Jack raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I want to stay,” she said, the words settling in her chest where they belonged. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You take over Lolly’s kitchen.” She poked him in thechest. “And you promise I’ll never have to do any of the cooking.”
Jack grinned, something soft and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. “I think I can manage that,” he said.
And then, without hesitation, he kissed her, right there in the middle of The Salty Spoon, with the ringing of the cash register and the noise of the festival as their soundtrack. It wasn’t a Hollywood kiss—her nose bumped his bruised cheek, and she was pretty sure her lips tasted like salt from all the tears she had cried that day—but it was perfect.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and laughing, Aggie held out her hand to Bea.
“Told you they’d get there eventually. Pay up, sister.”
Bea grumbled, handing over a crisp twenty-dollar bill.
Cora looked up at Jack, who was watching her with a mixture of amusement and something that looked a lot like love.
“So,” she said, “ready to reopen The Salty Spoon with me?”
He laughed, pulling her closer. “Cora,” he said, his voice low and warm, “I’ve been ready since the day you almost knocked me out with a jar of pickled okra.”
And as the bustling crowd surrounded them, full of laughter and stories and the smell of fresh-baked memories, Cora knew that Lolly was somewhere, watching over them all with that knowing smile of hers. She could almost hear her voice, gentle but firm:About time you figured it out, sugar.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The impromptuSave The Salty Spoonparty had spilled out onto the porch, laughter and music weaving through the warm summer air. A half-drunken version of “Sweet Caroline” echoed from somewhere near the front door, and the faint strumming of a guitar drifted over the crowd.
Inside, Aggie’s eyes were practically glowing when she grabbed Cora’s arm. “Cora, honey, come with me,” she said, tugging so hard Cora’s apron strings came loose.
“Where are we going?” Cora asked, stumbling behind Aggie as she bulldozed her way through the crowded café.
“No time for questions!” Aggie said, not slowing down for a second. “This is important. And it’s already 12:45 a.m. We’re on a schedule.”
“A schedule for what?” Cora managed, nearly tripping over her feet as she sped up.
“You’ll see.”
Cora barely had time to throw Jack an apologetic glance before Aggie dragged her out the door.
She weaved through the crowd, pulling Cora along until they reached a row of parade floats parked at the end of Main Street. The Shrimp and Grits float was lit up like a Christmas tree, fairy lights twinkling across the crepe paper that coveredit. Cora’s breath caught in her throat as she took it in. Lolly would have been doubled over, laughing at the sight of Aggie in her giant shrimp costume, ready to sit on top of that ridiculous bowl of fake grits dripping with sequined gravy.
“What is this?” Cora whispered, scared that if she spoke too loudly, she might break the magic of the moment.
“This,” Aggie said proudly, “is your ride.”
Cora blinked, trying to process her words. “You want me to ride the float? Aggie, have you been drinking? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Oh, I’m stone-cold sober, sweetheart. And so is the mayor. Come on, he wants to talk to you.” With that, she led Cora over to the base of the float, where Mayor Thompson stood clutching a small cardboard box.
His face was either flushed from excitement or the heat, but he was grinning as wide as everyone else. And gathered around him were all the familiar faces of Sunrise: Bea, Winston, Lincoln, and the rest of the town regulars.
The mayor cleared his throat theatrically, and the chatter of the crowd quieted. “Cora Lockwood,” he began, his voice carrying across the square, “when we lost Lolly, a part of the sun went out around here. The town felt just a bit dimmer without her. But when you came back to Sunrise, the light shifted again. You didn’t just save a café. You helped all of us remember what it’s like to shine.”
Cora’s face heated up, and she had to fight the urge to hide behind her hands. “I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.
“Well, we do,” Winston said, practically bouncing on his toes. “And now it’s our turn to do something for you.”
