Chapter 24
twenty-four
“She was fire, and light, and ash, and embers. She was destruction and life.” - Nikita Gill
Cole dragged one of the long folding tables from his parents’ garage, muscling it up to the tailgate before shoving it into the truck bed. Hauling six-foot tables wasn’t his idea of a Saturday morning, but it kept his hands busy.
Didn’t do a damn thing to keep his head clear.
He hadn’t seen Jocelyn for near on two days, and he was lucky Friday nights at the bar were chaos.
He hadn’t had more than thirty seconds to breathe, let alone brood about the fact that he hadn’t caught sight of her anywhere.
By the time he finally surfaced between the dinner rush and the late-night stragglers, it’d been too late to go in search.
Something about that seemed odd. She’d been aching, sure, but she’d still had that stoniness about her that promised she'd keep digging for her answers. He’d nearly asked his mama for her number but didn’t want to invite that woman’s questions or Jocelyn’s anger for overstepping.
If he didn’t see her by lunchtime, he’d eat his pride and ask his mama. Worth checking in to make sure Jocelyn was alright, even if it stirred her up. He'd've considered inviting her to go to the bonfire, but maybe she'd had too much of flames.
He dropped another table onto the stack and turned back for the last one.
Might’ve still been too warm for a fire, considering it wasn’t quite fall yet, but it was close enough that folks would turn out for anything that smelled like tradition, especially with the Harvest Festival around the corner.
“Hey, Sugar.”
That syrupy drawl cut through the thick morning air and put a ready smile on his face.
He swiped sweat from his brow and turned to the neighbor leaning on the fence. “Miz Lu. Love of my life.”
Luann Polk was pushing eighty, with silver curls tight against her head, arthritis stiffening her hips. She wore it all with pride.
She tsked, wrinkles deepening with her smile. “You’re liable to make ol’ Gentry jealous.”
His brows wiggled. “Hope so. When you gonna ditch that old geezer and run away with me?”
“Oh, Honey, I’d love to. But these hips don’t run anywhere.”
“I’ll carry you.” He winked. “Just say the word.”
Her chuckle warmed him like always. They’d been running that joke for over a decade.
“You’d break your back, boy,” she said, waving him off. “You goin’ to that bonfire tonight?”
“Droppin’ tables for the dessert contest.” He lifted a brow. “You better be bringing those apple fritters.”
“You know I don’t break tradition.” Her gaze sharpened then, cutting right through him. “That Murphy girl gonna be there?”
He blew out a breath. “How would I know?”
“You didn’t invite her?”
Felt like an accusation, and heat crawled up his neck. “No, ma’am,” he said, keeping the sass in check. She’d ream him if he let it fly.
She clucked her tongue. “You flirt with me all day but don’t snatch up that sweet girl? Shame on you.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I don’t see how. The second I saw her, I knew she belonged here. She’s got roots. Been too long neglected.”
He pushed the garage door closed. “Not everybody thinks she belongs.”
“Some people got sticks up their butts.”
That made him laugh. “Miz Lu spittin’ truth.”
“Damn right. Now, go invite her. Let her know some of us knew and loved her mama.”
That pulled him up short. “You taught Bonnie?”
“Oh sure. Had half this town in my classroom. Jocelyn’s mama was kind. Always helping somebody, the light in every room. I see it in her girl, though life’s dulled it some.” She winked. “You could bring a little of that shine back. You did alright gettin’ your own.”
He walked over to slam the truck’s tailgate so he could dodge both the compliment and the charge.
She squinted at him when he didn’t respond. “You been alone a long time, Cole Hauser.”
That was not a reminder he needed. But he knew what to say to shake her off. “Only ’cause you won’t run off with me, Miz Lu.”
She flapped a hand at him, her laughter following her as she shuffled toward her house.
He tapped his thumb on the tailgate, chewing on her words. Maybe a few folks wanted Jocelyn here. Plenty wanted her gone. They hadn’t been shy about it.
His glance drifted to his parents’ place. The scrap of card stock Jocelyn had handed him sat heavy in his pocket. Wouldn’t take two minutes to see if Ma had paper to match it.
His mama swore Jocelyn deserved answers. He wanted to believe her. But his folks had hidden a truth from him for twenty years, and that wound still throbbed.
Inside, the kitchen was quiet and cool, a sign his mama hadn’t been around for a while. His pop’s truck sat in the garage, but the house felt empty.
He took the stairs two at a time, ducking into the old office. Scrapbooking central. Shelves of albums lined the wall, every year neat in a row. Ma’s projects-in-progress sat in plastic totes he’d seen many times. But he went straight to the scrap bin.
The lid popped loud when he opened it, and he froze for half a second, then shook it off and dug through the piles. Spreading a handful of scraps on the clean table, he compared them one by one to the jagged note. Some were easy to rule out. Colors off. Textures wrong. Edges didn’t match.
Didn’t rule it out. Didn’t ease his mind, either.
The handwriting… close enough to his mama’s looping script. Too close. Made his gut turn.
“Cole?”
His daddy’s voice snapped his spine straight.
He shoved the note into his pocket and headed down. “Hey, Pop.”
The old man stood at the base of the stairs, sweat dripping, shirt damp. “What were you doing up there?”
His lie came easy as he made it to the bottom step. “Lookin’ for you.”
“Out for a walk,” Pop muttered, tugging his shirt.
“This time of day?”
“Best time. What’d you need?”
“Just grabbing the tables. Got it figured.”
John nodded, setting his hand on the bannister. “Your mama’ll be back from her scrapbook swap soon. Might want to wait. Say hi.”
That stopped him cold. “Scrapbook swap?”
His daddy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, bunch of ’em trade paper and stickers. Saves money, so I say what the hell? Just one more thing to get her out of the house.” He shrugged.
Book club. Scrap swap. Recipe circle. All the same crew, Cole knew. And half of them had complained about Jocelyn to his face. Edith Wetzel. Harriet Munson. Kiki Womack.
And Lydia Abbott, who hadn’t outright spoken against Jocelyn but had every reason to want her gone.
Jocelyn had mentioned a comment—what was it?
Some snide, backhanded thing. And that matched down to the ground with that torn piece of card stock.
Not quite a threat but certainly no friendly warning.
The scrap could’ve come from any one of them.
Cole’s mind was already wandering down new avenues. “Well, gotta get those tables to the square. You goin’ tonight?”
John barely paused as he started up the stairs. “Depends on your mama. Dunno.”
“Alright. Later, Pop.”
“Son.”
He left his daddy at the stairs, chewing on things as he loaded up and drove to the square.
He parked half on the curb, knowing nobody in uniform would ticket him. Most of ’em had grown up with him or had dragged his sorry teenage ass home themselves. All of them knew he was solid now.
With tables unloaded, he set up where the dessert contest would run. The fire pit was ready in the center of the square, wood stacked high. Still too hot for it, but it would be a pretty sight.
“Speakin’ of pretty,” he muttered when Jocelyn’s car rolled in.
She pulled up behind his truck, sunglasses hiding her eyes. Didn’t matter—he felt it when her gaze landed on him, and he headed over.
“Hey, Darlin’,” he said, leaning against the car.
She smiled at him like the nickname amused her. “Hey.”
It warmed him to see she’d shaken the sadness from the other day. “Was wonderin’ where you’d been.”
Her attention shifted toward the road. “I was working.”
Wasn’t the whole story, but he didn’t need to pry. Not yet, anyway. Miz Lu’s words rang in his ears, and why not? It would give him the opportunity to dig later.
“You know about the bonfire tonight?” he asked.
She swung her head back to him. “Natasha mentioned it. Why?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, stomach dropping like he was on a roller coaster. “Thought maybe you’d want to come.”
Her brows lifted. “You thought I’d want to come?”
“Yeah. With me. Maybe.”
Her head tilted, smile threatening. “Like a date?”
He rocked back like she’d landed a right hook and buried his hands in his pockets. Let his eyes land on the building across the street. “Or just… somethin’ to do besides interrogating locals.” He squinted against the sun. “Let folks see you here. Get used to it. You might even enjoy yourself.”
“Cole.”
“What?”
“Is it a date?”
His breath locked, and he forced his eyes to hers. “Doesn’t have to be.”
A wrinkle cut between her brows.
Mercy, he was tense. “I’ll be a gentleman. Hands to myself and everything.” He held them up as proof. “Unless you want somethin’ different, the agreement stands.”
“I want a lot of things,” she said softly, like he wasn’t meant to hear. Then, firmer: “How about I come, and we see how it goes?”
Relief trickled in slow. Not the answer he wanted, but not a no either. “Alright.”
Her lips twitched. “Alright.”
“Starts at eight.”
She let him have the smile then. “I’ll meet you here.”
He stepped back, shoving down his own grin as she drove off. But his lungs felt empty, like she’d taken his damn air with her.