Page 129 of What Remains of Grace

She smiled. “I don’t know where she learned that language!”

They stood there for a moment, watching a kid lick frosting off a cupcake at the corner table.

“You know,” Jenna said, almost conversationally, “this is the part where I’m probably supposed to sit with my feelings instead of immediately burying myself in work.”

“What are the feelings?” he asked.

She considered it. “Relief,” she said. “Grief. Gratitude. Terror.”

He nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“And . . .” she hesitated, “something else I’m not sure I should say out loud in front of the pastry case.”

He angled toward her, curiosity and something warmer in his eyes. “I like dangerous bakery thoughts.”

Her heart thudded.

She hadn’t planned to say it today. She hadn’t planned to say it at all yet. But there was something about final judgments, gavel taps, and seeing their names alone on property records that made her want to stop waiting for the perfect moment.

There was no such thing. “Cole?”

“Yeah?”

She met his eyes.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

The words hung there between them: soft, certain, irrevocable.

For a heartbeat, he just looked at her, like he was letting the moment land. Then his mouth curved, slow and sure.

“I know,” he said, voice low. Then, gentler, “You too.”

A startled laugh slipped out of her, breathy and warm, and he laughed with her before leaning in. Their lips met, the kiss soft but sure, the kind that settled something instead of setting it on fire.

“I love you,” he said, each word deliberate.

For the first time, the future didn’t feel like a cliff. It felt like a road.

Messy. Winding. But hers.

31

What Remains

Two years later, the plaques on the wall still made Jenna stop.

They hung near the front door of The Blue Cypress in a neat row over the old coat hooks— just high enough that kids couldn’t smack them with backpacks, just low enough for the afternoon sun to catch the brass and make it look like the wall itself was quietly applauding.

Tarpon Women’s Club – Community Preservation Award

Rotary Club – Small Business of the Year

Tarpon Historical Society – Historic Heritage Stewardship

She’d pretended, when they first put them up, that they were just shiny clutter. Something new to dust. But some days, like this one, they caught her off guard.

A quiet, engraved reminder: You stayed. You fought. You’re still here.