Page 83 of Undertow

“We do it on a shoestring,” Cara said. “Part-time. Volunteer. When we’re not earning a living doing our real jobs.”

“I’ve got money set aside. I don’t need a salary.”

“Gabe—”

“And if I need income later, I’ll figure something out.” He looked at her. Steady. The look that wasn’t anger and wasn’t worse than anger and was something else entirely—something she’d been afraid to name since the cabin. “I want in. On the team. On whatever this is. On—” He stopped. Started again. “I want in on the action, Cara. And I hope it involves you.”

Legs suddenly wobbly, she sank down beside him on the steps. Agent relocated to the space between their feet and resumed purring.

The alley smelled like rain and baking bread and the faint salt edge of the Pacific. Cara looked at Gabe’s hands on his knees—big, steady, still bruised across the knuckles—and thought about all the lines she couldn’t cross, all the things she couldn’t tell him, all the reasons this was impossible.

She leaned toward him anyway.

He leaned toward her.

“Maybe not today,” he murmured. “But we will. The Lord will show us a way.”

He leaned closer. She could feel the warmth of him. Could count the inches. Could⁠—

The back door slammed open.

“I PASSED MY DRIVER’S TEST!”

Piper stood in the doorway, permit in hand, incandescent. Behind her, Tom was trying hard to look thrilled rather than terrified.

Gabe pulled away from her. Agent jumped off the steps and vanished around the dumpster with the dignity of the deeply offended.

Gabe winked at Cara and took her hand. She let him.

They followed Piper inside.

“So…celebration?” Piper asked, her voice uncharacteristically small.

Cara hugged her. “Already planned. The bakery. Tonight.”

“Awesome!” Piper waved the truck keys in the air. “Come on, Dad. We’ve got places to go.”

With a last beseeching look, Tom followed his daughter back through the bakery and out the door.

Less than eight hours later, the bakery was full. Tom and Reagan sat at the corner table—Tom’s arm around the back of Reagan’s chair. Wade leaned against the counter with a coffee he was examining like it contained state secrets. Diane stood across from him, leaning against the counter with the easy comfort of an old friend, teasing him about the coffee. Pastor Ben was in the armchair by the window with a bowl of soup. That’s what Pastor Ben did—he showed up with amazing homemade soup and asked no questions and stayed as long as staying was useful.

While Reagan and Diane distracted Piper with questions about feline nutrition, Tom slipped out of the building. Cara had to turn away to hide her telltale smile.

Five minutes later, Piper stopped talking mid-sentence about her parallel parking score.

Tom pulled up to the curb in a faded Honda Civic with a ridiculous red bow covering the hood. A hundred and forty thousand miles, and the paint job had seen better decades. Wade and Gabe and Tom ran it down in Portland two days ago. Reagan added the bow. It was enormous—the kind of bow that belonged on a car in a TV commercial.

Moving like a tentative fawn, Piper edged toward the door. Tom stood on the sidewalk, keys dangling from his outstretched fingers.

"No way," Piper whispered, and burst into tears.

She was out the front door before anyone could respond. She circled the car once, fast, hands over her mouth. Then she opened the driver's door and slipped behind the wheel, gripping it with both hands. She got out. Opened the passenger door. Checked the back seat. Popped the trunk. Closed the trunk. Sat behind the wheel again.

Tom watched from the sidewalk with tears streaming down his face. He didn't even try to hide them.

In the bakery doorway, Reagan had her hand over her mouth. Wade stood behind her, blinking hard at the ceiling.

Piper finally climbed out of the car for good and crossed the sidewalk to her father. She threw her arms around him so hard he rocked back a step. Tom held her tight, eyes closed.