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“Old-fashioned” was how people often described Jada. They saw a ready smile, pleasant conversation, and interest in their lives as a sign that she lived out of sync with modern times, a relic of a girl who should be placing pies in window sills before changing the baby and waiting for her husband to come home.
“Professional” was how Jada described herself. She had spent her entire life in her parent’s bakery. When food is involved, especially special occasion food, everyone wants to talk.
“The muffins are for a friend who just had twins.”
“I need two dozen cookies for my book club.”
“We need a cake to feed five hundred, but it can’t be just any cake. We’re getting married. It needs to be special.”
She spent years nodding and smiling at the register, making small talk and change. These people were friendly because they had happy occasions in their lives, not because they had any interest in her. They were not her friends. They would not be inviting her to their parties.
The truth was Jada, life-long work-a-holic, considered few people friends, and most of them were all back home in San Francisco. However, people were often confused by her professional demeanor.
“You’re my best friend!” her freshman roommate had drunkenly cried in the toilet after Jada had fetched her some saltines. “No one cares about me like you,” said her lab partner she’d never seen outside of class. “I can tell you more about myself over drinks,” said many, many men.
Her first meeting with Sam Winchester – at the time sporting a wrist brace and finger cast – put him firmly in the professional distance category. Her neighbors seemed simple enough. She could ply him and his surly handyman brother with sweets to keep them in line.
But she’d been wrong about men before. Tall, slim, and with her exaggerated doll features, Jada was pretty. The demanding way men often pursued her – a pretty thing for their collection – put her off. At first, she enjoyed how Tyler didn’t chase her. Didn’t fawn. He was even romantic, giving her roses before each date. Two years of the same bouquet before going to one of the same three restaurants before heading back home for the same sex. Roses weren’t even close to her favorite flower.
When she her life collapsed, Tyler wasn’t there. He hid in his work, complaining he was saving to pay for her “stupid fairytale wedding.” She had a large diamond ring, dozens of dried roses, and no one to talk to. No one to rely on.
Sam had caught her with her guard down, found her crying on the roof. Jada did not cry often, and certainly not in front of others. Undeterred, Sam neither told her to smile nor tried to cheer her up. He listened. He made promises and carried through. He asked for nothing in return. Whoever he was, he was made of better metal than most men, and she no longer wanted to keep things professional.
As promised, Jada made Sam dinner as a thank you for helping with her aunt. Over vegetarian lasagna and a bottle of pinot grigio, they unwound, discussing food, college, history.
He was exceptionally handsome, with broad shoulders, brawny arms straining his sleeves, and hair she wanted to run her fingers through. However, handsome came and went. Jada could find an attractive man easily enough. But a kind man? A caring man? Add sparkling conversationalist to the mix, and she felt her temperature rising.
Sam leaned back in his chair and flashed his adorable dimpled smile. “All that, and you expect me to have room for dessert?”
“Have you met me?” Jada laughed as she rose to clear the table.
In an instant, Sam was on his feet trying to pick up. “Let me,” he said, his long fingers brushing over hers as they grabbed the same glass.
“You shouldn’t do the dishes for your own thank you meal.”
“And you should let people take care of you a little,” he countered.
She slid her fingers off of his, relinquishing the glass. “Maybe just a little.” She followed him to the kitchen as he filled the sink with dishes. Pulling two squat tumblers from the refrigerator, she said, “Ta-da! Chocolate mousse with yet more raspberry compote. Sorry, it’s nothing fancy.”
“Good enough for me,” he said, taking a glass and leaning against the kitchen counter to enjoy his dessert. “I’m pretty sure we haven’t anything in those glasses other than whiskey.”
He said it casually, with a slight raise of his eyebrows. A joke. Still, it didn’t surprise Jada to learn Dean was a heavy drinker. Other than a quick, smiling pass on the stairs, she’d only met him once. He seemed aggressive, not at all the sort of person she liked to be around.
“Dean drinks a lot?”
“A little more than me.” Sam pressed his lips around the spoon, reading her while he thought about his words. “Dean’s not a bad guy.”
“I didn’t think he was!” she insisted, embarrassed. “Maybe a little rough around the edges?”
“Maybe,” said Sam. “Life hasn’t always been kind to him.”
The philosophy that an unkind life made people unkind always rang false in Jada’s ears. She believed in choices. A person could wallow in their misery or rise above it. They could focus on the past or press toward the future. They could make their faces billboards of turmoil or smile through the heartache. With the death and pain the last year had brought her, she chose the latter option, the one she could control.
“Was life kind to you?” she asked.
He glanced at the pile of dishes and her in her heels by the refrigerator. “How about we finish these somewhere more comfortable?” Though there were two perfectly good arm chairs, they sat together on the worn leather couch.
“So what’s your favorite dessert?” Sam asked with an innocent, interested look.
He’d done this more than once, trying to direct the conversation away from himself. It only spurred her curiosity. “Oh no, you were telling me about your life.”
Sam sighed and stared at a spot above her head.
“If it’s hard for you to talk about–”
“No, it’s not like I grew up with nightly beatings or anything. My childhood wasn’t conventional, so it’s a little hard to explain to people. My mom passed away when I was a baby, and Dad didn’t really want to settle down after that. He would drag us all across the country while he worked odd jobs.
“Parts of it were great. I’ve been to every state in the lower forty-eight. I’ve seen just about every attraction – from the Space Needle to roadside alligator wrestling – the country could offer. And as much as I hated parts of it – changing schools, not having my own room, spending the winter in Minnesota – Dean and I wouldn’t be as close if our lives had been more normal.”
She knew that closeness. At one point, Jada and her little brother – her funnier echo – had been inseparable.
“College was a big change for you then, settling down away from your family.” She imagined teenage Sam, probably gangly with a slim baby face, eagerly putting up posters, buying textbooks, and giving his family a tour of his new campus.
The dimpled grin returned. “Being surrounded by the same four walls for eight months was heaven.”
“I don’t think I would have liked growing up like that, but if I didn’t know anything different, maybe it would have felt like an adventure.”
“I didn’t know anything different, and sometimes I hated it, maybe more than I should have.” He clinked the spoon around in his empty glass, staring at it with the intensity of someone divining tea leaves.
“I guess I’m just a homebody,” she said brightly, trying to steer the conversation to less melancholy waters. They didn’t need to do all their get-to-know-yous at once. “I don’t like to be too far from my kitchen and my bed.”
“I’m guessing the move to Sunnydale hasn’t been your favorite.”
She flashed her wide smile, hoping to look more positive than she’d felt in months. One night of crying was enough for a while. “It has its charms. No traffic. Low cost of living. It’s excellent if you’re into gravestone rubbings.”
Sam reached across the couch and held her hand, his long fingers lightly stroking hers. “You uprooted your life, put everything on hold, to take care of your sick aunt. I think you can complain a little.”
Her father’s baritone rose up from her memories. “Complain about the hours all you want, child, but the bread isn’t going to bake itself.” He would walk over to the record player, the only spot in the kitchen that was always free of flour, put on some Louis Armstrong and say, “You want to sing along with this or try to fight it with your pouty diddy?”
Eventually, she’d learned to rise at four in the morning, slip on her apron, and start prepping the dough while singing “Grab your coat and get your hat / Leave your worries on the doorstep / Life can be so sweet / On the sunny side of the street.”
She rubbed circles in Sam’s palm with her thumb and looked at him through her thick lashes. “I don’t see much point in complaining.”
“Tell me what you miss. That’s not complaining, it’s just remembering.”
It’s just remembering. “I miss my hills. The way the fog would consume the city in the mornings. The deep bellowing of ships in the bay and the light dinging of the streetcars. I miss the houses like gingerbread, and the bridge like a sentinel.” Her city was alive and vibrant, while Sunnydale felt like a woman in full makeup on a respirator.
“Family?”
Now was not the time. “I’ll always miss family.” She scooted closer to him, the spicy scent of his aftershave filling her lungs. “What do you miss about traveling now that you’re older and settled?”
Chuckling, he put his arm around her. “Not a lot. Dean was the best part, and I still see his doofy face every day. I eat better now. I sleep better now. Although there’s something to be said for speeding down a rural highway with the windows down singing CCR at the top of your lungs. It’s very…free.”
They lingered in each other’s space, fingers entwined. With her eyes, she traced the edge of his jaw and long neck, following the line down to his unbuttoned collar.
“I know you’re busy with your aunt, Jada,” Sam’s voice, low and soft, washed over her like a warm bath, “but maybe we could find some time to sneak away. I’d like to take you out for dinner.”
She tingled from her head to her toes, and threw her usual caution to the wind. “You should know I never kiss on the first date.”
“Okay.”
“But since we’re not actually on a date right now, you should kiss me.”
Cupping her face in his large hand he leaned into her and pressed his soft lips – still tasting of chocolate and raspberry – against hers. She slipped her fingers into his hair and sighed, “That’s a yes, by the way.”