Page 43 of Echoes of a Southern Song

Chapter Sixteen

Jinnie

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THE SECOND I CLOSE the door behind me, I already kind of wish I hadn’t. I look through the window and watch as Jack walks back into the woods toward the campsite. I feel like some lovesick idiot waiting for him to change his mind.

But he doesn’t.

I exhale through my nose, not exactly mad, just deflated. It’s late. I get it. I do. He probably thought he was doing the polite thing, the thoughtful thing. Not keeping me up. Letting me get rest before I have to get up in the morning.

Still. A part of me aches just a little as I kick off my shoes. I don’t even bother changing. I just collapse into bed, hoodie and all, face-first into the pillow. I long for him. I miss his body next to mine in my small bed. It isn’t just the sex, but I definitely do miss that. His comforting presence always made me feel like I was someone special. Safe. Like I had a true partner in this world.

I smile thinking about him as my body grows heavy and I drift off to sleep.

The alarm hits like a slap.

I groan, fumbling for my phone, knocking it off the nightstand. It hits the floor with a dull thud and keeps going—this relentless bird-chirping tone I thought would be “less annoying” when I set it. Lies. It’s all lies.

I finally kill the noise and squint at the time.

Four-fifteen.

No one should be awake this early unless they’re catching a plane to somewhere tropical.

I roll out of bed, still fully dressed, hair in a bun that now resembles a bird’s nest. A very angry bird determined to do some remodeling. I make my way to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and brush my teeth. I’m so glad I showered last night. There’s no way I would have the time or energy to do it now.

I put on my shoes. Max is still in bed. “I hate you,” I mutter.

I dump his food in his dish. “I hope you don’t have too hard of a day. I know how difficult it must be to get out of bed, eat, shit, and then nap for the rest of the day.”

I head out into the dark. As the end of summer nears, the days get shorter. Going to work in the dark sucks. It is so hard to get out of bed when it’s dark. Especially after only getting a few hours of sleep.

I unlock the door. Today is going to be a big coffee day. I start a pot and tie on my apron. With me doing managerial duties, I have Lisa coming in earlier than usual to help me with the baking while I handle the cash and such.

Lisa shows up right on time. She grins at me, bright-eyed and full of life like she didn’t wake up before the sun.

“I brought cinnamon coffee,” she says, waving a to-go tray like a peace offering.

I nearly cry.

“I love you,” I say.

“You’re welcome,” Lisa replies with a laugh, setting the tray on the counter. “Figured you’d need the extra boost today. You’ve been working your ass off.”

I grab one of the cups, inhaling the warm, spicy aroma. “You’re a lifesaver. I think I’m running on fumes at this point.”

Lisa unloads her bag, pulling out her apron and tying it around her waist. “How late did you stay last night?”

“Not too late,” I say, sipping the coffee. It’s perfect—hot but not scalding, with just the right amount of sweetness. “But I was up late listening to Jack play at his campsite.”

“Sounds romantic,” she teases, pulling out baking sheets and preheating the oven.

“It was,” I admit, smiling despite my exhaustion. “But now I’m paying for it.”

We get to work mixing doughs and prepping fillings. There’s music playing from the Bluetooth speaker in the corner—some upbeat playlist that makes the morning feel slightly less painful. By the time the croissants are in the oven and the muffins are rising, I’m elbow-deep in powdered sugar and have dumped at least ten pounds of flour on me and all over the floor. I’m clumsy. The exhaustion is kicking my ass.

The door opens for business at six sharp, and right on cue, the rush begins. People stream in like sugar-deprived zombies. Lisa and I work together, dosing them with sugar and strong espresso until they start acting like humans again. I’m working the register and social media simultaneously, snapping photos of the apple danishes before the tray empties out. The caption writes itself: Fresh, flaky, and sweet as your childhood crush. Come get one before I eat them all.