Page 67 of What Remains of Grace

She laughed, bright and warm, and he looked at her like the sound hit somewhere he didn’t have armor.

The smile faded slowly from his face. Something shifted behind his eyes—quiet and heavy, a thought he didn’t want her seeing.

He went still. Too still.

And then he looked away, jaw tightening like whatever he was thinking was too big to say out loud. It startled her, the shift. One second, he was teasing her back, and the next, he looked like a thought had hit him so hard he had to swallow it. Something about her joke had landed somewhere she couldn’t see, and she wasn’t sure if she’d stepped too close to a truth he wasn’t ready to share.

Cole leaned forward, forearms on the table, eyes warm in the glow of the string lights. “Jenna, I—”

“Last call!” the bartender shouted behind them.

Cole closed his mouth, shoulders tightening with frustration.

Jenna laughed under her breath. “Guess the universe isn’t ready for whatever that was.”

He huffed out a breath. “Apparently not.”

They walked outside together, the air warm and tasting dully of salt. The docks glowed across the water, boats swaying gently. When they reached Jenna’s car, she turned to him.

“You did good work today,” she said with careful restraint.

The way he looked at her made her feel warm and unsettled all at once. “So did you,” he said again, gentler this time.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You kept us going,” his voice dipped lower, almost apologetic, “you keep me going.”

That caught her off guard, the smoothness of it, the specificity. She had no idea what he meant by it.

Did he mean he’d stop by for ice cream if she weren’t in the middle of his jobsite? Did he mean the way he invited her on bike rides and took her to piano night and bought her pistachio ice cream, would he do that for any grief-stricken client trying to stay upright?

Would he rearrange another bakery owner’s fence without being asked? Would he walk another woman to her car, as if it were his job to make sure she got home safely?

Or . . . Or was he talking about her? Just her.

He didn’t explain, and she didn’t ask. She was afraid the answer would undo her. “Jenna, I . . .” he started.

“What is it?”

He opened his mouth again, but no sound came out this time.

His hand flexed at his side, fingers curling like he wanted to reach for her and had to stop himself physically.

“Cole?” she whispered.

His jaw tightened. “I shouldn’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head like trying to clear something dangerous. “I don’t want to make things complicated for you.”

“You’re not,” she lied.

“You don’t know that,” he murmured. And God, he looked miserable saying it.

She didn’t know what was happening in his chest, but whatever it was, it scared him. It made him take a step back, as if proximity itself were a threat.

They stood there in the thick quiet, both of them aching for more than whatever currently hung between them. Jenna was realizing that if they stayed there any longer, she’d lose her nerve entirely.

He took another step back like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for her, “Goodnight, Jenna.”

The air between them felt warm and fragile, stretched thin by everything left unsaid. She didn’t know why he suddenly looked like someone bracing for a blow.