Little Timmy Johnson, all of six years old and apparently possessing the jaw strength of a saltwater crocodile, bit into one of her so-called fitness cookies. The crunch echoed across the porch like a gunshot, followed by a wail so piercing it could have roused the dead.
Cora gasped, rushing over. “Oh, no. Timmy, are you okay?Please tell me you didn’t chip a tooth. We can barely afford sprinkles, let alone root canals.”
Timmy’s mother glared at Cora like she’d tried to feed her son uranium. “What on earth are these made of? Cement?”
Her brain had short-circuited. She opened her mouth but couldn’t find words. Luckily, Jack swooped in, smooth as butter—something she’d incidentally forgotten to add to the cookies.
“Ma’am, I apologize. These aren’t fit for human consumption,” he said, failing to hide his chuckle behind a cough. “They’re specially formulated for canine dental health. Right, Cora?”
She nodded so hard it was a wonder her head didn’t pop off. “Oh, absolutely. They’re quite popular with the dog community.”
Right on cue, Governor Sam lumbered up to the table, his big, droopy eyes locked on to the cookies, a stream of drool already pooling at his feet. She broke off a piece of cookie and tossed it his way. He snapped it up with the enthusiasm of a dog who’d just discovered bacon.
“See?” she said, smiling brightly. “Canine-approved!”
Timmy’s mother didn’t look convinced, but Bea’s offer of a complimentary pie seemed to smooth things over. As they walked away, Cora spun around to face Jack, torn between gratitude and indignation.
“Dog treats? Seriously?”
He shrugged. “Would you rather I tell her the truth? That they’re secretly weapons of mass destruction?”
She smacked his arm. “My baking isn’t that lethal, thank you very much.”
He softened, his voice dropping enough to make her heart race. “No, but it is memorable.”
Somehow, they managed to sell most of the baked goods. Even her cookies. After a quick online search ensured the ingredients were safe for dogs, they rebranded them as all-natural dog treats and slapped a ridiculously high price tag on them. Apparently, Sunrise’s dog owners were either extremely gullible or just desperate for indestructible chew toys.
By the time they’d packed up, the sun was setting. Cora leaned against the porch railing, exhausted but oddly content.
Jack came up beside her, bumping her shoulder with his. “For what it’s worth, I think Lolly would have loved today.”
She glanced at him, surprised. “Which part? The drama? The dental emergencies? The possible violation of the Geneva Convention via baked goods?”
He nodded, his expression warm. “All of it. Especially the part where you didn’t give up, even when everything went sideways. That’s pure Lolly.”
A lump formed in Cora’s throat at his words, a mix of feeling touched and terrified by how much they meant. “Thanks, Jack,” she said, her voice a little rougher than she intended.
“So . . . dinner?” he asked.
She blinked, surprised. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Your place. You’re cooking.”
She stared at him, waiting for the punchline. When none came, she burst out laughing. “You’ve clearly been huffing vanilla extract or something. Did you miss the part where I nearly killed a first grader today?”
“Nope. I’m going to teach you.”
“Teach me?” she echoed in alarm. “You do realize that’s like offering to teach a shark to crochet, right?”
He stepped closer, and suddenly she was very aware of how the fading sunlight caught the amber flecks in his brown eyes.
“Come on, Cora. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I think I left it in New York, along with my dignity and my job.”
He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Consider it a challenge. Unless you’re scared?”
“Low blow, Harlow,” she said, but there was no heat in her words. “Fine. But when we end up ordering pizza, you’re paying.”
