Page 77 of What Remains of Grace

After that, this belonged entirely to Jenna and Emmie.

He just wished he knew what would be left of him when it did.

20

The Fall

On Sunday morning, Jenna got ready for a walkthrough as if she were getting ready for a date. Which was ridiculous.

It was a contractor meeting. A final check before the inspector came on Monday. She’d done dozens of these in her career, some in blazers, some in steel-toe boots, some in the same T-shirt she’d slept in after an all-nighter with spreadsheets.

But she had never done one just two days after kissing the contractor in the middle of the night and then spending an entire Saturday pretending nothing had happened.

She stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, hair twisted up, then down, then half-up, then back down again. Her makeup bag sat open on the counter, untouched except for the tinted moisturizer she’d already applied and then immediately regretted, because who was she trying to impress?

She wasn’t fourteen, getting ready for a dance. She was a grown woman who had buried a sister, moved states, and dissolved a company in the span of months. She had a teenager who needed her, a bakery to launch, and a house still smelling of paint.

She did not have time to be thinking about the way Cole Bennett’s mouth had felt on hers. But her body didn’t care about her schedule.

The way the world had tilted when he kissed her, no careful lead-in, no hesitation, just every charged moment between them finally giving way.

And then the way he’d pulled away, breath unsteady, eyes holding something she couldn’t quite place, only feel.

He’d barely said anything to her the next day at the bakery. Just enough to do the job. Just enough to prove he hadn’t died of embarrassment. No teasing. No water bottle discreetly appearing at her elbow. No small comments meant only for her.

Maybe she should have been grateful. Maybe distance was safer.

She tossed the elastic band onto the counter and dragged her fingers through her hair, letting it fall loose over her shoulders. It brushed the top of the soft blue blouse she’d finally settled on, nice enough to look like she wasn’t falling apart, plain enough that she didn’t feel like she was trying too hard.

“This is a job,” she muttered at her reflection. “Not a . . . whatever this is.”

From the hallway, Emmie’s voice floated toward her. “Are you talking to yourself again?”

“Always,” Jenna called back, grateful for the interruption. “You ready?”

“Been ready.” Emmie appeared in the doorway, ponytail high, the Blue Cypress T-shirt knotted at her hip. She paused, giving Jenna a once-over. “You look . . . professional.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“It’s not, it’s like . . . you look like someone who knows what she’s doing and will sue people if they mess with her.”

“Great,” Jenna said dryly, “intimidation chic.”

Emmie leaned against the doorframe. “Are you nervous about the walkthrough?”

“Yes,” Jenna said, then immediately, “No. Not really. It’s just the last one. It’s . . . big.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Emmie said with teenage certainty. “The place looks amazing. If they fail us on anything, I’ll egg the inspector’s car.”

“You’ve had a lot of egg-based solutions lately.”

“It’s a bakery,” Emmie replied. “We’re rich in ammunition.”

Jenna smiled, just for a second. “Let’s go, menace,” she said, grabbing her keys. “We’ve got a date with the finish line.”

Her stomach fluttered at the word date. She ignored it.

* * *