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Fallon’s eyes flick from my eyes to my lips. A breath slides from his mouth as his eyelids slide shut, and dread curls in the pit of my stomach.
“Fallon?”
“I’ll meet you at Four Cups. Okay?”
“You promise?” My voice sounds small.
“I promise.” Hands still on my cheeks, Fallon leans down to press his lips to mine. This kiss isn’t as hot as some of our others, but it makes my pulse thump. It feels…significant. When he pulls away, Fallon’s eyes are dark. “You deserve this, Jen.”
“So do you.” I tilt my head up for one last kiss, then let out a sigh and head for the door.
I’m nearly at the door when I hear Fallon say, “Hey.” I turn to see Fallon holding up my trophy. “You forgot this.”
Grinning, I reach for it, the metal cool against my skin. “Unfortunately, this baby will have to stay hidden for now, but you better believe it’s going on display as soon as the show airs. We need a photo with it to frame for Four Cups.”
Sadness flashes across Fallon’s eyes, but he quickly hides it. He smiles. “I’m sure Lottie got at least one useable one.”
Nodding, I squeeze his arm and linger. Something makes me hesitate. I don’t want to leave. But, not having an excuse to stay, I make him promise he’ll be at Four Cups soon, and I leave the guesthouse behind.
I take my car into town, parking down the street from Four Cups. When I exit the vehicle, I can already hear loud music and intermingling voices. There must be dozens of people at the café.
Strangely, the thought doesn’t fill me with fear like it used to. My steps are light as I make my way toward the café, and I find myself smiling when I enter. I’m no longer worried about all the people, the questions, the conversations.
They’re here for me, and there’s no pressure.
A cheer sounds when I walk through the door, splitting my face into a smile.
“Coming through!” Simone elbows her way through the crush to reach me, eyes twinkling. “VIP in the house!” She hooks her arm through mine and drags me deeper into the café. I say hellos to all my neighbors and friends on the way past, then let Simone drag me toward a wall, where a new shelf has been erected.
Simone thrusts her arm to the shelf, where there’s already a candid photo of me and Fallon in the kitchen from a couple of years ago. “Grant put the shelf up this morning,” Simone says with a wink. “We knew you’d come home with the trophy, and this is where it’s going to go.”
I smile. They put this shelf up before I’d even completed the challenge. Every single person in this room believed in me. My heart is so full it’s about to burst.
How could I have not realized that I had support all along? Why did I put so much pressure on myself? Why did I avoid affection and help from all these people that believe in me down to their core?
Beaming, I give Simone a hug, pulling away to see a shocked expression on her face.
“Who are you and what have you done with Jen?” She turns to Fiona, who walks up to us at that moment. “Jen just hugged me unprompted. I think she needs to get her head checked.”
“I’ll call 9-1-1,” Fiona answers, dead serious, reaching for her phone.
“Har-har, guys.” I roll my eyes, but crack a smile. I’m swept up in more conversations and congratulations, and I bask it in.
The only thing that could possibly make this moment better is if Fallon’s muscled arm was slung across my shoulders. I glance at the door, wondering when he’ll show up. He needs to be here to celebrate just as much as I do.
Instead of Fallon at the door, I see my mother and father walking in with none other than Bernard Franco. Bernard is deep in conversation with my mother, who looks oddly triumphant.
My father waves me over. “Jennifer,” he booms. “Come.”
Trundling over to them, I pick up a glass of champagne on the way and down it in one gulp. When I reach them, my father looks me up and down. “We were just discussing your performance with Mr. Franco.”
“Oh?” I give Bernard a tight smile.
“We’re so proud of you, Jennifer,” Mother says, her brown hair tied in a neat French twist. She looks every bit as refined and uptight as I remember her.
A memory pops into my head. I remember being young—a toddler—and running to the door when my mother got home from work. I’d been eating something chocolatey, and it was smeared all over my hands and face. When I gave my mother a hug and a kiss, she looked at the brown smears on her clothes and pulled away from me with disgust.
The nanny was fired that evening, and chocolate was banned from the house.
