Page 119 of What Remains of Grace

And he was damn proud to be on their side.

* * *

The bakery was already buzzing.

Cars lined both sides of Athens Street. Kids darted across the sidewalk with balloons. Someone had strung twinkle lights between the awning and the lamppost, giving the whole scene a warm, welcoming glow.

For a moment, Jenna just stood there and watched.

She saw Mrs. Cartwright at the entrance, checking items off a clipboard like she were running a military operation. She saw Mr. Delaney fussing with a poster board full of black-and- white photos of the bakery “in her youth,” as he’d called it. She saw Steph through the window, sliding trays of cookies into the display case like she was stocking up for a sugar apocalypse.

And she saw him.

Cole stood near the makeshift stage, talking to one of the Rotary guys, his hands moving as he explained whatever setup issue they were solving. He’d ditched his ball cap and traded his usual T-shirt for a navy button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The collar was open just enough to show a hint of the tan line at his throat.

She watched him laugh at something the older man said, head tipping back, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked . . . easy. At home. Like he belonged here.

Warmth slid through her, complicated and unwelcome and very, very alive. “Okay,” she told herself. “Focus on the event. Not the man in the shirt.”

As soon as she walked inside, noise and color surrounded her. The place was packed.

Every table seemed taken. The air was filled with the low murmur of conversations, the clink of coffee cups, and the occasional burst of laughter. A local guitarist strummed in the corner, singing something low and familiar. Kids chased each other around adults’ legs. The air carried the scent of sugar, coffee, and something buttery from the ovens, familiar notes that settled her shoulders a little.

“Jenna!” someone called.

She turned as Mrs. Cartwright swept toward her in a floral dress and dangerous heels, arms open wide.

“Oh, honey,” the older woman said, gathering her into a hug that smelled like Chanel No. 5 and lemon bars. “Look at you. Grace would be so proud. And your dress! Praise the Lord, you let Emmie take you shopping.”

“Apparently, I didn’t have a choice,” Jenna said, a little dazed.

“Of course you didn’t,” Mrs. Cartwright said briskly. “Now, you mingle. You thank people. You let them fuss over you. That’s your job tonight. Everything else is handled.”

Jenna blinked. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Mrs. Cartwright repeated, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Now go say hello to Mr. Jenkins; he brought his entire bowling league.”

And he had.

Everywhere Jenna turned, someone was holding out a hand, a hug, a check.

“Your sister gave me my first job,” one woman said, pressing an envelope into Jenna’s hand. “It’s past time I paid that debt.”

“My boys grew up on your cinnamon rolls,” a man in a contractor’s shirt said. “Can’t imagine Saturdays without this place.”

“We heard what that man is trying to do,” an older couple from church murmured, slipping a folded check across the table like they were passing state secrets. “We won’t stand for it.”

The silent auction tables were filled with bids. Someone dropped a thick white envelope into the donation box and walked away before Jenna could see their face. The tip jar at the counter overflowed, Steph having slapped a sign on it that said, “Every dollar helps us tell Troy to take a hike.”

At one point, Emmie climbed up on a chair in the middle of the room and whistled, sharp and loud.

“All right, everybody!” she called out. “Because apparently subtlety died with my mother—” A few people gasped; a few more laughed, recognizing Grace’s brand of gallows humor in her daughter. “You didn’t come here to watch me run around like a stressed-out raccoon. You came here for a cause. So, cause time.”

She pointed dramatically toward Jenna. “This is my aunt. You know her. You love her. She’s the one who’s been pouring her life into this place while an absentee husband tries to cash out on work he didn’t do. She hates public speaking as much as she hates surprises, which is why this is fun for me. But she has something to say. So listen.”

And just like that, every face turned to Jenna.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her mouth went dry.