He studied her, noticing the shadows under her eyes and the tightness around her mouth. There was more to this story, he was sure of it.
“Why not?” he asked, his voice even. “Lolly was always talking about her brilliant granddaughter in the big city. How you had such a gift for...well, not cooking, apparently. That part came up a lot.”
Cora’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed suspiciously. “What did she say about me?”
“Let’s just say I heard some pretty colorful stories about your kitchen adventures. How’s your meatloaf game these days, by the way?”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “She swore she’d never tell anyone about that.”
“What can I say? Lolly loved a good story, especially when it involved her precious grandbaby torching ten pounds of meatloaf and sending half the church potluck home clutching their stomachs.”
Lolly had a way of turning every one of Cora’s disasters into a story worth telling. It was never about what actually happened; it was the way she’d spin it over sweet tea, addingflair and laughter until it felt like legend. It was as if she’d known that the truth didn’t matter half as much as the telling of it. He missed that more than he was willing to admit.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Cora protested, stifling a laugh.
“Didn’t the fire department have to call in backup from another town?”
“I never said I was an Iron Chef,” she said. “That’s why this whole thing is ridiculous. I can’t run a café. I can barely microwave a frozen dinner without setting off the smoke detector.”
“So, what changed?” he pressed, genuinely curious now. “What happened to the girl who used to spend hours in this kitchen, trying her best not to poison anyone?”
Cora’s eyes flashed. “She grew up and realized that adults need these pesky little things called jobs. Not all of us can spend our time making a mess in someone else’s kitchen.”
He turned just in time to see the strawberries beginning to bubble over. He cursed under his breath and quickly pulled the pan off the stove. Cora Lockwood was definitely a distraction.
As he salvaged the strawberries, his mind raced. She was ready to walk away from The Salty Spoon without a second thought, but he couldn’t let that happen. This place wasn’t just a business. It was the heart of the town and a piece of Lolly’s legacy that deserved to be cherished, not sold off. He had to find a way to make Cora see that, to remind her of what this café meant to the people of Sunrise and to him. And maybe the way to do that was through one of the very things Lolly had loved most: food.
“Tell you what,” he said, turning back to the fridge. “Before you rush out to sell this place, let me make you something to eat.” He didn’t look at her as he grabbed another carton of strawberries. He kept his voice casual. “Call it a truce. You sit; I cook. No strings, no speeches. Just a taste of what Lolly and I started.”
Cora eyed the strawberries warily, the hint of a sad smile dimpling her cheek. “I’m not hungry.” She turned toward the door, her voice soft. “You can let yourself out when you’re done. And don’t forget to lock up.”
He watched her go, the silence of the kitchen echoing around him as the door clicked shut behind her.
Chapter Five
Cora stood in Lolly’s apartment’s kitchen above the café—her kitchen now, she supposed—taking in the familiar chaos that had always felt like home. The soft glow of the streetlight outside the window illuminated the mismatched mugs lining the shelves, each one a souvenir from one of Lolly’s adventures or a gift from a friend. They told a story as colorful and eclectic as Lolly herself.
Her fingers traced the rim of her grandmother’s favorite mug, a chipped monstrosity featuring a goat with large, slanted eyes and a half-smirk that made it look like it was about to go on a killing spree. The ceramic felt cool under her touch, nothing like the memories flooding in, mostly of Lolly trying to convince her that the goat’s expression was thoughtful and not murderous.
It had been six months since the call that had turned her world upside down. She’d been in New York, knee-deep in research for an article on the next big kale alternative, because, apparently the world needed more leafy greens to feel guilty about not eating. The shrill ring of her phone had been a welcome distraction from the endless parade of fiber.
“Cora Jean,” Lolly’s best friend Aggie had crackledthrough the line. “Your grandmother’s gone and done it now.”
Her heart had dropped to her stomach, and she’d immediately pulled out her laptop to book a red-eye back to North Carolina to post her grandmother’s bail. “What do you mean? Is Lolly okay?”
There was a pause, then Aggie had let out a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. “Oh, honey, she’s fine. Well, as fine as you can be when you’re no longer with us. But I’ll tell you what, she went out with a bang. Literally.”
It turned out that Lolly, in her infinite wisdom and unquenchable zest for life, had decided that her eightieth birthday called for something special. Not content with a quiet dinner or even a rowdy party at the café, she’d gotten it into her head that skydiving was the perfect way to celebrate her eight decades on Earth.
“She said she wanted to touch the sky before her arthritis got any worse,” her friend Bea had told Cora later, misty-eyed but smiling. “I suggested yoga instead, but Lolly said downward dog was for quitters.”
Lolly had made it out of the plane just fine, whooping with joy as she’d plummeted toward the ground. It was the landing that got her. She and her tandem partner missed the designated drop zone by a good quarter mile and had the misfortune of crash-landing right onto a jagged rock in the heart of Old Man Peterson’s tomato patch.
“Darned woman took out half my harvest,” Peterson had grumbled at the funeral, his eyes suspiciously red.
Cora shook her head as she remembered.It wasso perfectly, ridiculously Lolly. After all, this was the same woman who’d once entered the county fair pie contest with a “special” recipe that had included enough bourbon to get the entire judging panel drunk off their rockers.
That was Lolly, though. Larger than life, unapologetically chaotic, and somehow always one step ahead of everyoneelse. She’d raised Cora with that same fearless spirit—equal parts grit, grace, and glitter glue. There were no bedtime stories in their house, only tales of Lolly’s adventures told over midnight snacks.
