“My replacement,” Cora finished. “Let me guess, they found someone who can go a whole week without causing an office scandal or a kitchen fire?”
“Oh, please.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “If that were the standard, the place would be empty. You know Priscilla from accounting is dating both the coffee guy and his sister, right?”
Cora gasped in mock horror. “No! Both of them? That’s...actually impressive. Meanwhile, when I was seeing Brad-the-weasel, it took him three days to return a text.”
“That should have been your first sign,” she said, pursing her lips. “Speaking of which, have you heard from him?”
“Radio silence,” Cora said, nearly toppling a tower of pizza boxes with her dramatic hand wave. “I even tried the old ‘urgent call from his doctor about a contagious rash’ trick. No luck.”
Vanessa’s smile faded as she took in the state of Cora’s apartment. “We miss you at the office. It’s not the same without your terrible cooking and that weird little dance you do when the vending machine spits out an extra snack.”
“I miss you guys too.” Blinking back tears, Cora grabbed a crumpled chip bag and hurried into the kitchen. Her feet stuck to the linoleum because she hadn’t cleaned in days.
Vanessa followed, almost bumping into her as she dumped the bag in the trash. “Seriously, though. Are you gonna be okay?” Her voice was quiet and filled with genuine concern.
“I’ll be right as rain!” Cora chirped, forcing a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. Even to her ears, it sounded hollow. “But hey, if you hear of any job openings in the industry, will you let me know? This palace won’t pay for itself.”
Vanessa’s face fell.
“What?” Irritation prickled along Cora’s spine. “I knowSylvia’s not about to take me back, but there have to be other fish in the sea.”
Vanessa studied her manicure as if it held the secrets of the universe. “After you left, Sylvia had me compile a list of our contacts at every magazine and supplier in the city. She called it ‘damage control,’ but I think she was really ...”
The realization hit Cora square in the chest. She’d sent out résumés to every publisher in the city, but every submission had been met with silence. “Blacklisting me.” The chips in her stomach churned. She was unemployed, broke, and apparently unhirable, all because of her terrible taste in men.
“I’m so sorry, Cora.” Vanessa’s voice cracked. “I wish I could do more.”
Cora didn’t respond. She simply collapsed onto the couch and wrapped herself in her threadbare blanket.
Vanessa paused and offered a small, sad smile before snapping her fingers and rummaging through the box on the coffee table. “Almost forgot. Roger sent something to cheer you up. He stole it from the executive lounge.” She held up a box of Cora’s favorite local caramels.
Cora gasped and made grabby hands at the candy.
Vanessa slid it over and raised a finger. “Oh, and your neighbor gave me a stack of your mail. Said there’s something important in there for you.”
And then she was gone, leaving Cora to stare at the tattered remnants of her dreams, unceremoniously crammed into a box like yesterday’s recycling.
She shoved the box off the couch, watching as mementos of her former life scattered across the floor. A stress ball in the shape of an avocado. A broken gold pen from the awards dinner where she’d predicted bone broth’s comeback. A reusable coffee cup that had been missing its lid for the last five years.
She stared at the mess for a moment, her heart thudding, but then shook herself. There was no use digging throughthe past when the present was already a disaster. Gathering the pile of mail, she prepared to toss it into the abyss beneath the couch cushions. Unpaid bills could haunt her another day.
But then one envelope caught her eye. The elegant script read: “Cora Jean Lockwood, executor of the estate of Lolita Lockwood.” She slid a finger under the already-opened flap, no doubt courtesy of Mrs. Davenport, whose nosiness apparently knew no bounds. Unfolding the letter, Cora scanned its contents. She hadn’t heard from Lolly’s lawyer in months, not since he’d taken over the café’s expenses until Cora decided its fate.
Dear Ms. Lockwood,
We’ve been unable to reach you regarding your plans for your late grandmother’s café, The Salty Spoon, and its attached residence. Please contact us at your earliest convenience to discuss the future of the property.
Warm regards,
Leonard Hathaway, Esq.
The Salty Spoon.
The name alone was enough to knock the wind out of her. She could see it so clearly, the coastal-blue shutters faded to gray, the wonky front step everyone knew to avoid, and the bell over the door that Lolly insisted had the perfect “ding.” Cora could practically smell the cinnamon rolls and hear Patsy Cline on the old kitchen radio.
But Lolly was gone now. And The Spoon had been shuttered ever since.
Cora pressed her lips together, the weight of her memories pulling at her. But she couldn’t afford to getsentimental. Not now. Not when her rent was due, and her fridge contained exactly one sad blueberry yogurt and half a lime.
