Jane did not look at him. “You can plan enough.”
Carly’s gaze came back to rest on Jane. “And the cake?”
Jane nodded once. “Three tiers in the refrigerator plus sugarplums. We will move it closer to service once the ceremony is almost complete.”
“Sugarplums?” Carly asked in surprise.
“The bride requested them. She felt the spices, nuts and fruit were a good flavor for a special dessert and they are festive for the season,” Jane replied.
“What an interesting idea. Sugarplums for a wedding dessert,” Carly observed. “Could I try one?”
“I do have some extras,” Jane said. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a plate, passing it around to us.
The sugarplum had a crunchy outside from the sugar, but tasted warm and steady, with clove, cinnamon, and something that reminded me of Christmas. I thought, absurdly, that it tasted the way Jane moved through the world in a quiet, grounded way that was far more memorable than anything trying too hard to impress.
Carly cut off a thin slice before trying it. “That is astoundingly good.”
James stepped closer to Carly, as if he wanted to keep her attention on him. “Jane is talented. She just needs exposure to the right environment. It’s too bad she left the city and my restaurant.”
Jane’s hands tightened around the cloth she was holding. She set it down carefully, then turned slightly, still facing her station but no longer pretending she could ignore him.
“I’m not looking for exposure,” she said.
James’s smile stayed in place. “Everyone says that until they get it.”
Jane’s voice stayed calm. “I’m looking for sustainability and peace of mind.”
The words landed in the room like a boundary.
Carly’s head tilted. “That is an interesting distinction.”
“It’s practical,” Jane replied.
James exhaled like he was amused, but there was an edge beneath it. “Practical does not sell.”
Jane did not raise her voice. “Dinner sells. Cakes sell. Guests leaving happy sells.”
Carly’s eyes flicked to me again, quick and thoughtful. I could almost see her asking a question without speaking it. Why would James Elman be looking at Jane Bennet like that? Why would he care?
I wanted to say something. I wanted to cut the conversation off. I wanted to pull Jane out of the line of fire the way I had pulled her out from under the mistletoe sticks. But this was not as simple as stepping between her and a laughing bridesmaid.
This was social. This was layered. If I snapped at James, he would laugh it off and call it passion. If I challenged Carly, she would smooth it into concern. Jane would be the one left standing in the middle of it, exposed.
So I stayed where I was and watched, mute and dumb, uncertain of what to do.
Carly’s attention returned to James. “I was curious about your holiday menu last year. When you developed it, did you personally test each variation?”
James’s expression did not change quickly, but I caught the hesitation.
“I oversee the process,” he said.
Carly smiled politely. “So you didn’t do the testing.”
James chuckled. “Testing is for the team. It is important work, but it is not where I am most valuable.”
Jane’s jaw tightened. “He has his staff make and test the recipes then passes it off as his own work.”
James’s smile turned thin. “Some people enjoy the messy part. Others prefer to lead. Everyone who signs up to work for me knows this.”
