Chapter Four
Cora’s words hit Jack like a sucker punch to the gut. Sell The Spoon? His fingers gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white as he searched her face for some sign that she was joking. But there was nothing in those green eyes but steely determination.
He pushed away from the counter, raking a hand through his hair. “You can’t really be planning to sell.”
“I am.” Cora’s voice was steady, but he caught a slight tremor beneath. Like the first crack in a perfect meringue. “I’ve already spoken with Lolly’s attorney about it.”
He let out a dry laugh. “And what about Lolly? Is this what she would have wanted?”
Cora flinched.
Good. At least she wasn’t completely made of stone.
“You don’t know anything about what Lolly wanted,” she snapped, color flaring in her freckled cheeks.
For an instant, he saw Lolly in her. She had the same spark, the same fire. But where Lolly’s warmth had drawn people in, Cora’s seemed bent on burning everything down.
“I know she wouldn’t have wanted it sold to the highest bidder,” he shot back, closing the distance between them. “This café was her life. It was—” He stopped himself, swallowing the word everything.
Cora didn’t need to know about the night he’d slept in his car in the parking lot, too ashamed to walk through the door and ask for a job.
Or how Lolly had come outside with a load of recycling, knocked on his window, and said, “Son, you look like you need a hot meal and a friend.” She didn’t need to know how The Salty Spoon was his refuge when he’d had nothing else.
“It’s not just a building, you know,” Jack said quietly.
“It is to me. One I need to sell before it sucks the rest of my life down with it. I can’t just drop everything to run a café I have no business running.”
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, adding flair 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.