Chapter Twelve
After Jack and Cora cleaned up in the kitchen, they followed the sound of laughter into the dining room.
It had always been one of Cora’s favorite spots, filled with food and gossip.
But that night, something felt different.
The air was charged, almost as if the room were holding its breath.
Maybe it was the aftershock of that almost-kiss in the kitchen, but her heart was still doing a jittery little dance.
She had to remind herself to breathe as she slid onto a seat across from Jack and tried to act like everything was perfectly normal.
Jack seemed just as determined to avoid looking at her.
He stared at the table, tracing some invisible pattern in the wood.
She wondered if he was replaying that moment in his head too, then caught Aggie giving them a look that was far too knowing for comfort, so she busied herself straightening the salt and pepper shakers.
“So,” Bea said, cutting through the awkward silence.
“We’ve got two weeks until the Honeysuckle Festival, and there’s still work to do if we’re going to save The Salty Spoon.
Our fundraising efforts haven’t been as successful as we’d like, and with all the preparations for the festival, things are getting busier around town. ”
“The weeks leading up to the festival were Lolly’s favorite days of the year,” Cora said.
The Honeysuckle Festival was one of those events that made Sunrise impossible not to love.
Every June, when the air turned sticky-sweet and the breeze barely kept the mosquitoes away, the whole town crammed into the square for a celebration only Sunrise could pull off.
It had been a tradition for hundreds of years, ever since someone had spun a story about the honeysuckle that crept through town each spring.
The festival began with the legend of Jeremiah Puryear, the town’s founder, shipwreck survivor, and first official honeysuckle fanatic.
They said that when he’d washed up on the town’s sandy beach, the sight of those vines spilling over the dunes was all the sign he needed to settle down.
Because when the universe spoke through an aggressive, fast-growing plant, what else was there to do but build a town and throw a party?
Back then, honeysuckle grew wild, climbing over every fencepost and trellis and filling the air with its sweetness. But as Sunrise expanded, so did its zoning laws, and the vines weren’t exactly rule followers. Now, most of the honeysuckle was tamed, stuck in decorative pots around the town square.
During the festival, garlands of yellow and white flowers twisted around lampposts in the square, and vendors sold everything from honeysuckle lemonade to honeysuckle candles that mostly smelled like wax but came with a good story.
Then there was the parade, with floats put together by whichever committee managed to scrounge up a budget, local bands playing old rock songs, and town dignitaries waving from vintage convertibles.
They even used to crown a Honeysuckle Queen. Lolly was the last to wear that crown, and no one ever figured out why they’d stopped the tradition after her. She used to joke that it was because they’d never found anyone good enough to unseat her.
The real magic of the festival, though, was in the stories that got passed down from year to year.
Like the time the mayor’s goat, Gus, broke loose and devoured an entire table of honeysuckle-flavored saltwater taffy before anyone was able to catch him.
Or when the local firefighters won first place in the baking competition with a honeysuckle-flavored chili that sounded awful but somehow tasted amazing.
“Lolly loved that festival. She was the heart of it,” Bea said with a fond smile.
“She always insisted The Salty Spoon entered a float in the parade. She said it was good for business, but I think she just loved the attention. Every year she’d have a trail of men following her float, hoping for a smile. ”
The image made Cora smile too. She could easily picture a younger Lolly, glamorous and full of life, waving from her float while the whole town watched.
Winston cleared his throat, bringing everyone back to the present. “Yes, well, the point is, we haven’t planned a float this year. And given the circumstances . . .” He trailed off, leaving the unspoken it might be our last chance hanging in the air.
The mood shifted, the lightness of earlier fading quickly.
Cora straightened, pushing aside thoughts of almost-kisses and grandmothers who were anything but embarrassing. “You’re right. We should do it. For Lolly.”
Everyone agreed, and Aggie pulled out her notepad. “So, what should our theme be? We don’t have a lot of time to pull something together, but we can use my old truck.”
“Ooh, how about Beach Bingo?” Bea suggested. “We could wear vintage swimwear.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You want to see the Sunrise bridge club in wool bikinis?”
Bea laughed. “Okay, maybe not the swimsuits. But let’s do something beachy. Lolly loved the ocean.”
“True,” Aggie said. “Remember when she tried to teach that seagull to dance the cha-cha?”
Cora blinked, sure she had misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”
Winston chuckled. “That’s right. She found an injured seagull on the boardwalk and wanted to nurse it back to health.”
“Did it work?” Jack asked, every bit as bewildered as Cora.
“Well,” Aggie said, “let’s just say that bird lived a great life for its last few days. Too bad it choked on that martini olive, though.”
They all burst out laughing, the sound filling the café and chasing away any lingering tension. As Cora wiped tears from her eyes, she noticed Jack looking at her, his expression thoughtful. Her heart did a quick flip, and she looked away, trying to steady her racing pulse.
“Okay,” she said, once they had calmed down. “Maybe not a seagull float. Any other ideas?”
“What if we based the float on one of Lolly’s favorite recipes?” Jack suggested. “In her honor.”
Lolly’s recipes were legendary—warm, comforting, and a little unconventional. Just like her.
“That’s perfect,” Bea said, clapping her hands together. “But which recipe? She had so many good ones.”
Cora felt a renewed sense of purpose. “Why don’t we look through her recipe book? That’s where all her secrets are.”
Aggie nodded. “Go on, Cora. Grab it. Let’s see what the old girl has in store for us.”
Jack stood too. A little too quickly. “I’ll come with you. You know, in case you need help carrying it or something.”
Aggie snorted. “Sure, honey. You go ‘help carry’ it.”
Cora’s face burned as she hurried to the bookshelves in Lolly’s apartment, very aware of Jack following close behind. Once they were alone, he gently caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She nodded, but she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Yeah, I just miss her. It seems like there are always new stories. New things I never knew about her. And every time I hear one, it reminds me of how much I missed. How many stories about her life I still haven’t heard.”
Jack’s hand moved from her arm to her cheek, tilting her face up until she had no choice but to look at him. “Then we’ll have to make sure you hear them all.” His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek. “About earlier, in the kitchen. I’m sorry if I—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she cut him off, forcing a light laugh. “It was nothing. We were just caught up in the moment, that’s all.”
They stood there, the air between them practically crackling. Then a burst of laughter from the dining room downstairs shattered the spell, and Cora stepped back, clearing her throat.
“Right. Recipe book. Let’s find it.” She pulled it from the shelf, running her fingers over the cover. Lolly had always been so protective of it, never letting her peek inside. Now, opening it felt like crossing an invisible line.
“Ready?” Jack asked softly.
She nodded, and they headed back to the others.
The chatter in the dining room quieted as they approached, everyone eyeing the book with a mix of excitement and nostalgia. Cora set it on the table. No one moved, as if they were in the presence of something sacred.
“Well,” Aggie prompted, finally breaking the silence, “are you going to open it, or are we just going to stare at it?”
Cora glanced at Jack, and his nod gave her the push she needed. She took a deep breath and carefully cracked open the cover. The familiar scent of vanilla and old paper hit her, and a lump formed in her throat. It was like Lolly was still there, her presence lingering on every page.
As Cora turned the first page, a photograph slipped out and fluttered onto the table. It landed face up, and they all leaned in to get a better look.
The photo was black and white, faded with age, but the image was clear.
A young Lolly stood in the center, her smile dazzling.
Beside her was a man Cora didn’t recognize, tall and handsome, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that matched hers.
They looked happy, and the way Lolly was looking at him was different from how Cora had ever seen her look at anyone.
“Who’s that?” she asked, picking up the photo and studying it closely. “I’ve never seen him before.”
Aggie, Bea, and Winston exchanged puzzled glances, just as stumped as she was.
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Aggie said, squinting at the photo. “Lolly never mentioned him, and he’s certainly not your grandpa.”
Bea slipped on her reading glasses. “He looks familiar, though, doesn’t he? Do we know him?”
Winston nodded, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “There’s definitely something about him, but I can’t place it.”
They all stared at the photo in silence, each trying to piece together the mystery. It felt like they were on the brink of uncovering something big, something Lolly had kept hidden for years.
Suddenly, Jack inhaled sharply. His eyes widened, and his hand trembled slightly as he reached for the photo. They all turned to look at him, and Cora’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the color drain from his face.
“Jack?” she asked, worry creeping into her voice. “What is it?”
He swallowed, his eyes glued to the photograph. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “That’s my grandfather.”