“You have to stop, or I’ll file a restraining order.”
A restraining order.
While she’d stood there, heart shattering into tiny pieces, head spinning from his sudden transformation—her loving and devoted fiancé had turned into this cold and unfeeling monster—he’d calmly threatened her with a restraining order.
Calmly threatened.
Those two words shouldn’t go together.
And yet, they did.
So, she’d gathered herself, lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, steadied her voice, all while her heart was still breaking, and had slipped the ring off her finger.
The metal against metal sound of the band hitting the stainless-steel table had stayed with her for a long time. Because there had been a finality in the noise, a final nail in the coffin of what she’d always understood deep down in some dark corner of her mind was going to come. Jackson would leave her.
She’d known that.
She just . . . hadn’t expected it to be on her wedding day.
Molly had left that tiny fluorescent-lit room and gone back to the apartment she shared with Jackson to find his things had been cleared out in the hour she’d been gone, a note scrawled in his handwriting left on the counter.
Lease paid up. Money in your bank account. Call this number when you need more.
415-555-6979
-J
She could admit now that was the moment she’d fully lost it. Her purse had hit the floor, dumping its contents everywhere. Her keys she’d launched across the room, leaving a huge dent in the wall. Her cell . . . well, she’d launched it hard enough to probably tear through the sheetrock and fly into the unit next door, but thankfully her aim was off, and it rebounded off the couch and dropped to the floor, ending up functional, albeit with a broken screen.
Functional but broken.
Yeah, look her up in the dictionary and that would be the perfect definition.
And after all of that, the being left at the altar, the panic and worry of the day, the unceremonious dumping, she’d been left with a wedding to dismantle, gifts to return, venders to pay . . . and been threatened with a restraining order.
Because that was Molly’s life.
In hindsight, she could see it was for the best.
She’d been on the precipice of giving up on Molly’s. It was too much work for too little reward, and she’d wanted to start a family. There was no reason she should be working the hours she’d been working when Jackson had the means to easily take care of them both.
In the end, Molly’s had been a godsend.
Because she hadn’t used the money he’d left in her account. Because she’d been too hurt and angry and upset to accept being bought off. And because it had given her the strength to transform from an insecure girl into a strong woman who knew her worth.
She’d packed her stuff that evening then moved it and herself out of the apartment the following morning, living in her office in the bakery until she could afford her own apartment, paid with her own money.
She’d become someone she could be proud off.
A capable businesswoman, a kind human being, a kickass baker.
Not a weak female who’d just roll over and be whatever Jackson wanted her to be.
And while she blamed him for leaving, for hurting her in such a dramatic and unnecessary way, part of her also felt grateful, because she was a different person today than she’d been four years before. Because she was a better, stronger person.
“Then why are you here hiding in the kitchen instead of dealing with the man?” she muttered to herself.
Because she might be stronger, but she wasn’t immune to all that was Jackson Davis.
The voice that made her stomach dip, the body she’d known so intimately, the memories of all the wonderful things they’d shared.
It filled her with so much longing.
Hence her hiding.
“Damn,” she muttered and sucked in a breath, knowing she needed to go out there and deal with him. The rush had died down, the cases needed to be refilled, she needed to give Jeanine her first break, and she needed to get this conversation over with Jackson—
The timer for her final pan of rolls dinged.
Thank the baking gods.
Couldn’t have that conversation right now. She had rolls to pull out, more pastries to bake, Jeanine to give a break, soup to get simmering. Jackson Davis would just have to wait.
Of course, what she didn’t take into account was that Jackson didn’t much like waiting.
Four
Jackson
He’d spent the last hours biding his time.
Well, biding his time along with putting a few things in place. The reason he’d called off his wedding four years ago hadn’t mysteriously disappeared, so he needed to put a few measures in place.
He hadn’t had the means then.
But he had them now.
What he needed to consider was if those means were worth the risk of what they might bring into Molly’s life.
His cell buzzed with a call, but the door Molly had disappeared behind after her employee had arrived swung open at the same moment, and he immediately forget about the phone, about his reasons for leaving, about his current means. Jackson could think of nothing except for how much he wanted Molly.
How much he’d missed her.
How much he’d missed out on.
The longing was sharp, a painful jab to his heart.
God, she was pretty and sweet and had once loved him like no one else had ever done so. Leaving her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, trailed a close second by staying away, by not contacting her to beg her for forgiveness. He’d kept discreet tabs on her, just to make sure she was safe, and those reports from his security combined with the risk he presented to her were what gave him the strength to not come back.
Until now.
Until the papers had been delivered, demanding he excise himself from the final hold he had on her life.
He couldn’t cut that tie.
And now that he’d seen her again, seen what she built . . . fuck, he was so incredibly proud of her, proud of what she’d built. Without him. On her own. She’d always been smart and capable, but she’d lacked confidence. Jackson hadn’t minded that, which probably made him an asshole.
But the woman in front of him wasn’t just sweet and warm. She was comfortable in her skin, filling the space with an air of competence.
This Molly was different than the woman he’d almost married.
She was more.
Because he’d left.
Which then bore the question of whether or not he should just leave again. If he came back, would he ruin that?
He watched her check the case then disappear back through the door. His cell buzzed again, but he still didn’t glance at it. She would come back and then—
She emerged with a large tray held in both arms, efficiently filling the rows of the case with a variety of pastries and sandwiches. After, she flipped a screen and turned the menu to reveal the lunch offerings then smiled at the petite brunette behind the counter who nodded, smiled back, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Jackson studied Molly’s even motions, the way she moved. He knew she did it without thinking—wiping down the countertops, the register, scanning then restocking napkins and silverware on the unit that held the supplies, before making a sweep of the dining room with a gray plastic tub and collecting leftover mugs and plates then cleaning off the tables and picking up small plastic placards with numbers on them. In less than ten minutes the space was clean and ready for lunch.