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“Creepy.” Simone frowns, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m going to get Wes to kick him out.”
“You’re not actually going to France though… Are you?” Fiona stares at me.
I actually laugh. The last thing I want to do is go to France with someone who thinks we have a connection when the only thing we have is a contract to appear on the same television show. Bernard doesn’t actually know me. He just sees what he wants to see—same as my parents.
I’m the lump of clay they can mold into whatever they want. Never mind that I’m an actual human with thoughts and feelings and desires.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I finally say. I pause, slightly afraid to say the next words out loud. “I might take some time off, though.”
Candice’s brows arch. “Time off work? Time off baking?”
“I’ll train someone to take my place,” I put in quickly. “I won’t leave any of you in the lurch. I’ll find someone. The young woman who was supposed to compete with me, Mary-Ann, she said she needed a job.”
Candice flicks her wrist to wave the comment away. “I don’t care about that. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never taken a vacation. Always focused on success and career and growth.” She shakes her head. “I get exhausted just thinking about it. I’m fully supportive of time off. You should take a month off. Two months! Six!”
I blink. “You wouldn’t be mad?” I look at each of them in turn.
Fiona just frowns.
“Mad? At you? For taking a vacation?” Simone snorts. “I’ll be mad if you don’t take a vacation. Then I won’t have to worry about you going into manic baking frenzies at three o’clock in the morning.”
“You’ve been worried about me?” I stare at Simone.
“Oh, Jen.” Fiona squeezes my arm. “Obviously we worry about you. We love you.”
Tears well in my eyes, and for the second time today, I realize people love me—unconditionally. These three women don’t care about me because I’m the resident baker. They don’t care about me because I’m a business partner, or because I can go work in their fancy restaurant and become their talented arm candy.
They care about me because I’m me.
“I need to go find Fallon,” I blurt. I need to tell him how I feel, and how much he means to me.
“Go.” Candice waves me off. “We’ll hold down the fort.”
I turn to leave, then pause. “Dorothy’s drinking whiskey. Don’t let her near anything flammable.”
Fiona immediately starts for the door, and Simone cackles, hot on her heels.
“Good luck,” Candice says, and the three of them disappear into the café.
I make it back to the farmhouse in record time, and exhale when I see Fallon’s black Jeep parked in the lot. He’s still here. Falling out of the car, I hurry down the beaten dirt path to the little guesthouse that’s been my home for the past month.
I’ve learned a lot about myself during this competition—and none of it had to do with my baking skills. I’ve learned that my drive to achieve success might have stemmed from a place of insecurity. I’ve always wanted to prove that I was worthy. If I was successful in my career, maybe I’d deserve love and affection. All those years when I was a child, wanting to get good grades so my parents would give me attention and affection—those feelings never went away. I’ve been carrying baggage around for decades without realizing it.
Until Fallon.
He showed me what it meant to be supported. He stood by my side, a quiet, strong presence that was always there to ground me.
I can’t let him leave again. Not when I feel like I’ll burst if I don’t touch him, kiss him, love him.
When I step inside the guesthouse, Fallon is zipping up the last of his bags—like he’s about to leave. I freeze, not wanting to understand, not wanting to believe what I’m seeing.
“Fallon?”
He straightens up, turning ever so slowly to face me. “Jen. I thought you were at the party.”
“I was. I came looking for you.”
He snorts. “Why’s that? I thought you’d moved on to better things.”
