Page 110 of What Remains of Grace

They settled on a date: next Friday. Short turnaround, but they wanted to move fast—before Troy filed anything else, before people got distracted, before Jenna could talk herself out of a miracle.

By the time they packed up, Cole’s wrist ached from writing.

He gathered the papers into a stack and slid them into a folder. Emmie hopped down from the booth, grabbing her backpack.

“One rule,” she said, suddenly serious. “She doesn’t find out because one of your guys slips up and calls it ‘Cole’s rally.’ You’re not allowed to call it that. Ever.”

“God, no,” he said, horrified. “This is your mother’s bakery. It’s your future. I’m just the contractor idiot who knows how to set up folding tables.”

“And charm old ladies,” Emmie added.

“I do not—”

“You absolutely do,” she said. “Mrs. Cartwright calls you ‘that nice, tall boy with the arms.’”

He choked. “She said what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emmie said breezily. “Just show up, lift anything heavy, be emotionally supportive, and try to look as hopelessly in love with my aunt as possible. Optics matter.”

His brain stuttered.

Emmie smirked, shouldered her bag, and headed for the door.

“We’ll talk flyers tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. “Secret society adjourned.”

He slipped out after her, pulling the door closed behind him. Emmie turned the key in the lock and gave him a quick, triumphant nod, like they’d just pulled off a heist together.

They needed to come up with money. They needed legal arguments. They needed precedent.

And for the first time since that yellow envelope had landed on the table, he also felt something else.

They had a plan.

They had a town.

And they had a secret society.

Troy Bailey had no idea what was coming.

* * *

A week later, Jenna found out about the rally the way everyone in town found out about everything: On Facebook.

She was in line at the grocery store with a cart full of things she absolutely did not remember running out of: coffee filters, paper towels, dish soap, and the specific brand of cereal Emmie insisted on, while scrolling her phone, and the man in front of her argued with the cashier about a BOGO that expired three months ago.

The post jumped out at her between a recipe for zucchini bread and a “lost cat / possibly raccoon?” photo.

SAVE THE BLUE CYPRESS – COMMUNITY RALLY THIS FRIDAY!

Help us keep a local, female-owned, historically significant bakery in the hands of the family who built it. Live music, auction, raffles, and all the sugar your heart can handle.

Underneath the text was a picture of the bakery, taken from across Athens. Twilight had turned the sign a soft blue, and the front windows glowed like something out of a postcard.

Jenna blinked.

Then scrolled back up, staring.

There were already two hundred likes. Thirty-eight shares. And so many comments pouring in.