Jack stepped forward, his expression hardening. “Convenient timing, don’t you think? With Lolly gone and unable to contest this?”
Nathaniel’s smile remained unfazed. “Jack. Always a pleasure. Still pretending to be a chef?”
“Still pretending to be a decent human being?” Jack shot back.
The air between them practically sparked with hostility.
“Gentlemen.” Winston’s calm voice sliced through the rising tension. “Perhaps we can discuss this civilly?”
Cora nodded, grateful for Winston’s attempt to de-escalate things. “Winston’s right. Nathaniel, surely we can find a way to negotiate. Thirty days isn’t nearly enough time to?—”
“The terms are non-negotiable,” Nathaniel said. “But don’t worry, Cora. If paying off the loan proves difficult, I’m sure we can reach another mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Jack stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her back in a show of support. The warmth of his touch was the opposite of the icy chill Nathaniel’s words had sent racing down her spine.
“Now listen here, Nate,” Aggie said, brandishing a wooden spoon she’d fished out of her purse instead of the fabled Taser. “You might think you’re hot stuff now, but I remember when you were five and decided to give yourself a haircut with your mama’s garden shears. You looked like a plucked chicken for months.”
Nathaniel’s face turned crimson. “Mrs. Palmer, I hardly think that’s relevant.”
“Oh, it’s plenty relevant,” Aggie continued, clearly enjoying herself. “Shows you’ve always had more ambition than sense. Now, are you going to play nice, or should I start sharing photos from the third-grade talent show? I seem to recall a certain someone thinking he had a knack for juggling raw eggs ...”
For a moment, Nathaniel looked like he might stamp his foot in frustration, but he regained control, taking a steadying breath. “You have a month, Cora. Until the Honeysuckle Festival. I look forward to seeing more of you now that you’re back in town.” And with that, he spun on his heel and exited, the café door closing behind him with a firm click.
The room seemed to deflate in his absence, and Cora sagged against the counter, her legs turning to jelly. Jack’s hand remained on her back, a steady presence she wasn’t quite ready to let go of.
“Well,” Aggie huffed, adjusting her glasses and tucking the wooden spoon back into her purse. “I haven’t wanted to smack someone upside the head that badly since Alfie Peterson tried to get handsy at the senior citizen’s pickleball tournament.”
If only their problems could be solved with a good swing of Aggie’s wooden spoon.
“What are we going to do?” Cora whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
To her surprise, it was Jack who answered. “We’re going to fight.”
She looked up at him, caught off guard by the fire in his eyes and the determination in the set of his jaw. For the first time all day, she felt a glimmer of hope.
Winston cleared his throat, his eyes flashing as he geared up for one of his infamous stories. “You know, back in theeighties, I ran a very successful fundraising campaign for the?—”
“How about a bake sale?” Aggie asked, cutting him off and scribbling notes on a pad she pulled from her bag.
Bea nodded in agreement. “And we can reach out to some of Lolly’s old contacts in the restaurant world. She knew so many people, and I’m sure they’d love to help you keep the café open.”
Their excitement was contagious, but the weight of reality crashed down on Cora. She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I appreciate it,” she said, her voice cracking. “But I’m not staying in Sunrise. I was always going to sell the café. This loan...it doesn’t change that.”
The warmth in Jack’s eyes cooled instantly, like a door slamming shut. “You’re still going to sell? So even if we find a way to save the place, we still lose it?”
“I have a life back in the city,” she said, sounding more defensive than she intended. “This was never meant to be permanent.”
At least that had been the plan. Go back, start job hunting again, maybe even claw her way back into the industry—if anyone would take her calls. Even her old friends atMorselseemed to be missing in action since she’d left the city. They used to toast her with their fancy cocktails and call herQueenon Instagram, but not one of them had checked in since she’d hopped on the plane to North Carolina. Apparently, proximity had been the only thing holding those friendships together.
She shrugged, trying to keep her voice light. “A plan’s a plan, right?”
Jack’s hand dropped from her back, and the sudden loss left her feeling off balance. “Right,” he said flatly. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your important city life.” He turned and strode toward the door. “Good luck with thesale,” he tossed over his shoulder, and then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling in his wake.
Chapter Eight
Afew days later, Cora slumped into Lolly’s ancient office chair, the springs groaning as if they were finally ready to give up and send her crashing to the floor. The desk in front of her was a battlefield of papers, old recipes, and what looked suspiciously like a half-eaten granola bar.
After spending most of the day elbow-deep in what Lolly generously called a filing system, Cora was no closer to finding out why she’d taken out that loan. To call it organized chaos would be an insult to chaos everywhere. It was like she’d invited every piece of paper she’d ever touched to a wild party in her desk drawers and then decided to play a game of 52-pickup with all of them. The result? A tangled mess of receipts, bills, and Post-its scattered in random piles, some from before Cora was even born.
