Page 98 of What Remains of Grace

And it felt good.

Really, really good.

* * *

Cole drove home in the quiet, the warmth of the evening trailing after him. He’d survived the night.

More than that—he’d loved it.

Seeing Jenna with her parents, with Emmie, with her staff—seeing her come alive behind those counters . . . It did something to him he couldn’t quite name.

He was proud of her.

He was wrecked by her.

He was terrified of her.

He was grateful for her.

And then there was the dress. Hell.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, remembering the way she’d turned, the fabric catching the light, the quiet curve of her breast, the easy smile she’d given him like the fight on her porch hadn’t nearly gutted him.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to be friends with her after everything that had happened between them.

He didn’t know how to pretend that night hadn’t happened when it had been— unequivocally—the best night of his life.

But tonight she’d looked at him without flinching. Tonight she’d smiled.

Tonight she’d let him stay. Hope settled in his chest, tentative but real. He wasn’t sure where they went from here.

But for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t afraid to find out.

25

The Breaking Point

Monday morning came with a knock that didn’t sound polite. It sounded official.

Jenna hadn’t even tied her hair back yet. She opened the door expecting a neighbor, maybe a package. Instead she found a man holding a thick yellow envelope like it offended him to be here.

“Jenna Hart?”

Her pulse stuttered. “Yes?”

He shoved the envelope into her hands. “You’ve been served.”

The words barely left his mouth before he was back down the steps, not even giving her the courtesy of eye contact.

She closed the door with her shoulder, the weight of the envelope heavier than it should have been.

She tore the envelope open, papers scattering across the table like accusations. She skimmed, her vision already blurring.

TROY BAILEY

PLAINTIFF

VS.