Page 23 of What Remains of Grace

He lifted the delicate white box. “I brought these from Hellas. Thought maybe you and Emmie could use something sweet.”

When he offered up the pastries, he shifted them in his hands, then extended it toward her. Their fingers brushed, barely a second, but it sent a pulse of warmth up her arm that hung around for long after the touch was over. He must have noticed the way her breath hitched, because his smile softened, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. He had a way of looking at her that felt both unassuming and too perceptive. For a heartbeat, she forgot about the grief, the paperwork, the to-do lists. There was just his voice, low and certain, and the hum under her skin that wouldn’t still.

“Hellas?” she repeated, one eyebrow rising.

“Yeah.” His mouth twitched, part grin, part wince. “Probably not the smartest move. I realized halfway here that showing up with pastries from the competition might not be the best call.”

Jenna laughed under her breath. “Grace would’ve had something to say about that. She was proud of what she built—but she also knew good baklava when she tasted it.”

Cole smiled. “Yeah, Hellas wins on that one. But nobody ever touched her apple pie.”

Jenna’s chest tightened slightly. “Grandma Hart’s recipe.”

“The famous one,” his tone eased. “I can smell it every time I drive past this place.”

He hesitated, shifting the box from one hand to the other. “I just wanted to stop by. Say I’m sorry. I heard you’ve been back a couple weeks, but I didn’t want to bother you right away.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He glanced toward the house, then back to her. “You holding up okay?”

“Trying to. There’s a lot that needs work. The bakery, the house…”

“Well,” Cole said, rubbing the back of his neck, “that’s what I do. Construction. Small crew, repairs, remodels, restorations. We take on old places that just need a little patience.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. She’d already clocked the paint on his cuff, the work-calloused hands, the sun on his skin; he didn’t need to say it. “You’re still local?” she asked, feigning surprise.

“Never left.” He smiled, that easy kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who you are. “My crew helped Grace out a while back: hinge on the back door, plumbing under the sink. She tried to pay us in muffins. We took ‘em.”

Jenna’s laugh caught in her throat and turned into something finer. “That sounds like her.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he said. “Take a look at both places, give you an idea where to start. No charge for the first look.”

“That’d be great,” she said before she could stop herself.

“Morning work?”

“Morning’s perfect.”

“I’ll bring coffee.” He lifted the pastry box slightly. “And maybe something less controversial.”

She smiled for real this time. “Deal.”

Cole tipped his head and stepped back down the porch stairs. The late light caught on the dust along his shoulders, the steady, sure motion of someone who never rushed because he didn’t have to.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching as he crossed the yard. The way he moved, measured and confident, without wasted motion, made her chest tighten in a way she couldn’t name. When he reached his truck, the sunlight caught the edge of his jaw, and something about it made her stomach flip. She realized she was still holding her breath when the engine started. The air carried the faint trace of sawdust and soap, a scent that lingered even after he’d gone.

The pastry box was warm in her hands, and she caught herself smiling, then immediately scolding herself for it. It felt wrong to feel anything but grief here, in this house, in this moment, but for the first time in weeks, she felt alive.

When his truck disappeared down the street, she let the screen door close behind her. She placed the box on the counter and opened her laptop again, but the screen stayed blank. Her mind wasn’t on numbers or spreadsheets. It was on the rough timbre of his voice, the way his hands had dwarfed the pastry box. She told herself it was relief, just gratitude for a solution that arrived when she needed one. But the image of his shoulders, the calm surety in his tone, replayed until she pressed the heel of her hand against her chest and exhaled hard. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was something else.

The first thing on her list of next steps was Call a contractor. She’d just checked it off without even touching the keyboard.

* * *

Jenna was still at the counter when she heard the hallway floorboards creak. Emmie appeared in the doorway, damp-haired from a shower, wearing one of Grace’s old oversized T-shirts that swallowed her frame.

She nodded toward the white pastry box. “Seriously? Hellas?”