In Your Dreams by Sarah Adams - 33

I’m running for my life—not in any particular direction, just running.

The nighttime humidity presses in, and James is right behind me, gaining ground every second. I need to outrun this feeling. These claws. This pain.

Tommy called Chef Davis. He knows everything. He never thought I should be the chef.

And James, he . . .

God, I can’t even think about it without wanting to hurl.

As he gets within arm’s reach, I zigzag through fireflies, pivot to the left, and take off again, repeating the cycle until my lungs burn and tears clog my vision. My legs are screaming, and it’s painfully clear James is in much better shape than I am and could do this all night. Damn him and Will and their morning runs.

So I finally give up and break.

Not expecting the sudden stop, he collides with my back. His arms wrap around me to steady us after the impact, but he doesn’t let go once I’m upright.

“Madison . . .” His voice is an apology. A plea.

I don’t relax into him. I can’t.

“Is what you said back there true?”

“Yes.”

My breath rushes out.

“You told me you wanted to modernize the farm.”

“Which is true.” He holds me tighter.

“But you left out the massive part about gambling your entire family farm on me!” I rip out of his arms now, and he lets me. “That Tommy—who does this for a living—told you to hire an experienced chef instead of me! I don’t even know what to think right now.”

I hate that I’m crying, especially after what Tommy just said about me being overly emotional. But I am who I am, and I can’t stop the tears.

He takes a breath.

“Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth. No more secrets. Let me clear everything up.”

My voice is weak when I ask, “Was there ever a restaurant in the works before I called you by accident that night?”

He’s quiet. Then, “No.”

My eyes shut against the word.

“Tommy had suggested it, and I told him no. I was planning to find a different way because I didn’t want a restaurant. I didn’t like the idea of tourism coming to the farm, or having to rely on Tommy’s help in any way.”

“So then I called and cried, and you offered me the job. What did you do when you hung up?”

He breathes deep and lets it out. “I called Tommy and told him I was in for the restaurant. That it needed to be built and launched in three and a half months. And also . . . that I already had a chef lined up.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “Why? Why the hell would you risk so much for me? Because I was so pitiful you felt sorry for me?”

“No. Pity never crossed my mind. It was only ever because I wanted to see you . . . happy. And selfishly, I wanted to be the one to make you happy.”

He put the well-being of this farm on the line to make me happy. The weight of that threatens to crumple me.

“Is it also true that Tommy sent you other chefs to consider instead? And you didn’t even talk to them?”

He nods. “It’s true.”

“That night, sitting on your porch stairs, I asked if you made the restaurant as a safety net for me and you said no! You gave me your word, James.”

He makes a face, and then I hear it before he even says it out loud. The loophole.

“I meant what I said that night, Madison. I didn’t make the restaurant because I thought you needed a safety net. What I didn’t tell you—but should have—is that I only moved forward with the restaurant because you were signing on to it. The risk wasn’t worth it to me with anyone else running the kitchen. But with you? I knew it would succeed. I thought I was protecting you from unnecessary pressure by keeping that from you, but—”

“But you were wrong. You should have told me, James! I needed to know how much was at stake for you. And more than that, Tommy is right. You have to stop shouldering everything to protect everyone else from discomfort. It’s going to hurt you in the end.”

His face twists into a grimace. “I know. I’m so sorry, Madison.”

“How bad are things financially? Give me the whole truth. No filters.”

He swallows and looks out into the night. “. . . Bad. The restaurant needs to be booked solid for the first six months to prove it’s sustainable.”

I’m hyperventilating now, arms clutching my stomach, hunching over to get air.

Restaurants need six months just to pick up steam! To book out solid like that—especially in a rural area—is almost unheard of.

I can’t do this. I’m not the person to make this happen.

“Hey, it’s okay! Everything is going to be okay,” he says, impassioned, bending to catch my eye, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

His attempts to soothe me only make it worse.

“No,” I weep. “It’s really not okay! Because I’ve also been lying to you! But mine wasn’t a kindness like yours.”

His hand stills for a beat, then resumes. “Okay . . . tell me what you lied about.”

“I shouldn’t . . . oh god, James, I shouldn’t have graduated culinary school.”

“What does that mean?” His voice is so soft compared to my frantic storm.

I tear away from him and pace forward, then back, digging my hands into my hair, desperate to claw out of my skin.

“It means that in usual Madison Walker fashion, the only reason I graduated is because I cleaned the lab after class for a semester. It was the extra credit that bumped my grade up just enough to pass. I didn’t deserve it!”

I’m yelling. I’m crying. I’m spinning out like a wildfire hit with strong wind.

“Chef Davis knew it. I knew it. My professors all knew it. And I was too ashamed to tell anyone that I had once again failed at something, so instead I let you hire me thinking I deserved to be here.” I clutch my chest like I could scoop out my shameful, aching heart.

When I look at him, I expect disgust. Hurt. Betrayal.

Instead, his face is impossibly soft, a crooked smile touching his mouth.

“Is that it?”

I shift on my feet. “What do you—Yes . . . that’s it. And it’s a big it ! You should be upset, James!”

“I’m not. I don’t care about any of that.”

I drop to my knees and scrape my hands over my face, groaning into them.

“I am not the person for this job. Why can’t you see that?!”

He follows me to the ground, kneeling in front of me.

“Because I do see you.” His voice is low and clear. “What you heard tonight changes nothing. Don’t let Tommy’s ignorance steal your strength. You are not overly emotional; you feel deeply. You are not a culinary school failure; you are a resilient woman who didn’t give up during the hardest of times. You’re not inexperienced; you’re just getting started. And shit, Madison, look at what you’ve accomplished already! The menu, the theme, the heart of the restaurant—it’s all so good. And I’m more convinced now than ever that you are the reason this restaurant will thrive. With anyone else, it would have been a risk. But with your heart in it? It’s going to be so good.”

His voice softens, cracking with emotion. “I’m begging you to believe in yourself.”

I want to. I want to grab on to the confidence I held a few hours ago. But I’m scared. I’ve never been the person people trust with anything, let alone everything. And it’s enough to make me wonder if James’s lie wasn’t actually a small mercy. Wrong, but still . . . a mercy. I never would have gotten this far if I’d known. I would have declined immediately.

But he’s right—I have overcome so much. Accomplished so much. I get in my own way too often.

And now that I know how much is riding on me, can I still lean on this new confidence and believe it’s enough?

“This is lunacy, James!” Desperation runs through my voice. “ Lunacy! You made an entire restaurant because of me! That is too much to do for one person’s happiness.”

But then a soul-curling smile spreads across James’s mouth and he cups my jaw.

“I don’t think you understand just how much I’d be willing to do to make you happy, Madison.” He thumbs away a tear. “When you called and gave me a chance that night, I decided that if having you as a friend was all I’d ever get, it would still be one of the greatest things to ever happen to me. Because, Madison, you are so”—his eyes drop to my mouth—“compelling. Wild. Inspiring. Adorable. I have wanted this—you—for a long time.”

A while.

Ruth’s secret in the kitchen rings in my ears.

“Yearning doesn’t skim the surface of it. For a decade, I’ve been dying inside, wanting you.”

I’m silent. Fresh, unshed tears pool in my eyes.

“You never asked me why Jeanine and I didn’t work out,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my cheek. “It’s because I was in love with someone else. Someone I’ve tried to shake from my heart for so long, because I never saw a chance she’d feel the same way. But it didn’t matter. She was all I could think about. All I wanted. And that’s when I realized—you were it for me, Madison. My heart was yours, even if yours was never mine.”

My breath catches. The wind around us stills. And suddenly every moment—every glance, every soft silence between us—rewrites itself.

I think about his quiet loyalty, the way he stood behind me in the kitchen, the way he believed in me when I was struggling to hold myself up.

I should still be mad. But I’m not. Because I understand him the same way he understands me. The way no one else ever has—or ever will.

Certainty presses against my chest.

“I love you too. Have my heart, James—it’s yours.”

He kisses me. So hard we’re knocked from our knees to the ground, but he catches me softly in his arms. Rolling me to my back and laying his body halfway over mine. I feel nothing but joy as his mouth presses into mine. Nothing but peace as his fingers curl into my hair.

Slowly, like a tide rolling into shore, I realize that James is mine. All mine.

I press my hand to his strong jaw, deepening the kiss, roughing it up. His body presses harder into mine. My heart pounds against his sternum. I let my hands glide up his arms, hot skin dotted with goosebumps.

I pull away just enough to see his eyes and the bright stars behind him. “Take me to bed, Cowboy.”

His grin tilts and he presses my hair away from my forehead. The tenderest, sweetest of gestures. “You do know I’m a farmer, right?”

“Shhhh.” I lean up and kiss him. “Show me those boots again.”