Chapter 18 #2
Cora released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, the tension loosening in her shoulders.
“Looks like you two are on the same wavelength,” Sal said with a good-natured chuckle. “Except for the drinks.”
Steam hissed from the grill as he turned back to the sizzling meat, the scent of pastrami and toasted rye drifting through the air, warm, savory, achingly familiar.
They always had been on the same wavelength, she thought. Grilled cheese on sourdough with thin slices of green apple. BLTs on multigrain with a fried egg and avocado. Chicken salad on a croissant, no celery, extra hot sauce. Small preferences that had once fit together as easily as their laughter.
Evan’s gaze slid to hers, and the corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. “Looks that way.”
Something inside her tightened and eased all at once.
“Bar or table?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
“Outside table?” he suggested, tone light but hopeful.
“Perfect.”
Sal handed them their drinks, the glass cool against her palm. As they stepped out into the sunlight, the door shut softly behind them, trading the hiss and clatter of the diner for the gentle rustle of leaves and the far-off hum of traffic. The air smelled faintly of rain and possibility.
They chose a round metal table near the edge of the sidewalk, its surface cool beneath her hand as she sat. A light breeze tugged at the edges of napkins and carried the faint scent of damp leaves mixed with something sweet from the bakery down the block.
Cora took a sip of her iced tea, the glass already beading with condensation.
The tea was cold and sharp, with just the right amount of lemon.
Across from her, Evan leaned back slightly, the sunlight catching in his hair.
For a fleeting moment, she saw the boy he’d once been—the quiet steadiness, the kindness in his eyes—and her chest ached with the memory.
The clatter of plates drew her attention as Big Sal himself pushed through the door, balancing a tray stacked high with sandwiches. “Here we go,” he announced cheerfully, setting the plates down with a practiced flourish.
The scent hit first—warm rye, smoky pastrami, melted Swiss and the sharp tang of mustard. Sal had added a generous handful of potato chips to each plate. He winked. “Extra pickles, just like you asked.”
Cora smiled. “You remembered.”
“Hard to forget someone who orders like they mean it,” he said, chuckling as he disappeared back inside.
For a moment, all conversation paused. Cora picked up her sandwich, the bread still warm in her hands. The first bite was perfect—crisp edge, soft middle, flavors layered and familiar. She exhaled, tension leaving her body one slow breath at a time.
“This is every bit as good as I remember,” she said, voice soft but sure.
Evan smiled over the rim of his Coke, the fizz crackling faintly in the quiet. “Some things don’t change.”
Her lips curved, a trace of sadness behind the smile. “Maybe the best things aren’t supposed to.”
The words hung between them, light, easy, but layered with meaning neither of them touched.
Evan cleared his throat, looking down at his sandwich. “How long have you been in GraceTown?”
“Two months.” Cora set her glass down, tracing a finger through the ring of condensation it had left on the table. “I agreed to house-sit for a couple. She’s a professor here, Lisa Franken.”
Evan nodded thoughtfully. “I know who she is, though we’ve never met.”
“I don’t know her and her husband at all,” Cora admitted with a small laugh. “Not really.”
As they ate, she told him about how the couple’s original house-sitting plans had fallen through and how a former coworker of Cora’s from the Jacksonville library had connected her with the opportunity.
“So you just packed up and came to a new town to house-sit?” he asked, half incredulous, half impressed.
“It’s not really a new town to me,” she said softly. “I was born here. Lived here until I was six.”
He paused in midbite, studying her face. “Then your roots are here.”
He meant her Summerbell roots—her tie to Lenora—but now, when Cora thought of roots, she also thought of him. Of Penny and Leo. Of what might have been.
“Yes,” she murmured, lifting her tea again. “You could say my roots run deep.”
“You mentioned a library position?”
She smiled faintly. “In Ohio. I have until the end of the month to accept the position. But I’m almost sure I’ll accept it. Unless something opens up here.” She crossed her fingers and grinned, a spark of her old self surfacing.
His answering smile was genuine, almost fond.
“In the meantime,” she went on, “I’m working part time at Cuppa Joe.” She hesitated, then added with a teasing lilt, “You should stop in. City Coffee may be closer, but there’s something to be said for variety.”
He laughed quietly, the sound low and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
For a moment, the conversation slipped into an easy rhythm—the clink of their glasses, the soft crunch of chips, the occasional shared glance that felt both familiar and new.
Then he spoke again, his tone turning casual, but only on the surface. “Are you anticipating any proceeds from Lenora’s estate? I only ask because—”
Cora straightened, the warmth in her chest tightening into something sharper. “I didn’t come to you because I want money,” she said, her voice firmer than she’d intended. “I came to make sure Lenora’s wishes are followed.”
Evan blinked, setting his sandwich down, palms lifting slightly in apology. “Whoa. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry if it came across wrong.”
“What did you mean?” Her gaze locked on his, and just like that long-ago day in that lecture hall, she found herself caught by the warm brown of his eyes, the steadiness that had always undone her.
“Everything okay out here?”
Sal’s voice broke the moment.
“Everything’s fine,” Cora said quickly.
“All good,” Evan echoed, clearing his throat. He picked up his drink. “What I meant was, it’s understandable to assume money might be involved. But in this case, it comes down to who Collister can sell the land to and under what stipulations.”
“You don’t want me counting on a windfall,” she said, her tone gentling.
Relief softened his expression. “Exactly.”
“I don’t expect any.” She reached for a dill spear, the crisp snap cutting through the tension. “My only goal is to make sure Lenora’s wishes for the land are met.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The breeze shifted, stirring napkins and carrying the faint clang of a loose street sign down the block.
Cora finished her tea, the glass cool and slick in her hand, and set it beside her empty plate. Evan did the same with his Coke, his expression thoughtful but no longer guarded.
When they stood, their chairs scraped softly against the pavement. The afternoon light had deepened into gold, pooling across the sidewalk and catching on the wet leaves that speckled the street.
Together, they headed back toward campus, their strides finding an easy rhythm that felt…inevitable somehow.
Neither spoke for several minutes. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was thoughtful, weighted with everything said and unsaid. A truck rumbled past, the sound fading as quickly as it came.
The easy clatter and low hum of Big Sal’s slipped behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the quiet rhythm of their steps along the sidewalk.
Something unspoken lingered, familiar yet new. Tentative but real.
“I’ll let you know what I find out,” Evan said finally as they reached the corner. His voice was calm, professional, but beneath it, she heard something quieter, something almost hopeful. “About the deed.”
Cora nodded, her satchel slipping over one shoulder. “I’d appreciate that. My contact information is with the papers.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
He paused, meeting her gaze. “It was good seeing you again.”
The way he said again caught her off guard—gentle, like he meant it.
“You, too,” she said softly.
For a moment, neither moved. Then Evan smiled—small, genuine—and turned up the sidewalk that led toward the Administration Building, sunlight brushing his shoulders.
Cora watched him go, her pulse still uneven, her heart thrumming with the quiet certainty that this wasn’t the end of their story.
Something in her chest felt lighter, steadier, like a thread that had frayed was quietly knotting itself back together.
The deed hadn’t just fallen into her hands.
And neither, she suspected, had Evan.