Page 128 of What Remains of Grace

The Blue Cypress looked the same as it had the day of the rally, sign bright, windows gleaming, the distinct scent of sugar and coffee already drifting out to meet them.

But it felt different now.

More theirs.

Steph was waiting behind the counter with Nicole when they walked in, like they’d been standing there all morning.

“Well?” Steph demanded, wiping her hands on a towel. “Do we bake a cake or burn something down?”

“A cake,” Jenna said. “Definitely a cake.”

“Good,” Nicole said. “Because I think we’re on a burn ban . . . burning things requires permits right now.”

They cheered when Jenna told them, Steph actually slamming a hand on the counter and yelling, “YES!” loud enough to startle the two customers in the corner.

Emmie grabbed a marker and marched over to the little whiteboard where Steph had written “TODAY’S FLAVORS.” In big block letters, she added:

PARTITION FREE SINCE 2018

Then, underneath, in smaller print:

FUCK TROY

“Subtle,” Cole commented.

Someone produced a bottle of sparkling grape juice from the back, Nicole, probably. She had a sixth sense about these things. There were also paper cups, because of course there were.

Jenna found herself with a cup in her hand, surrounded by the people who had kept this place afloat for months, her staff, her niece, and the man who had patiently dismantled some of her walls while helping her rebuild everything else.

Cole cleared his throat. “Can I?” he started.

Steph waved a hand. “Contractor Guy gets a toast,” she said. “But if you make me cry, you’re cleaning it up.”

He lifted his cup slightly.

“To Jenna,” he said simply. “Who could’ve walked away. Who could’ve let this place be someone else’s problem. But she didn’t. She stayed. She fought. She made spreadsheets.” A ripple of laughter spread through the group. “And she let us stand with her. This bakery may have Hart on the deed, but it belongs to all of us because she let us love it with her.”

Jenna’s eyes stung.

“To Emmie,” he added, turning slightly, “who declared war on apathy, weaponized the Rotary Club, and reminded all of us that anger can be holy if you point it in the right direction.”

Emmie sniffed, cheeks pink.

“And . . . to Grace,” he said, softer now. “Whose fingerprints are on every inch of this place. We did this for her. But we also did it for them.” He nodded at Jenna and Emmie. “So they don’t have to lose one more thing.”

They all raised their cups. “To Grace,” voices echoed.

The juice was sweet, fizzy, and perfect.

Once the staff drifted back to work, Nicole turned up the music while Steph started mixing a batter for what she was calling “Justice Jam Bars” and “Freedom Frosting Rolls”.

Emmie disappeared into the office to text every person she’d ever met.

That left Jenna and Cole near the front window, cups empty, plates crumb-dusted, and the afternoon light slanting in around them.

For the first time all day, it was quiet.

“We’ll erase the expletives off the board later,” he said. “Emmie’s earned her thirty seconds of victory gloating.”