Page 86 of Undertow

Wade pulled a face. “That sounds like a strip mall tax office.”

“It sounds professional,” Tom shot back.

“It sounds like a strip mall tax office about to get audited.” Gabe doubled down.

Reagan tapped a finger to her lips. “Okay, here. What about Coastal Recovery and Advocacy Group?”

Piper gagged. “CRAG?”

“The acronym is unfortunate,” Reagan conceded.

Piper sat straight up as if her spine had been electrified. “I’ve got it!” She paused, clearly for dramatic effect. “The Agent Agency.”

She pointed at the cat, who was licking his paw on the counter with the self-importance of a creature who believed the entire operation revolved around him. “He’s the only one besides me and Gabe with a clean record.”

“The cat is not going on the letterhead,” Wade said.

Piper scowled at him. “The cat has better instincts than half the people in this room.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Piper.”

She sighed. “Fine. You’ll probably come up with something ultra-boring. Don’t blame me when we don’t get any customers.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she grinned. “Oh now I have it. Seriously. Best. Name. Ever.” Eyes gleaming, she paused yet again. “The Sweet and Sawyer Agency.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. Reagan tilted her head, testing it. Wade’s mouth twitched.

The name hit Cara straight in the chest. Exactly right.

But Gabe shook his head. “Nope. Absolutely not. This is Cara’s team. It’s been her team from the start. My name doesn’t belong on the door.”

“A former Bureau man’s name on the door can’t hurt,” Wade said.

“Wade’s not wrong,” Tom added.

“It does have a ring to it,” Reagan said, in the tone of a woman who had already started designing the business cards in her head.

Gabe looked at Cara. The protest was still on his face. The decency was still on his face—the stubborn, infuriating decency of a man who wouldn’t take things he hadn’t earned.

Only he had. They all thought so.

“It stays,” she said.

Gabe opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Cara⁠—”

“It stays, Gabe.”

Piper slapped the table. “Sweet and Sawyer. Done. Somebody write that down before a grown-up ruins it.”

Tom put his face in his hands. Reagan laughed—a real laugh, the first one Cara had heard from her in weeks. Wade shook his head.

But the bakery…. Cara’s gaze swiveled to Diane, who smiled, nodding at Cara’s un-asked question. Diane would be the one turning the oven on at four a.m.

One more piece falling into the shape of whatever came next.

Pastor Ben raised his soup bowl in what might've been a toast.

Cara reached for Elena’s hand, shaking it. “Okay.”