I told myself that was good and I ought to be happy we hadn’t ran into any real issues yet.
I leaned over the stove and adjusted the heat on the sauce, stirring slowly to make sure it didn’t burn. The scent rose warmand familiar, butter and herbs, the kind of smell that made people think someone was taking care of them. I liked that part. I liked feeding people. I liked knowing that even on days where everything felt too loud, I could still do one important thing well.
“Jane, do you want the second batch startednow or in ten?” Erin said, careful not to startle me.
“In ten,” I replied. “Let the first rest. I want it to be perfect before service.”
“Yes,” she said, and went back to her work with a quiet confidence.
Molly was at the prep counter, arranging garnishes in small, neat piles, ready for plating. She glanced up as I moved past.
“You want me to warm the plates yet,” she asked.
“Not yet,” I said. “Wait until Lucy gives the signal that the guests are seated. We do not want them cooling before they leave the pass.”
Molly nodded. “Got it.”
I made a note on the clipboard that I did not really need to make. It kept my hand busy. Busy was safer than thinking.
When I stepped aside to let a tray pass, I caught a glimpse of movement through the open doorway.
Braxton was crossing the hall, carrying a stack of folded chairs with Dex close behind him. His jaw looked set, like he was doing math in his head. His hair had gone slightly wild from the cold, and there was a faint dampness on the shoulders of his sweater from snow that had melted indoors.
He looked tired. He didn’t look in my direction.
I waited for him to glance up. He didn’t.
Something tight settled behind my ribs, heavy and steady, the way disappointment was when it didn’t come with a fight.
He kept walking, chairs balanced easily in his arms like they weighed nothing. Dex followed, speaking low. Braxton nodded once, the conversation already moving on without me.
When I looked again, he was gone.
I turned back to the prep table and straightened the corner of the list as if the paper had offended me. My hands wanted a task. My hands always needed a task when I was upset.
I wasn’t angry which surprised me.
Anger would have been easier. Anger would have given me something to push against. What I felt instead was quieter, heavier, and harder to name. Acceptance, perhaps. Resignation. The sense that something had shifted and was not going to shift back just because I wanted it to.
Carly’s voice returned with irritating clarity in my mind.Hosting dinners, not cooking them. Keeping a certain appearance. Being seen.
I could still hear the smooth certainty in her tone, the way she framed it like a kindness. As if warning me was the same as helping me. As if facts could not be used like pressure.
Braxton would go back to the city to his firm, to his responsibilities. This week was a pause, not a change.
My chest tightened. It only confirmed what I had felt deep down despite the hope that it could all be different.
I hadn’t asked him to stay. I hadn’t asked for anything beyond what was already happening between us. Quiet moments with shared looks. A hand at my back. A sense that when he chose a place to stand, he chose it beside me.
It had feltlike a beginning. Maybe that was my mistake.
“Jane,” Molly said softly. “Are we still doing the lemon garnish for the fish?”
“Yes,” I replied immediately. “Thin slices.”
Molly smiled faintly and returned to work.
The kitchen doors opened and closed as people moved through, carrying flowers and linens and small last-minute requests that came with weddings. The sound was constant. It should have been comforting. It usually was.
