Page 78 of What Remains of Grace

Cole parked half a block down from the bakery even though there was a spot right in front.

He told himself it was because he wanted a minute to take in the building as a whole, like he always did before a final walkthrough. Like he was giving himself one last outside-in view before it officially stopped being a job site and became somebody else’s place.

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

The Blue Cypress sat under the late-morning sun as it had always belonged there, with its fresh white trim, clean blue door, and the new sign catching the light. It didn’t look like the sagging, storm-worn space he’d first stepped into months ago.

He grabbed his clipboard from the passenger seat. His hand hovered for a second before he picked up the cold bottle of water in the cup holder.

It was the good kind. The kind Emmie had once accused him of bringing “only for Jenna.” And she wasn’t wrong. He’d noticed what she liked. He’d bought it on purpose.

Peace offering. An apology he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud.

He walked the half block with his shoulders loose and his stride easy, or at least that’s how he hoped it looked. Inside, he felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his calm and left the pieces clattering around.

When he stepped inside, the bell over the door gave a cheerful little jingle that felt at odds with the way his heart thumped.

Jenna and Emmie stood near the front counter, heads bent over the binder. Emmie lifted a hand in greeting. Jenna straightened, smoothing her blouse in a way he almost pretended not to see.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” he echoed, grateful his voice sounded normal. “You ready to do this?”

“Born ready,” Emmie said. “I’m mostly here to heckle.”

Jenna nudged her. “She means she’s here to take notes.”

Cole held out the water bottle to Jenna before he could overthink it. “For you. Hydration. It’s . . . hot.”

Her gaze dropped to the label, then flicked up to his face, something unreadable moving through her eyes.

“Premium service today,” she said quietly, taking it from him.

“Final walkthrough perks,” he managed.

If Emmie noticed anything in that exchange, she didn’t show it. “Okay, Mr. Bennett,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Show us what several months of emotional upheaval have bought us.”

He snorted. “We call it a scope of work, but sure.”

They started in the front, like they always did. Cole walked them through every detail: counter edges, outlet placements, how the lights could dim for evenings, and the emergency exit routes. He pointed out caulk lines and sealant and things he knew Jenna already understood, but it was part of the ritual. Final walkthroughs were part performance, part reassurance.

He kept it businesslike. Efficient. Professional.

He did not talk about porches or midnight or the way his hands had shaken after kissing her.

Jenna listened carefully, asked smart questions, made two notes on her pad, and circled one item on the punch list for him to fix before the inspector came. She was perfectly polite, perfectly attentive.

She did not crack a single joke at his expense.

They moved through the hallway, the storage room, and the small office in the back. Every room felt smaller with the three of them in it, but somehow the space between him and Jenna felt bigger than ever.

When they made their way outside to walk the property line and check the exterior, Emmie hung back for a minute to answer a call from Casey. The door shut behind them with a muted click, leaving just the two of them in the sunlight.

The last time they’d been alone outside a building together, it had been her house. He pushed the thought away.

“Everything look right?” he asked, nodding at the newly painted siding, the trip-resistant ramp they’d added by the back door.

“It looks . . .” She exhaled, and for the first time that morning, the professional mask slipped. “It looks like my sister’s dream didn’t die with her.”