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Chapter 3
Jasmine
Sprinkling mozzarella over the lasagna dish, Jasmine bobbed her head to the smooth music bleeding into the kitchen. She needed all the help she could get to stay focused while Zoey’s father was staying at her inn, and music was her lifeline. How was she supposed to tell a perfect stranger who didn’t even remember her, “Hey, by the way, you have a kid”? And what did it say about her, to not even have known the name of her daughter’s father? She shook her head. Shame blanketed her shoulders with leaden weight.
“You’re such a dirty whore. Just like your mother. A little slut like you is only good for one thing.”
Jasmine pinched her eyes closed tightly, fighting the vomit that crawled up her throat every time her stepfather’s voice poisoned her mind.
“Oh, here she is. Miss Evans?” A woman’s gentle voice pulled her from her dark memories.
Jasmine turned, plastering a fake smile on her face. “Yes? How can I help you?”
An older couple who had checked in the day before entered the open kitchen and dining area. Annie Hobbs was a bit eccentric by Shattered Cove standards with her silver hair, highlighted by streaks of blue and pink. She waved her hand, her dozen bracelets clanking together. Jasmine hadn’t yet seen the woman in a pair of shoes, but her long tunic-style dress in muted brown and indigo looked like one of the ensembles from the organic hemp clothing magazine that her friend Mia had in her yoga studio.
“Steve and I would like to find a place with local fare and wondered if you had any recommendations?” Annie asked.
“I wanted to take my girl somewhere special. We’re celebrating our anniversary tonight.” Steve smiled. He seemed to be the polar opposite of his wife, in dress pants and a button-up shirt. The grey hair on his half-bald head was neatly combed.
“There aren’t many fancy places around here; you’ll have to go into the city. I can get you the directions if you need—”
“Oh, no. We want to stay local.” Annie waved her hand.
“I have a list of all our local restaurants. The closest to fine dining would be the top two.” Jasmine wiped her hands on a towel before leading them out to the front desk. She rustled through her stacks of paperwork and pulled out the printed list she kept on hand for all her customers. “There you go.”
Steve took the paper. “Thank you.”
Annie spun around in a circle. “This place is just beautiful. Wouldn’t Ella and Maggie get a kick out of it?”
Steve nodded. “Yes, dear.”
“How long have you been married?” Jasmine asked.
“We’re not married,” Annie corrected her.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Can’t get this one to commit.” Steve smiled, looking at the woman next to him with nothing but pure adoration.
Annie laughed. “Steve has been my boyfriend for fifty years.”
“Wow.”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone. I like my space. Then, when we get together, it helps me enjoy our time that much more. That’s the secret to lasting this long.” She winked. “Don’t let the patriarchy tell you that you have to play by anyone’s rules but your own.”
Jasmine’s chest tightened. Play by my own rules. Yes, that was exactly what she’d do.
“Alright, dear. We’d better get going,” Steve said, wrapping an arm lovingly around her.
They walked towards the front door together, both of them leaning on the other as they exited the inn.
Beep.The oven was ready. Jasmine went back to the kitchen and opened the stove. Next, she plucked the lasagna from the counter and bent over to slide it into the hot oven. The hair on the back of her neck prickled with awareness. She turned her face towards the doorway.
Atlas leaned against the frame, his eyes darting from her backside to her face. Fire erupted in her finger. She jerked her hand away from the heat source. The casserole shattered on the floor.
“Motherfucker!” Jasmine slammed the oven closed and focused on her throbbing finger.
Warm hands enveloped hers as another kind of heat pulsed through her body. Every nerve ending hummed like she’d been electrocuted. Atlas winced. Could he feel it too? That hadn’t been there last time they’d touched. Maybe it was just the burn on her finger.
