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At one point, Jen glances at the clock and gets this impish look on her face. Working quickly, she makes mini pies, which she bakes, unmolds, and uses as decorations on top of larger pies. It’s ridiculous, but it looks incredible.
I’ve been in love with Jen for so long it shouldn’t surprise me to feel this way. But as the timer counts down and I watch her work miracles, completely in her element, I wonder if I ever stood a chance against her.
From the moment I saw her stomping around the Four Cups Café with her kitchen scale tucked under her arm, I should have known I’d fall for her—and fall hard.
I need to go all-in.
Tonight, when we’re alone, I’ll tell her about my past. I’ll tell her I was in prison, that I’m an ex-con, that my own mother kicked me out when I was a teen, and even after all these years, I’m not sure she’d want to reconcile. I’ll tell her I got out of prison after three years, at age twenty-one, and started working in kitchens because it was the only job I could get. I’ll tell her that this year, I spent six months volunteering to teach incarcerated men how to cook so they might have opportunities when they get out. I did it in the hopes that if I faced my past, I could move on from it once and for all.
It didn’t work, but I tried.
I’ll lay it all out on the table. I’ll show her my tattoo, and I’ll tell her why she deserves so much better than me—but that I’m not ready to let her go.
Tonight, I’ll tell Jen that I’m desperately, hopelessly in love with her.
CHAPTER 23
Jen
As I stand before the judges, a sense of calm descends over me. Fallon’s steady presence warms my side, the sound of a knife slicing through crisp, flaky pie dough the only noise disturbing the silence in the room.
For the first time in my life, I feel completely, utterly satisfied. Today was a rush. Fallon and I worked perfectly together, entering a state of flow that I’ve only ever experienced on my own.
I’m…proud of myself. Truly. To my core.
Never have I ever done something that I’ve been utterly happy with. I’ve always nitpicked at my own work. This pastry is gummy. I slightly overbaked that cake. I could have balanced the sweetness in that recipe better. I shouldn’t have said that. Did I act weird when I met that person?
Why? Why have I done that to myself?
My hand slips into Fallon’s, and when he gives it a squeeze I know at some point over the last four weeks, I’ve changed.
Last year, when Fallon kissed me right before Amanda showed up in town, I felt starved for his lips on mine. I felt elated that he looked at me like a woman, a sexual being. And when it all fell apart, it was devastating. When Fallon left Heart’s Cove, it felt like he was leaving me. Like there was this void inside me that would never be filled.
Now, I still feel a gnawing need for him, but it’s not coming from a place of insecurity. I’m not clinging to him because he’s the first man to pay attention to me in years. I don’t feel like I need to choose between him and my career—between him and me.
I am enough. He doesn’t complete me; he centers me.
Whatever happens in the next hour—whether we win or not—doesn’t matter. I’m proud of myself either way.
A barrier collapses in my mind, and for the first time in my life, I allow myself to be happy. I allow myself to look beyond my own imperfections and just be.
I don’t need to be perfect to have the love of a good man. I don’t need to win this competition to be worthy of my own book, my own bakery, my own name.
“The pie dough is absolutely incredible,” Bernard says, his tongue darting out to catch a crumb on his lip. “Flaky and light, yet still holds its shape. Perfection.”
It’s not the first time Bernard has complimented me, but it’s the first time I’ve heard his compliment and accepted it. That pie dough is incredible, thankyouverymuch.
I smile. “Thank you.”
“And these mini pies? I mean, how cute.” Heather grins, slicing the palm-sized pie in half and shaking her head at the perfectly defined layers of custard and whipped cream. “Jen, Fallon, you’ve outdone yourselves.”
Fallon’s hand slips out of mine as he moves his arm around my shoulders. I glance up at him, grinning from ear-to-ear, feeling like my heart will beat right out of my chest. “You’re amazing, Jen,” he whispers. “I’m so damn proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me too,” I whisper back, loving the way his eyes crinkle, dark eyes twinkling.
I’m high on life, about to float right into the sky from how light I feel—
A door opens, and my parents walk into the barn. Reality brings me crashing right back down.
