“Cora, I . . . I owe you an apology.”
She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.Oh, this should be good. “Go on, then.”
“What happened wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have taken credit for your work.”
She blinked. “Wow. Did that hurt? Admitting you’re a lying, backstabbing jerk? Do you need to sit down? I’d offer you a cookie, but they might chip your perfect teeth.”Not to mention she didn’t have time to lace them with rat poison.
Alex winced. “I deserve that. But, Cora, I need your help.”
She blinked. And then, because his audacity was downright Olympic-level, she laughed. “You needmy help? That’s rich. What’s next? Are you going to ask me to be your character reference the next time you scam someone?”
“They want me to write a follow-up article,” he continued, steamrolling over her sarcasm. “About upcoming food trends. But...I’m stuck. We were always better together, Cora. Your insight, my connections?—”
“Your theft, my unemployment,” she finished for him. “Quite the dream team.”
But even as he kept talking, she stopped listening. Her brain shifted into petty overdrive, thinking about all the ways she could make him regret making the trip to Sunrise. She could spill scalding hot coffee in his lap oraccidentallynudge him into a wasps’ nest. She scanned the porch for potential weapons. Just hypothetically. Then her gaze flicked toward the café. Jack was inside. He’d probably know how to bury a body or at least discreetly ruin a man’s tires.
A scraping sound near the window caught her attention. She glanced over to see Jack had joined Aggie in her not-so-subtle eavesdropping.
He mouthed,You okay?
And at that moment, she knew exactly what she needed to say. She held up her hand, cutting off Alex mid-sentence. “No.”
He blinked, thrown off his pitch. “No?”
“No.” Her voice got stronger with each word. “I’m not helping you. Not now, not ever. We weren’t ‘good together,’ Alex. You used me. So no, I’m not going to help you write an article about food trends. But I will give you one prediction for free: Karma’s not finished with you yet.”
The back door swung open, and the gang spilled out onto the porch, subtlety officially out the window.
“You tell him, honey!” Aggie crowed, wielding herwooden spoon like a weapon. “I don’t know what you did, but I’m not afraid to beat you first and ask questions later.”
Jack stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Need help showing him to his car? I’ll be gentle. Mostly.”
Cora smiled. Her friends were loud and completely incapable of minding their own business, but she was thankful they had her back.
“Thanks, but I’ve got this.” She turned back to Alex, who looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “You heard them. Time to go.”
For a second, he stood there with his mouth open. But then he caught the way Jack had crossed his arms, putting his biceps on full display, and thought better of it. He forced a smile, his shoes shuffling against the porch steps as he slunk off.
Aggie, not missing a beat, waved her wooden spoon after him. “And I’d hurry up, sugar. Consequences travel fast in a town this small.”
There was a time Cora had dreamed of Brad-slash-Alex’s apology. The chance that he’d make things right. But watching him walk out of The Spoon, the weight on her shoulders lifted. She turned to her friends, lighter than she’d been in months, and clapped her hands. “Who’s up for brainstorming some fundraising ideas that don’t involve breaking the law?”
Winston looked genuinely disappointed. “Are you sure? Because I’ve got some brilliant plans involving the bank’s ventilation system ...”
Laughter broke out as they headed back inside the café. Jack caught her hand as they walked in, turning to the others with a grin.
“Is anybody hungry?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
For the next few hours, Cora watched Jack work his magic in the kitchen, preparing a seafood boil as if he’d been doing it his whole life. The scent of Old Bay filled the air, mixing with the steam rising from the pot as he tossed in shrimp, sausage, potatoes, and corn. There was something hypnotic about the way he moved, confident and smooth, as if Lolly’s kitchen was where he truly belonged.
He stirred something into the pot without measuring, timing, or even glancing at a recipe. It gave her hives. She needed structure. Predictability. Clear steps and margins and maybe a nice little checkbox system. Jack cooked like the laws of chemistry were optional.
When everything was ready, he spread newspapers across the bar, then dumped the contents of the pot onto them in a colorful heap.
They gathered around, digging in with their hands, laughing as they swapped stories about Lolly and The Spoon. Jack was in his element, cooking and listening, that quiet flicker of a smile never far.
