes the choice, you have a chance.”
“Thank you,” I said.
We climbed the stairs, one after the other, until the warm light of the lobby reached us again. The sound of guests echoed faintly through the hall. Somewhere upstairs, pans clattered and Jane’s voice blended with Lucy’s. The scent of cinnamon drifted through the air, soft and warm.
I didn't know what Jane felt, or what she feared, or how deeply James had damaged her. But I knew that I cared for her. She deserved to feel safe and loved. And I wanted to be her choice.
Chapter Twelve: Cake
Jane
By early afternoon, I had learned two things. First, wedding guests could generate clutter faster than snow. Second, my mind could take one sentence and worry it into a frayed rope.
I am interested in someone.
Braxton had said it yesterday as easily as if he were telling someone the weather. He had said it while women waved mistletoe sticks at his face and Dex looked like he wanted to vanish into the wallpaper. It should have been funny. It was funny, for everyone except me because I still didn’t know who he meant. Had he been speaking about me? I hadn’t seen Braxton since he walked out of the kitchen after James had invaded my space.
I told myself it was fine. He was working. He had projects. Braxton didn't exist to hover around me while I tried to keep the Snowdrop Inn from collapsing under the weight of this wedding. He had no obligation to soften my feelings.
It still hurt.
I lined up cake layers on the stainless steel counter as if I could arrange my thoughts the same way. Four fillings were in small bowls with neat labels, vanilla, almond, lemon, and gingerbread. Frosting samples in piping bags with their tips capped like they were delicate instruments. My sketchbook sat open to a page of wedding cake designs I had drawn the night before, mostly while Lucy slept and the pool house heater made noises that sounded like it was planning its own escape.
Lucy wandered in carrying a notebook and a mug of coffee. She took one look at my counter and nodded approvingly. “You’re in full bakery general mode.”
“I’m inplease don’t ruin my life with surprisesmode,” I replied.
She leaned over the vanilla layer. “This smells good.”
