She was near the edge of the kitchen, clipboard tucked against her arm, speaking quietly to Erin. Her posture was straight and composed. She looked exactly like someone who had everything under control.
She glanced up, saw me, and gave me a polite nod.
Just a nod.
No smile. No softening. No look that said thank you for coming back or I am glad you are here.
The absence of those things landed harder than any sharp word could have.
I waited, stupidly, for her to walk over. Or for Erin to move away so I could step closer. Neither happened. Erin agreed with whatever Jane had said then turned back to the stove while Jane moved on to Molly, pointing at the prep list and adjusting timing.
She did not look back at me.
The realization settled slowly and then all at once, like cold water soaking through layers.
She was upset with me.
Not distracted. Not overwhelmed. Upset.
And I deserved it.
I leaned against the doorframe and watched for a moment longer, replaying the morning in my head with a clarity that bordered on cruelty.
Inviting Carly had been my idea. I had framed it as strategy, even to myself. James would latch onto her. Carly liked attention, James needed it. They would orbit each other, and Jane would be free to work without being cornered.
I had thought I was being clever. I didn’t ask Jane if that was what she wanted or if she thought the idea would work. I had simply acted on my own to my folly.
I had put two people who excelled at pressure in the same room with her, the woman who didn’t like confrontation or pressure.
I had underestimated Carly’s inquisitive nature and her ability to always think she knew what was best for the people around her. I had underestimated James’ willingness to use any opening to his advantage to pressure Jane into doing what he wanted. And I had wildly overestimated my ability to manage either of them once they were set loose.
Jane had trusted me. Not with a speech or a promise, but with something quieter. She had let me stand beside her and had believed, reasonably, that I would not make things worse.
And then I had walkedout of the kitchen.
The excuse had been real. The snow did need to be moved to make the lot clear and the other members of the family had been setting up for the wedding, making sure things were as perfect as possible for the bride and groom.
The timing had been disastrous.
Jane had been standing there alone with them when I stepped into the snow. What had they said or done in my absence?
I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself to breathe.
Of course she’s angry.
I straightened, intending to cross the kitchen immediately. To apologize and explain. To tell her I had tried to help and failed. Own my mistake outright.
Before I could take more than two steps, Lucy appeared at my elbow.
“Braxton,” she said quietly. “Do you have a second?”
I looked down at her. She was calm, but her eyes were sharp in the way they got when she was managing multiple crises at once.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“The bride has decided to take James’ suggestion of curving the chairs in a sort of half circle rather than leaving them in sensible straight rows. It’s all hands on deck to get it done because people are arriving as we speak,” Lucy murmured with frustration.
I huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances.
