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Jen is radiant, though. A change has come over her, and for the first time ever, I watch her seek out hugs from her friends. She’s beaming, surrounded by people, looking totally in her element.
A tap on the shoulder draws my attention to a small, reedy man in a black button-down. His weaselly face is pinched as he lifts his chin up to look down on me. “I suppose you think you deserve the win, hmm?” He’s got an accent I can’t place—French, maybe?
Frowning as his words sink in, I turn to face him fully. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve seen the way you bake. You’re no match for Jennifer.” He rolls the r, making her name sound like Genni-feuur.
Definitely French.
“Do I know you?”
He purses his lips. There’s something about him that makes my skin itch. A gleam in his eyes. The way he’s standing. I want to figure him out, but before I can ask anything else, a hand grips my elbow.
Jen appears at my side. “Fallon, Lottie wants a picture with— Oh! Guillaume!” Her brows jump at the sight of the man beside me. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to congratulate you, of course.” A smarmy smile tugs Guillaume’s lips. “The restaurant hasn’t been the same without you.”
Jen’s face melts into a smile. “No, I suppose it hasn’t—but I’m sure you manage! You should stop by Four Cups some time, see what I’ve been working on.” Jen turns to me, her arm hooking through mine. “Guillaume was my boss before we opened Four Cups. He gave me my start after I completed pastry school.”
“I could tell Jennifer was a raw talent,” Guillaume says, nose stuck in the air. “Ready to be honed.”
A chill skitters up my spine. The way this guy is staring at Jen makes me uneasy—but am I just being overprotective? Am I just worried about what happens once we come down from this high?
“Sorry, Guillaume, I’m going to have to steal Fallon. We need to report for photo duty. I’ll come find you later!”
“I look forward to it.” He gives her that smarmy smile again, and I can’t help putting an arm around Jen’s shoulders. I want her close to me if that guy’s going to stick around.
Jen doesn’t seem to notice. She’s still holding the trophy, talking to our fellow competitors, meeting their families, posing for pictures. When she’s dragged away by an adorable little girl who we learn is Carla’s granddaughter, I slink out the side door for some fresh air.
We won. We won.
Jen will be able to start her bakery or expand Four Cups, or do whatever that brilliant head of hers dreams up. I’ll stick around Heart’s Cove, because, really, what was I thinking? I could never stay away.
Tonight, when the party’s over, I’ll tell her about my past. I’ll confess my feelings, and I’ll hope she feels the same way.
Sucking in a long breath, I release it slowly. Things are looking up.
Not wanting to leave Jen alone for too long, I turn back to enter the barn, only to run into Jen’s father. I pull back to let him walk by, but he steps into my path.
“Fallon Richter, is it?” he asks, bright blue eyes on mine.
I clear my throat. “Yes. You’re Mr. Newbank.”
“Indeed. A word, please?” He gestures outside with a smooth, practiced movement, as if he’s used to being obeyed.
With one last glance at Jen, I nod to her father and follow him to the side of the barn. We walk a few paces, and I try to keep a straight face when we stop near the place where I had my first real taste of Jen, up against the side of this barn.
Mr. Newbank clears his throat. “You and Jennifer have gotten close.”
It’s not a question, so I say nothing.
Studying me, the man narrows his eyes. He glances out at the forest, eyes taking on a faraway look. Finally, after a long pause, he speaks. “Our Jennifer is special,” he starts.
“She is.” Understatement of the century.
“Her mother and I can be…protective.”
I frown. Protective? Judging by what Jen says, they call her twice a year and call it a day. Doesn’t exactly sound like a close familial relationship to me.
