Page 86 of What Remains of Grace

He tried to focus on the new project, an older guy’s house across town that needed everything from roof to foundation shoring. He walked the property with his crew, pointed out rotten fascia, and made notes about gutter lines and soffit vents. His mouth said all the right things. His head kept drifting back to a woman who still hadn’t texted him back.

Around four, he found himself at a stoplight with his blinker on for his street, and turned the other way instead.

He told himself it was practical. He could just pop over and check one more time that the signage guy hadn’t missed anything, that the back exit still latched cleanly, that the city hadn’t magically changed code in the last four days.

But he wasn’t going to the bakery.

His truck rolled past the Blue Cypress parking lot and rolled into her driveway.

He sat in the truck for a few minutes waiting for the engine to cool and his heart to slow down.

This was a bad idea.

Showing up uninvited at the house of a woman who hadn’t answered a single text all week was a bad idea.

He got out anyway.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck and walked up to her porch, the boards familiar under his boots now. The swing moved just a little in the light breeze.

He could turn around. He could go meet the guys like he’d promised. He could pretend this week hadn’t happened. Pretend he hadn’t thought about her every night since she’d slipped out of his bed.

Instead, he stood there staring at her front door, trying to work up the courage to knock.

He was trying to formulate some reason for showing up like this when the door swung open.

* * *

Emmie’s duffel bag hit the entryway floor with a dull thump.

“Text me when you get there,” Jenna said, leaning against the doorframe.

Emmie rolled her eyes in the way only a teenager could. “It’s twenty minutes away.”

“Then I expect a text in twenty-one minutes.”

Emmie just launched herself at Jenna for a quick hug that was mostly elbows and hair and threw the duffel bag over her shoulder.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Jenna asked, quieter.

“It’s forty-eight hours,” Emmie said. “You’re the one who needs a break. Maybe read a book that doesn’t involve permits or get a hobby that doesn’t involve a checklist.”

“Rude,” Jenna muttered, but she smiled.

Emmie pulled the door open and blinked. “Um . . . someone’s here for you,” she murmured. Cole Bennett stood on the porch, caught off guard in a way that matched her own shock. Jenna’s stomach dropped so fast she thought she might actually be sick.

“Hey, Stranger,” he said with a slow, careful smile almost, but not quite, finding its way onto his face.

Emmie’s gaze bounced between them, picking up on the crackling tension instantly. “I will just let you two . . . do whatever this is,” she said, slipping past Cole with a tight little grin.

“Go,” Jenna said, fighting to keep her voice even.

The door stayed open behind her as she stepped onto the porch, a small crease forming between her brows.

“The guys and I are headed to karaoke at The Bridge,” Cole said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them. “It’s bound to be absolutely terrible. Are you interested?”

She should have said yes. She should have said no.

Instead, something bitter and sharp rose up before she could stop it.