24. The Grand Reopening
The Grand Reopening
All week, the bakery hummed with a kind of anticipation that made Jenna’s chest feel too full and too light at the same time.
The soft opening on Monday had been smoother than expected, just a few hiccups with the espresso machine, a mislabeled batch of muffins, and a minor icing incident that Emmie swore was “basically performance art.” But customers had come.
Real customers. They’d eaten, smiled, and complimented the displays.
A handful even asked if The Blue Cypress was “finally back,” and Jenna had nearly cried twice.
“Someone has to make sure the team understands my vision,” Emmie had said, sipping her latte like a disapproving CEO.
By Friday, the bakery gleamed. Display cases are full. Tables arranged. Fresh flowers by the register. The new sign—The Blue Cypress Bakery—is glowing proudly in the dusk.
Across the street, Jenna hovered in the bedroom doorway, pretending to look for earrings while trying and failing not to think about whether she would see Cole.
Her parents were coming too. They texted that they’d arrived early, “just in case she needed anything.”
Tonight felt big. Too big.
Emmie popped her head around the corner, eyeliner perfect, curls pinned back with rhinestone clips. “Hey. Is Mr. Bennett coming?”
“Of course,” Jenna said, too quickly. Too casually. As if he hadn’t been absent all week. As if things hadn’t been weird. As if she hadn’t checked her phone every morning, hoping. As if she even knew the answer she was trying to give.
Emmie squinted, suspicious, but let it go. Then she vanished down the hall and came back with two shopping bags, sweeping into the room like a fairy godmother with an attitude.
“Okay,” Emmie announced, dropping the bags on the bed, “emergency intervention.”
Jenna blinked. “I’m sorry . . . what?”
Emmie opened the first bag with a flourish.
A fitted white dress covered in blue watercolor florals spilled out, the ruffled neckline fluttering as she held it up. The thin straps and curve-skimming shape made it look delicately romantic and unfairly flattering all at once.
“This one’s yours.”
She opened the second bag, a pink version, same cut, same ruffles, same dramatic intention.
“And this one,” Emmie announced, “is mine.”
Jenna blinked. “You bought us matching dresses?”
“Correct.” Emmie crossed her arms with the confidence of a general addressing troops.
“Because if left to your own devices, you would absolutely show up to see Mr. Bennett wearing a business suit.”
“I would not.”
“You would,” Emmie said. “And it would be beige.”
Jenna opened her mouth to argue. But closed it.
. . . fair.
“Try it on,” Emmie nudged, her voice softening. “It’s a big night.”
It was, in more ways than Jenna wanted to admit.
* * *
Cole threw himself into work the entire week. Not because he needed to.
Because he didn’t know what to do with himself otherwise.
Every gutter install, every drywall patch, every estimate, he tore into each one like momentum was the only thing holding him together. His crew didn’t ask questions; they just kept pace.
But Friday . . . Friday had a pulse.
By 6 p.m., he’d showered twice, changed shirts three times, and still didn’t feel right. He wasn’t even sure what “right” was supposed to look like when he was going to see Jenna Hart for the first time since he’d drunk-texted her that he was in love with her.
He told himself he was fine. He lied.
When he stepped into the bakery, the world narrowed to a single point. Jenna.
She was across the room talking to an employee, the blue-and-white floral dress hugging her waist and skimming her curves in a way that nearly dropped him to his knees.
The ruffled neckline framed her collarbones, her hair falling loose and elegantly around her shoulders. Her smile was tentative but real.
She looked breathtaking.
Cole almost dropped dead on the spot.
Next to him, he heard someone say, “Mission accomplished.”
He glanced sideways just enough to see Emmie smirking mischievously at him. She looked triumphant, as though she had personally orchestrated this moment.
A villain mastermind indeed.
Jenna turned then, eyes finding him.
He straightened so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
Smile.
Not too big.
Not too small.
Friendly.
Normal. Cole managed something he hoped resembled human behavior. She smiled back mildly, warm but cautious.
He felt something inside him settle and quake at the same time.
He didn’t know how he was going to be friends with this woman. But tonight, she’d invited him back into her world.
And he wasn’t going to screw it up by charging ahead. Not this time.
* * *
Jenna hadn’t expected to feel self-conscious in the dress. But the moment she stepped into the bakery and caught her reflection in the glass of the pastry case, she had to take in a breath.
The dress Emmie chose was . . . a lot.
White and fitted, the fabric was delicate but structured.
Blue floral print sweeping across it like watercolor.
Thin straps. A neckline that was almost sweet until you noticed how it framed her breasts and collarbone.
Ruffle details that moved every time she did.
The skirt hugged her hips, then floated out just enough to make her feel feminine instead of exposed.
She felt like someone who had slept in the sun, someone who laughed easily, someone who didn’t wake up every day bracing for impact.
And when Cole walked in and stopped breathing, she felt a little as if she might combust.
She tried to act like she didn’t hear Emmie say “Mission accomplished” from across the room, but of course, that wasn’t enough for Emmie.
A moment later, she appeared at Jenna’s side, leaned in, and murmured, “FYI, Mr. Bennett’s jaw literally hit the floor when he saw you. I think I heard it clatter.”
“Emmie,” Jenna hissed.
“What? I’m providing analysis.”
Jenna elbowed her, but her cheeks burned.
People began to flood in. Neighbors, old customers, a few teachers from Emmie’s school, and the place quickly filled with chatter and warmth.
Jenna moved from group to group, answering questions, accepting hugs, and making introductions.
But every few minutes, she found Cole across the room, as if her eyes had their own compass.
He pretended to study the tile. The menu boards. The ceiling. But he looked at her.
Again and again.
Emmie glided past with a tray of mini cinnamon rolls. “I swear,” she whispered, “if he stares any harder, he’s going to burn a hole through that dress.”
“Stop it.”
“You stop it. Or don’t. Actually, never mind, don’t.”
Jenna nearly snorted.
Her parents arrived in a flurry of excitement, her mom already teary, her dad carrying a bakery-themed gift bag because of course he did.
“Sweetheart!” her dad said, arms opening wide. She stepped into the hug and felt herself ground instantly, like the world snapped back into alignment.
Her mom cupped her face. “You look beautiful. That dress, oh, honey.”
“It was Emmie,” Jenna said. “She staged an intervention.”
Her dad leaned in. “Well, thank God she did. You look radiant.”
“Dad,” Jenna laughed, “radiant?”
“Radiant,” he insisted. “I’ve got eyes.”
Behind him, her mom was already drifting toward the framed photo of Grace, taking it in with a trembling smile.
“You made her proud,” her mom whispered. “Both of you.”
Jenna swallowed. “I hope so.”
Her dad squeezed her shoulders. “No hope about it.”
Travis, Jerrod, and Kevin barreled in not long after, their voices instantly louder than the ambient music.
“Boss!” Travis called to Cole before diverting to Jenna. “Owner!” he added, giving her an exaggerated bow.
“Oh Lord,” Jenna muttered. “You all travel in packs.”
“Safety in numbers,” Kevin said, grabbing a sample cookie. “Also, Emmie gave us permission to eat anything not nailed down.”
“I did not,” Emmie yelled from across the counter.
Jerrod pointed at her. “She absolutely did.”
Emmie rolled her eyes. “I absolutely did not.”
The crew all nodded solemnly like a group of guilty toddlers.
“Oh my God,” Jenna said, laughing. “Fine. One cookie each.”
“Too late,” Travis admitted. “I’m at . . . four?”
Jenna shook her head. “If I find a single crumb on the floor—”
“You won’t,” Travis said proudly. “We inhaled them.”
“And there is the reason I bring fruit trays,” she said.
Cole, passing by at that moment, smirked. “Because we’re half-starved.”
“Because you act half-starved,” Jenna shot back.
He held her gaze for a second too long, warm and a little awestruck, before clearing his throat and pretending to check the alignment of the chalkboard as if it mattered.
* * *
Later, as the evening subsided and the initial rush thinned, Jenna stepped out onto the sidewalk to cool off. The warm, salty air from the gulf rolled in, carrying the distant hum of voices still gathered outside.
Cole followed a moment later, hands in his pockets. “You surviving?” he asked.
“Barely,” she teased. “Emmie’s on a power trip. The crew is stealing cookies. My dad has adopted three strangers. It’s chaos.”
“Good chaos.”
She nodded. “Really good.”
He studied her face like he was trying to understand something in it. “Your parents look happy.”
“They are. It’s nice.”
He nodded again, eyes soft. “You look . . .” He paused, searching. “You look happy too.”
A sharp awareness swept through her. “I am,” she admitted. “Tonight . . . feels right.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It does.”
Emmie chose that moment to fling open the door, pink dress swirling dramatically. “Okay, romantic slow-motion moment on the sidewalk, break it up. We need Aunt Jenna for more photos.”
“Emmie,” Jenna groaned.
“What?” Emmie said. “I have a brand to maintain. By the way, Mr. Bennett, I think your jaw left a hole in the floor. Can you have the guys come by next week and fix that?”
Cole choked. “I— what—”
Jenna gave Emmie a death glare. Emmie only winked and trotted back inside, victorious. Cole rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s . . . observant.”
“That’s one word for it.”
He smiled at her then. A deep, warm, true smile. And Jenna felt something settle deep inside her chest. Something that felt like belonging. Something that felt like bravery.
Maybe she couldn’t control what she might lose, but she could decide not to walk away from what she had.
Tonight, she wasn’t running. She wasn’t hiding.
She was here.
And it felt good.
Really, really good.
* * *
Cole drove home in the quiet, the warmth of the evening trailing after him. He’d survived the night.
More than that—he’d loved it.
Seeing Jenna with her parents, with Emmie, with her staff—seeing her come alive behind those counters . . . It did something to him he couldn’t quite name.
He was proud of her.
He was wrecked by her.
He was terrified of her.
He was grateful for her.
And then there was the dress. Hell.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, remembering the way she’d turned, the fabric catching the light, the quiet curve of her breast, the easy smile she’d given him like the fight on her porch hadn’t nearly gutted him.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to be friends with her after everything that had happened between them.
He didn’t know how to pretend that night hadn’t happened when it had been— unequivocally—the best night of his life.
But tonight she’d looked at him without flinching. Tonight she’d smiled.
Tonight she’d let him stay. Hope settled in his chest, tentative but real. He wasn’t sure where they went from here.
But for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t afraid to find out.