Lila smiled. “See?”
Tristan chuckled, the sound low and rich enough to make her pulse trip. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”
“Or foolish.”
“Maybe both.”
For a moment, they worked in companionable silence, the chaos fading to the hum of the fridge and the soft scrape of towels on tile. Lila risked a glance at him, and their eyes met. His were warm, steady, and amused in that maddeningly unbothered way that made her stomach flip.
He handed her another towel. “Here. Might as well surrender gracefully.”
She huffed a laugh. “Gracefully went out the window when the blender started up.”
He grinned. “I liked the part where you all ducked.”
“Ha, ha,” she said with an eyeroll. He must have seen everything from outside. How long had he been standing out there?
“Seriously,” he said softly. “You’re doing great. It’s… kind of inspiring.”
Lila blinked at him, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to flustered warmth. “Inspiring?”
He nodded. “Most people would’ve quit after the first explosion.”
“Most people haven’t met Irene,” Lila said dryly.
Tristan’s laugh came easy this time, bright enough to draw a glance from Polly, who whispered something about them “looking cute together.” Lila ignored her. Mostly.
When they finally straightened, the counter was a little cleaner. Unfortunately, her heart hadn’t quite decided whether to calm down. “Thanks again,” she said.
“Anytime,” he replied.
For the first time all morning, Lila didn’t feel like crying into a coffee filter. She blew out a long breath, glancing around at the damp, caffeine-soaked battlefield that had once been Tilly’s tidy coffee shop. “All right,” she said, mustering a smile. “New rule. No one touches anything with a power cord until further notice.”
Irene sniffed. “Probably for the best.”
Polly raised her hand meekly. “Does that include the toaster?”
“Yes,” Lila said flatly.
Tristan chuckled, tossing his damp towel onto the counter. “I’ll bring my own thermos next time.”
“Do that.” Her cheeks flushed under his amused look.
He tipped his head, the corner of his mouth curving. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”
When the door shut behind him, Grandma ambled out from the back, hands on hips, and surveyed the carnage. “Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’d call that progress.”
“Progress?” Lila echoed.
“Sure,” Grandma said with a grin. “Nothing caught fire.”
The others nodded solemnly as if that were an impressive victory.
Lila laughed despite herself. “All right, team,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s clean this place up before someone thinks we’re auditioning for a food fight.”
Grandma patted her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, dear. The trick with this crew is to start every day with prayer… and maybe a tarp.”
Lila groaned, but she was smiling now. Maybe—just maybe—she’d survive this after all.
