She picked up her plate and walked toward the kitchen. “Thanks for dinner. The food was great,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s a shame I can’t say the same about the company.”
Chapter Nine
The night sky stretched out over the water, an endless expanse of black dotted with a sliver of moon. Tourists would’ve been snapping photos for Instagram, but Jack took another swig of beer, hoping it would shut up his brain for five seconds.
After Cora left, he’d scrubbed the kitchen until it gleamed, like he could scrub away the part where he’d actually thought he was getting through to her. He’d told her stories about Lolly, walked her through the recipes, let her peek behind the curtain a little. And she’d laughed and played along. He’d taken it as a sign they were finally on the same page. Turns out, she’d just been softening him up before asking for his help to shut it all down.
Stupid.
She wasn’t staying. She wasn’t invested. She just wanted his help to wrap things up in a tidy bow before she bolted back to her real life.
And like an idiot, he’d smiled and cooked and let himself forget.
He shifted on the weathered planks of the dock, half hoping they’d finally give way and dump him in the water. At least then he could stop feeling like a fool for thinkingabout her freckles and the way she’d laughed when she’d talked about setting her kitchen on fire making toast.
“Real smart, Harlow,” he muttered, taking another pull of his drink. “Get suckered in by the woman who’s about to destroy the only thing in this town that makes sense.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. This was getting him nowhere fast.
The thing was, he knew Cora had cared about Lolly. That much was obvious from the way her voice softened whenever she talked about her grandmother, the wistful look in her eyes when she glanced around the café. So why was she so set on selling?
A memory surfaced, unbidden. Lolly, doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, Jack,” she’d wheezed between giggles, “you should’ve seen it. Cora, bless her heart, decided she was going to make me a birthday cake. Unsupervised. She somehow managed to mistake salt for sugarandbaking soda for flour. It was like biting into the Dead Sea. But you know what? She made me eat a whole slice, watching me with those big eyes. Thought I’d die, but I choked it down. Because that girl? She’s got more heart than talent, and sometimes that’s what the world needs.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips, but it faded as the rumble of an engine cut through the quiet. He didn’t need to look up to know it was a Worthington car purring by, heading to the far end of the island where regular folks, especially Harlows, didn’t dare to tread. Probably Nathaniel, out for an evening drive in whatever overpriced midlife crisis he was currently showing off. His grip tightened around the bottle. The Worthingtons dominated this town, and for them, it was never about land or money. It was about power. And the idea of Cora getting wrapped up in that mess, of her handing over Lolly’s café to Nathaniel Worthington, made his blood boil.
Then again, the Worthingtons viewed his family as thetown villains, and they’d done plenty to earn that reputation. His grandfather had straight-up killed Tobias Worthington, Nathaniel’s great-uncle, back in the day. That started the feud. Add in the fact that Jack’s dad spent more time in the county jail than out of it, and it was no wonder folks locked their doors when the Harlows walked by.
That’s why he’d left Sunrise to open his restaurant, because the town never let him forget who he was. “There goes Jack Harlow,” they’d whisper. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
His dad had never shared much about what went down between Gramps and Tobias Worthington. All Jack knew was that it supposedly started over a woman. Knowing the Harlow men’s knack for charming the ladies—and their spectacular talent for screwing it up—that could mean just about anything. Rumors flew all over town for years. Everything from a poker game gone wrong to Gramps being a bootlegger. Jack’s favorite was the one involving a pig named Henrietta and an out-of-control bonfire on the mayor’s front lawn.
The truth? He didn’t know. In Sunrise, history shifted with the tides, different with every retelling. But one thing was certain: whatever went down between Gramps and Worthington had sparked a feud that made the Hatfields and McCoys look like kids arguing over marbles.
And now here he was, about to throw himself into the same old battle, this time over a café. Lolly would’ve gotten a kick out of that. Him, the last Harlow, squaring off with a Worthington over her beloved restaurant. But to him, this wasn’t about an old feud. The café was more than a business. It was a lifeline, the place where he’d found his footing again. And now Cora was ready to hand it over to the highest bidder. What made it worse was that the highest bidder in Sunrise would always be Nathaniel freaking Worthington.
“Over my dead body,” he muttered, draining the last of his beer. He stood up, tossing the empty bottle into therecycling bin as he headed back to the house. Time to come up with a plan. One that ended with Worthington getting exactly what he deserved.
As he reached for another beer, because that kind of scheming required fuel, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Aggie.
Whatever you’re planning, count me in. P.S. Your dock really is a death trap. I’ve got a guy who can fix that.
He stared at the screen, shaking his head. How did she always—You know what? He didn’t even want to know. He texted back:
My dock is fine. But if you’ve got any dirt on the Worthingtons, now’s the time to spill.
Her reply came almost instantly.
Oh, honey, I’ve got a whole compost heap. Come by the café tomorrow morning. Bring breakfast.
Jack kickedopen The Salty Spoon’s door, juggling a basket of muffins and whatever was left of his dignity. As expected, the trio was already inside. The place had been officially closed for months, but that minor detail had never stopped Aggie, Bea, and Winston from treating it like their personal clubhouse.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Aggie called from her perch at the counter. “If it isn’t Sunrise’s most eligible felon.”
“Allegedfelon,” he corrected, dropping the basket on thecounter with a thud that sent the napkin holder skittering. “I’ll have you know I’ve been a model citizen for at least ...” He checked his watch. “Twelve hours now.”
Aggie snorted into her coffee. “Alert the media. Jack Harlow made it through the night without a mug shot.”
He flipped open the basket’s cloth cover, releasing a puff of blueberry-scented steam that made Aggie lean in. “Keep it up, and I’ll find a way to make these muffins lethal.” He nodded toward Winston, who was chewing on the end of a pen as he studied the crossword puzzle. “Don’t worry, Winston, I’ll give theGazettethe exclusive.”
