Page 50 of What Remains of Grace

“Extra, huh?” Jenna folded her arms, already fighting a smile. “Is that what you call ordering two more than you needed?”

“Morale,” Braves Hat said, tapping his chest like it was an official badge. “Boss said I’m head of the morale department.” He jerked his chin toward Cole, still on the phone by his truck.

Jenna raised a brow. “Did he send you?”

“Not exactly,” Football Guy said. “He told us that if we bothered you, we were all fired. So, this is a calculated risk.”

“Bold of us,” Braves Hat added.

Travis nudged the sack toward her. “Come eat with us. Shade’s good by the truck.”

She hesitated, then nodded, and followed them outside. The heat pressed close, but the breeze off the gulf cut it just enough to make the picnic-table shade feel like a kindness. Someone had set out bottles of water in a cooler. The guys made a show of clearing a spot for her like she was a celebrity who’d wandered onto a blue-collar set. It was ridiculous and sweet.

“We get it, by the way,” Braves Hat said once they’d all sat. “About the chalkboard. I cried when my mom boxed up our Christmas ornaments after she moved. Like, really cried. Stupid little things are never actually stupid.”

“Speak for yourself,” Football Guy said. “I cried when the Bucs cut my favorite tight end.”

“Same grief center,” Travis said around a grin. “Different triggers.”

Jenna laughed in spite of the heat gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, the words small but sincere. “For lunch. And the . . . perspective.”

“Part of the job,” Travis said.

“Food is not part of your job,” Football Guy countered.

“Client relations is,” Travis shot back, and his face softened. “Also… we like you here. You and Emmie.”

She managed a “Thanks” that didn’t crack. When she glanced up, Cole was across the lot leaning against his truck, arms folded, one boot crossed over the other. He wasn’t watching exactly, but his grin when their eyes met said he’d caught enough of the exchange to understand. He dipped his chin once in a way that felt like approval, then turned and said something to the roofer about the flashing line.

It was awkward, and she appreciated it. Both could be true.

They ate in an easy silence, the kind that happens when everyone’s been sweating for hours, and the food is hot, and nobody needs to perform. When the crew drifted back toward the bakery, Jenna stood to collect cups, but Cole was already there, hand brushing hers as he lifted the stack from her fingers.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“Thanks,” she answered, a little too quickly. “Do you need anything before I head back?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting the cups to one hand, gesturing toward the bakery. “For a minute.”

They walked the short stretch to the bakery, and he kept the conversation practical in the way he did when he was trying not to crowd her.

“We’re wrapping finished flooring in here,” he said, nodding toward the gleam of the front room. “Baseboards will be Monday morning. Caulk and paint touch-ups, too.”

“And then?”

He tipped his head toward the house. “We start over there next, early next week.”

A thread of dread curled through her. He’d be inside the house soon, moving through rooms still heavy with Grace, and that thought set off a mix of anticipation and nerves. She wanted him close, God, she did, but there were too many ghosts, too many landmines she hadn’t mapped yet.

What if she unraveled again?

What if he caught her watching him the way she shouldn’t? “That soon?” she managed.

“If you want it to be,” he said, watching her face. “We can push if it’s too fast.”

“No,” she said, her voice stronger than expected. “Let’s keep moving.”

He smiled a little at that, their phrase now, and she hated how much the curve of his mouth undid her. He set the cups by the trash bag, then looked at her like he was considering whether to say something else. Whatever it was, he swallowed it and switched gears.