Alissa pointed to the blondest, most princessy-looking one of all and kept chatting about her husband, their new house, her other child, their puppy, and all the things EJ had once despised as so small-town. Now she only felt a strange sense of envy, and she was glad when the tinkle of a bell from the kitchen meant Dad needed her again.
“Excuse me, I need to go. But I hope you enjoy your time here at The Silver Teapot.”
“Thanks, EJ. It’s been nice to see you again.”
She offered a smile that wasn’t completely artificial and made her way down the stairs. “Nice” was an overstatement, but it hadn’t been as terrible as she imagined.
She helped Dad plate up the hot sausage rolls and mini quiches for the ladies at the front table. Serving customers food and refreshing their teapots kept her busy until she finally got a chance to return to the kitchen and breathe.
“It’s exhausting.”
“It’s called real work, Emma-Jane.” Her father chuckled. “It’s not forever, either. It’s why we close at two on Saturdays.”
“I’ll need a cup of tea and a good lie down,” she joked again, quoting her mother’s favourite axiom.
Her phone buzzed, and she checked the message. Oh. She sighed. Only something from Katie.
“You expecting a call?”
She shrugged. “I sent a message to Jordan ages ago, but he hasn’t replied.”
“He might be asleep still, although from what I remember, he’s always been an early riser like you.” He moved the cooking trays to the commercial dishwasher. “You know, forget the messages. It’s not too far to Highbury Farm. You could go visit once you’re done here.”
Her heart prickled. Actually see Jordan? Texting felt safer, like she could maybe gauge how he was feeling after over ten days apart, ten days when he’d barely responded to her messages. Seeing him in person left no room to hide. No place to see how he was feeling and figure out how she should act after too many weeks of strain and awkwardness between them. Yes, she knew she had to apologise properly, to beg his forgiveness for turning into a greedy, self-focused monster and not being the friend he deserved. Oh, she was so far from the friend he deserved, while he’d been nothing but encouraging and supportive to her all these years. Emotion pricked, and she sniffed it away.
“Emma?”
Her chin wobbled. Then she shook her head, unable to speak.
“Emma, love, what is it?”
She swiped at her tears, but they insisted on coming.
Then her dad drew close and wrapped her in a hug. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
“But what if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?”
“Now don’t go catastrophising. That’s just a bit of burnout talking.”
She hugged him harder, feeling a deeper sense of connection with her father. He knew what he was talking about, having resigned from the police force a decade or two ago after a season of one too many death knocks he’d had to perform. Switching to a career that meant owning his love of baking had taken some guts, but he was so much happier than the man she remembered being stressed and gone all hours of the day when she was younger.
“I didn’t think I was burnt-out, but maybe I was.”
“We’re all only human, love. It’s why God wants us to rest.”
She’d been doing some of that this week, and it felt strange to have realised just how tired she was. Maybe that constant needfor approval and to be seen as a shining success had blinded her to other truths too. Like the fact her body and mind were tired.
“Now, if you want to leave, I can take care of things here.”
“No, I’ll do it. I’m okay.” She wiped her eyes. Checked in the mirror on the back of the door to make sure her mascara hadn’t smudged. Pushed her shoulders back. “I’ve got this.”
“And God has got you, okay?”
She nodded, his words an echo of what Jordan had said to her. She closed her eyes.Lord, thank You that You’re with me today.
She placed a hand on the container of sweet treats left over from the café as she bumped down the dirt drive to Highbury Farm. Dad’s white ute was the old-fashioned kind, a utility vehicle with a flat tray on the back like so many farmers around here used to use for all manner of tasks. Until city folk moved in with their fancy American-inspired “trucks” that seemed twice the size and didn’t fit into the parking spaces at the supermarket. Still, she bet those new vehicles came with better suspension than Dad’s far humbler chrome-free ute.
The brick pillars marked the start of the Knights’ driveway, and she turned in. The farmhouse chimney emitted smoke, which was understandable on a cold day like today.
