We worked for a while, the motions simple, the conversation easy. It should have felt ordinary. Somehow it felt like a gift.
We finished the napkins and moved to prep forbreakfast trays. Braxton handed me a plate. Our fingers brushed. It was small. It still made my pulse jump.
“You are thinking very hard,” he observed.
I blinked. “Am I?”
He nodded. “You get this look. Like you are planning for an emergency that hasn’t happened yet.”
I huffed a laugh. “That is my natural state.”
Braxton leaned lightly against the counter, watching me with calm attention. “Did you always have to be the responsible one?”
The question caught me off guard, not because it was intrusive, but because it was accurate.
I set the plate down. “Yes.”
“Oldest,” he guessed.
“True,” I corrected. “I’m reliable and predictable. The one who keeps everyone fed and calm.”
Braxton’s gaze held mine. “That’s a lot for a kid.”
I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “It didn’t feel like a lot. It felt normal. My parents worked hard. Someone needed to… keep things steady.”
“And you chose baking,” he said.
“I didn’t choose it like some grand plan,” I admitted. “It just happened. I liked measuring things. I liked knowing that if you followed the steps, you got something good at the end. I liked that I could make something warm and sweet and people would calm down when they ate it.”
Braxton’s expression softened further. “So you learned to love people by feeding them.”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
He nodded slowly, as if that made sense of something in his mind. “That’s a good way to love.”
My chest tightened, warmth blooming behind my ribs at his easy acceptance.
Braxton’s voice stayed gentle. “What did you want when you were a kid?”
I hesitated. “To not disappoint anyone.”
His eyebrows lifted. “That is not a want. That is a burden.”
I let out a breath. “Fine. I wanted… a place that felt safe. A kitchen. A home. Something that was mine.”
“And now you have the inn,” he said.
“Yes,” I said softly. “Even when it is chaotic.”
Braxton smiled. “Especially when it is chaotic.”
We worked in silence for a moment, but it was an easy silence. Braxton and I finished the breakfast trays, and as we moved through the kitchen, the rhythm between us felt natural.
“I want to tell you something,”Braxton began.
My heart did that unhelpful thing again. “Okay.”
“I want you to know I am enjoying this part. The simple part. Being in the kitchen with you,” he added, voice a little quieter
