Page 73 of What Remains of Grace

Emmie straightened, eyeing the direction of the noise. “Is he mad at you?” she asked casually.

Jenna’s head snapped toward her. “Who?”

Emmie gave her a look. “The only he in this building. Like literally.”

“He’s not mad,” Jenna said too quickly. “We’re just . . . busy. Big weekend.”

“He hasn’t brought you water all day,” Emmie said, turning back to the display but watching her in the reflection of the glass. “And you haven’t made fun of him once. It’s weird.”

“I do not make fun of him,” Jenna protested.

“You absolutely do,” Casey said from inside the case, arranging plates like puzzle pieces.

“You roast him, actually. It’s, like, a love language.”

Jenna grabbed a stack of napkins that did not need rearranging and fussed with them anyway. “What is with you guys and love languages? We’re fine,” she said. “It’s just a lot to do before tomorrow, that’s all. I don’t have time to harass him.”

Emmie slid a tray into place with a little more force than necessary. “Did something happen last night after we left Capt’n Jack’s?” she asked quietly. “You two had one of those weird heavy-eye moments before we left. Casey said it felt like you were talking without talking.”

“I did say that,” Casey confirmed, raising a hand. “Very intense eye contact. Like, emotionally-charged eye contact.”

Emmie closed the case door and finally turned to face her. “If he’s being weird, you can tell me,” she said. There was something older in her voice, something that sounded too much like Grace. “I can handle people being weird.”

“He’s not being weird,” Jenna insisted. The lie tasted flat. “I promise. It’s just . . . complicated.”

Emmie’s eyes softened, sharp edges rounding. “Is it complicated in a bad way or in a ‘this feels like a rom-com setup’?”

“Please don’t say that out loud ever again,” Jenna said, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead.

Casey snorted. “She didn’t deny it, though.”

“I’m going to go wipe down the outside tables,” Jenna said, retreating before she said something she couldn’t unsay. “You two keep plotting world pastry domination.”

She grabbed a rag and a spray bottle, grateful for the excuse to step out into the heat. The sidewalk outside The Blue Cypress was already warming, the sun slanting in at an angle that made the gold lettering on the front windows glow.

Across the street, a couple walked past with a dog, pausing to peek in. The woman nudged the man, pointing, her lips forming the word bakery.

Grief brushed against her, light but undeniable.

We’re almost there, Gracie, she thought, wiping at a perfectly clean table.

The door opened behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know it wasn’t Cole; his steps landed differently, heavier. These were lighter, quicker.

“Hey,” Emmie said, sliding into one of the metal chairs. “You sure you’re okay?”

Jenna sank into the chair across from her. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sure.”

“You’re lying,” Emmie said calmly. “But I’m choosing to respect your boundaries or whatever.”

Jenna huffed out a laugh despite herself, “Thank you?”

Emmie propped her chin on her fist. “Just . . . don’t let him hurt you, okay? Or if he does, let me egg his truck. He was already warned.”

“That is a very specific threat.”

“Well, I have access to eggs,” Emmie reminded her.

“Unlimited eggs.” Jenna’s smile wobbled, then held. “I’ll keep that in mind.”