Page 16 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

I focus on the family, taking their orders and chatting with the kids about their favorite treats. The distraction helps, even if only for a moment. But once they’re settled with their cookies and hot chocolates, my thoughts drift right back to Jack.

Trust him.

It sounds so simple, but it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure if the ground beneath me will hold. I’ve trusted before—trusted my ex, trusted that life would work out the way I wanted it to—and both times, I ended up with nothing but heartache. What if this time is no different?

“You’re doing it again,” Lisa says, snapping me out of my spiral as I refill the condiment bar.

“Doing what?”

“Overthinking. You’ve got that look on your face.”

“I can’t help it. How am I supposed to just not worry?”

“You don’t,” she says bluntly. “You worry. You freak out. You cry into your pillow at night if you need to. But you don’t let it control you.”

More customers come in and I don’t have time to worry about worrying. After the afternoon rush, the bakery case needs refilling again. Lisa has taken her lunch, leaving me to handle customers and stocking. I wipe my flour-dusted hands on my apron and crouch down to grab a lemon tart from the lower shelf. I put it in the box and wait for the customer to make his next selection. I don’t know why, but I’m exhausted. I feel like I’m running on empty.

“Gimme two of those and a coffee, would you?”

I force a smile and slide the danishes into the pink pastry box. The routine soothes me—fold the corners, tie the string, put a sticker with the bakery logo on it. Normal things. Simple things. Things that won’t exist in Jack’s world tomorrow.

“Jinnie?” My boss pokes her head out from the kitchen. “Could you snap some photos of the new donuts for Instagram before you leave? The lighting’s perfect right now.”

“Sure thing.”

I pull out my phone and arrange the donuts on our vintage cake stand, adjusting the napkins just so. I pour a cup of coffee and arrange the donuts next to it. For a few minutes, I lose myself in cropping and filtering, choosing the right caption. It’s easier to think about baked goods than about the fact this is the last night I’ll have with Jack.

I have an hour left in my shift. This week has felt like a blur. I’ve never had to force happiness. I like that I’m not fake. I like that I have always been able to be an honest person. But this last week I know I’ve been a fraud. I’ve been pretending to be happy for Jack. While I am happy, I’m also absolutely terrified. There’s that word. Terrified. Of being forgotten. Of being left behind. Of Jack meeting some gorgeous woman with connections and talent of her own. Of him realizing how small and insignificant I am compared to what’s waiting for him.

With the photos posted, I start the process of restocking the case. With the duties done for the day, I leave the bakery. I know Jack is waiting for me at my place. It’ll be our last night. I can’t keep that phrase out of my head.

Last night.

I walk to my car, twirling my keys around my finger while thinking about how our night would go.

“Jinnie! Jinnie Parker!”

I turn.

Liz Belfer is climbing out of a sleek black car, her designer sunglasses hiding half her face. She’s wearing a tight, short skirt and heels that look lethal.

I’ve heard all about Liz. Jack has made sure to tell me all about her and all the things she’s promising him. And I want to like her. I really do, but seeing her in the flesh again confirms my initial opinion of her.

I don’t like her.

“I was hoping I’d catch you,” Liz says.

“Were you waiting for me?” I ask. “How do you know where I work?”

“Jack told me.” She smiles. “He tells me everything.”

I grit my teeth. I know what she’s doing. “Good to know,” I reply calmly.

“Jack’s all packed. So eager. It’s adorable.”

My fingers tighten around my keys. “What do you want, Liz?”

She tsks, shaking her head. “Just wanted to tell you I hope you enjoy your last night with him.” A pause as she pulls down her sunglasses. “Because he’s never coming back to this stupid little town.”

The words land like a slap.

She steps closer, close enough that I can see the perfect blonde highlights in her hair, the diamond studs in her ears. “He’ll be mine now,” she murmurs. “And let’s be honest—no small-town baker is ever going to compete with that.”

My throat closes. The keys dig into my palm.

Liz smiles—a real one this time—and turns on her heel. I watch as she gets back in the car. I stand there, rooted to the pavement, watching the black sedan disappear around the corner.

She’s wrong. She has to be wrong.

But the doubt creeps in anyway, whispering that maybe she’s not. That Jack’s already slipping away, already trading our quiet nights for bright lights and Liz’s sharper smiles. Liz knew exactly what she was doing. She was staking her claim.

I fumble with the car door, my vision blurring. Should I tell him about Liz’s visit? Would he even believe me?