Page 74 of What Remains of Grace

From inside, someone called Emmie’s name about labels, and she popped up, already halfway back to the door. “Don’t stay out here too long,” she said over her shoulder. “You turn pink in, like, three minutes.”

Jenna watched her disappear back into the building, the house Grace had loved, the bakery Grace had dreamed.

Jenna knew Emmie had imagined herself here a thousand times as a kid, behind the counter, running the place with her mom.

Just never like this. Never without Grace. Never with Jenna stepping in as the other half of the team.

When she finally stood and went back inside, Cole was on the far side of the room, talking quietly with one of his team about the art placement on the wall.

He didn’t look at her. She didn’t look at him. Everyone else noticed.

* * *

By the time noon rolled around, Cole felt like he’d been holding his breath for six hours.

The bakery looked good. Better than good. The tile work he’d agonized over in the planning phase caught the light exactly the way he’d hoped. The open shelving they’d installed the day before now held clean white dishes in staggered stacks, ready for whatever Emmie decided to plate. The back hallway smelled mildly of bleach and fresh caulk, but the sharp edge of construction dust was gone.

On paper, it was one of the smoothest final weeks he’d ever run. In practice, it felt like walking around with a cracked rib.

He tried to stick to tasks that wouldn’t force him into conversation, like the final punch list, back-of-house checks, and even a walkthrough of the restroom with his designer. He wasn’t avoiding her; he just couldn’t risk opening his mouth or meeting her eyes in front of a room full of people. One look at her, and whatever control he had left felt like it might crack wide open.

He could still feel last night on his mouth.

“Signage is straight,” Dani said, stepping back from the wall and squinting at the Blue Cypress logo they’d just hung. “The sconces are at matching heights. Health inspector is going to cry happy tears.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Cole said automatically.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You good?”

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s hit the back entry one more time when you’re done here.”

He could tell she didn’t buy it, but she was smart enough not to push. His crew had an unspoken rule: if he was short on words but still handed out clear instructions, they left it alone.

From the front, he heard Jenna laugh at something Casey said. The sound arrowed straight through him, as precise and unavoidable as a nail gun shot.

He didn’t let himself turn.

Around two, his phone buzzed with a text from Travis.

TRAVIS: Old guy’s place wrapped for today. He survived. We’re coming by.

Cole exhaled through his nose. Of course they were.

Fifteen minutes later, the bell over the bakery door jingled, and a burst of hot air, sweat, and sawdust walked in.

“We come bearing structural integrity and hunger,” Travis announced, slapping dust off his jeans just inside the door. Jerrod and Kevin flanked him, both sunburned and grinning.

Emmie popped her head up from behind the counter. “You’re tracking debris onto my freshly mopped floor,” she informed them. “This is a crime.”

“We brought offerings,” Jerrod said, producing a carton of store-bought coffee from somewhere behind his back. “We come in peace.”

“That’s not an offering, that’s betrayal,” Jenna said from a table, where she was organizing stacks of training guides. “We have a fully operational espresso machine now. You can’t show up with gas station coffee.”

Travis put a hand over his heart. “I love this woman.”

Cole glanced up before he could stop himself. Jenna was already looking away, shuffling papers she’d already squared.

The guys fanned out, doing exactly what he knew they would: checking trim, running hands along railings, admiring details they’d helped build and the ones they hadn’t.