Page 27 of What Remains of Grace

She smiled, shaking her head. “We’ll see how good your numbers are first.”

Cole laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

He slid his phone into his pocket, nodded toward the open doorway at the back of the kitchen, and said, “I’ll start over at the house next—see what’s hiding behind those walls.

“Brace yourself,” Jenna said. “Grace’s mess is legendary.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he said, smiling as he met her eyes. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

* * *

They crossed the short walkway between the buildings, Cole holding the door for her as they stepped inside the house.

She hesitated just past the threshold, the vague scent of lemon oil and vanilla still clinging to the air. Grace’s air. The space felt occupied somehow, as if her sister’s presence were still threaded through the walls. Jenna’s chest tightened. It felt wrong, someone else standing here.

Cole glanced around, then looked back at her. “It’s weird for you, isn’t it?”

Her eyes lifted to his, startled.

He nodded, voice smoothed now. “Some places still feel like they belong to the person who left them.”

She swallowed, the words hitting closer than he could’ve known. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Exactly that.”

He moved through the space carefully, scanning the trim, the flooring, the windows. He was close, close enough that Jenna could feel the warmth coming off him. It radiated like the sun on skin after a storm, solid and steady. He didn’t crowd her, but his presence filled the room anyway.

He leaned down to look under a window frame. “Flooring’s solid. Subfloor might need a few screws tightened, but that’s it.”

He moved like someone used to wide spaces and heavy work, every motion deliberate. Even standing still, he seemed to warm the air around him.

When he crouched to check the baseboards, she caught herself watching the shift of muscle under his shirt. She leaned a little too far, her breath catching as the fabric across his shoulders tightened. He must’ve felt it, because he glanced back with a half-smile.

“You checking my work?”

She scoffed. “Someone has to.”

“Fair.” He straightened to his full towering height. “You like things done right the first time.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Most people do,” he said carefully. “But you’re not most.”

He turned back toward the window, giving her room to breathe before asking, “You mentioned an office?”

Jenna hesitated, then gestured down the hall.

He followed the motion with his eyes before glancing back at her. “You’ve been avoiding it.”

It wasn’t a question, and somehow that made it easier to answer. “A little.”

“Then we’ll take it slow,” he said, his voice low, deep, and warm enough to settle something restless inside her.

They stopped outside Grace’s old office—the one Jenna had been avoiding for weeks. The door was still cracked open, the room exactly as her sister had left it. Papers. Receipts. The half-done lists are taped to the wall.

“I can’t decide if I should keep it like this or turn it into something useful,” she said. “I need a workspace, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Cole studied her profile for a moment, then said kindly, “You don’t have to decide today.”

She looked at him, then back at the door. “If I don’t, I’ll never do it.”