Lincoln turned back to them, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah. I did my time and came back to a town that wanted nothing to do with me.” He paused, then gave a crooked smile. “Guess it’s a Harlow rite of passage. Some people get diplomas. We get mug shots.” His voice thickened with emotion. “But I’d do it all again. To keep Lolly safe? There was no price too high.”
Jack stared at him, his mind racing to keep up with everything his grandfather had just revealed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked, the question sharp with confusion and something that felt uncomfortably close to hurt. “All these years, you kept it a secret. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Gramps turned back toward them, his eyes weary. “Because Lolly asked me not to. She was embarrassed. Her parents didn’t approve of me, and she knew the Worthingtons would never let anyone forget what happened. She didn’t want to live in the shadow of that shame. So, when I went to jail, she made me promise I wouldn’t say a word about us.”
Jack shook his head, struggling to understand. “But you loved her. How could you let her go like that?”
A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Loving someone doesn’t always mean holding on. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is let them go. And Lolly...she deserved to be free from all that.” He waved a hand, as if the town and its ghosts were something he’d be able to brush away. “She deserved better than me.”
Lincoln’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t just Tobias, though. If Lolly married him, he would’ve gotten his hands on the landwhere The Salty Spoon sits. That’s what they were really after. Her parents would’ve handed it over as part of the deal.”
Jack’s chest constricted as the pieces clicked together. “They’ve been after the land this whole time,” he muttered. “Waiting for Lolly to be gone so they could take it from her.”
Lincoln nodded, his face hardening with resolve. “They never stopped. Tobias was their way in, and when that didn’t work, they waited. Now that Lolly’s gone ...” He trailed off, the weight of it hanging heavy in the room.
Jack dropped his head into his hands. “The Worthingtons are going to get what they’ve always wanted.”
After leaving Lincoln’s,Cora and Jack had ended up back at The Spoon, talking late into the night about her grandmother, the café, and the land Worthington was after. When she’d finally dragged herself upstairs to bed, he’d promised to lock up. But once the place was quiet, he couldn’t shake the restless energy gnawing at him. So he’d stayed. Partly to keep an eye on Cora, and partly because cooking in Lolly’s kitchen was the only thing that kept his brain from spiraling.
The kitchen was cloaked in pre-dawn darkness, the only light spilling from the oven and the soft glow of the streetlamp outside. It was the kind of quiet that made him feel like the last person on Earth. Jack stood over the flour-dusted counter, glaring at the notes scattered in front of him. Lolly’s handwriting was neat and precise, except for one line: “Add secret ingredient.”
Great, Lolly. Really helpful.
The clock ticked away the early morning hours, reminding him he’d been at this far too long. Cora was probably fast asleep upstairs, oblivious to the fact that he was down here slowly losing his mind over Lolly’s biscuit recipe.
“Okay, Harlow,” he muttered, grabbing another randomingredient. “Biscuit attempt number...who even knows anymore?”
He’d tried everything. Honey? Too sweet. Vinegar? That batch was so bad, it was a crime against biscuits. Nutmeg? Cinnamon? Cardamom? All delicious, but none of them were the secret.
As he mixed the dough, his mind wandered back to Cora. The way her nose scrunched when she studied her ever-present spreadsheet, how she bit her lip when she was concentrating, the way she’d looked at that garden party, glowing even when she was trying to blend in. And then there was the feel of her pressed against him in that closet, her breath warm on his neck ...
An acrid smell snapped him back to reality. Smoke was curling from the oven. His most recent batch of biscuits had gone up in flames.
“No!” He yanked open the oven door, unleashing a thick cloud of smoke that quickly filled the kitchen. As if on cue, the smoke detector began shrieking from the ceiling.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
“Seriously?” he yelled up at it, like the thing might actually take pity on him and shut up.
No such luck.
He threw open the back door, frantically waving a dish towel to clear the smoke. In the chaos, he knocked over the flour bowl, which exploded into a white mushroom cloud, covering both the kitchen and him.
Perfect.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and before he could clean up either the mess or his dignity, Cora appeared in the doorway, wild-eyed and clutching a rolling pin, ready for a fight. Her hair was a mess, her pajamas had little cupcakes all over them, and she was gripping that rolling pin like it was a weapon from a medieval battlefield.
And she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Jack? What’s going on?”
He held up the smoking tray of biscuits, completely deadpan. “Biscuits?”
Cora blinked, taking in the flour-covered counters, the charred remains in his hands, and then him.
She lost it.
Her giggles started softly, but they quickly escalated into full-blown, doubled-over laughter. He should’ve been offended, but between her laughter and the wailing smoke detector, the whole situation was so ridiculous he couldn’t help but join her.
