Chapter Nineteen
After they’d pieced together the mess Worthington had created, Jack grabbed his keys from the table and told Cora they needed to go.
She didn’t argue. Instead, she snatched up her bag and followed him to the truck.
He barely noticed the food they’d left behind, still spread out on the table next to the dock.
He couldn’t eat anyway, not with his stomach twisted into knots.
The squirrels would have a feast tonight.
The drive was quiet, the hum of the truck’s engine the only sound as they wound along the back roads. His mind was spinning, running through every detail of what they’d uncovered, replaying conversations with Mitch, trying to figure out when Worthington had started pulling the strings.
Cora hadn’t said a word, but he felt her eyes on him. Not judging or impatient, just waiting. Giving him space.
Finally, she broke the silence. “So are we going to talk about what happened back there?”
He glanced at her, catching the furrow in her brow and the way she bit her bottom lip. Cute. Totally inconvenient, given the circumstances, but cute. He kept his voice even, sidestepping the inevitable conversation. “You got anywhere you need to be?”
She shook her head, her ponytail swaying slightly. “Nope, I’m all yours.” A second passed before her eyes widened, and she flushed. “I mean, I’m free. You know what I mean.”
Despite the chaos swirling around in his head, he couldn’t help but smile. “I know what you mean.” He let the words hang in the air for a second before he added, “There’s somewhere we need to go.”
He turned off the main road, gravel giving way to the familiar crunch of oyster shells beneath the tires. Cora’s eyebrows shot up as she took in the row of weathered houses, their peeling paint and sagging porches bathed in the low glow of the setting sun.
“Um, Jack?” she asked, her voice edged with uncertainty. “Are you taking me somewhere to kill me? Because I have to say, that’s not how I pictured this day going.”
“Relax. We’re going to see my grandfather.”
Her shoulders eased, but she gave him a sideways look. “Just saying, if you’re planning to murder me, the least you can do is drop me off at the bakery first. Let me go out with a cruller in my hand.”
A laugh rumbled out of him, surprising even himself. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He shifted in his seat, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested on the center console, the weight of the day pressing down again.
And then, without a word, Cora slid her hand into his. Her fingers were warm and soft.
For a second, he froze. His first instinct was to pull away, but something about the way her fingers fit against his made him stop. He gave her hand a quick squeeze. She didn’t say a word, but somehow the weight lifted a little.
When they pulled up to the house, his grandfather was on the front porch, tinkering with the guts of a disassembled kitchen faucet. He glanced up as they approached, surprise flickering across his weathered face.
“Jackie? What brings you by? And who’s this lovely young lady?”
Jack started to introduce Cora, but Lincoln’s eyes narrowed as recognition set in.
“Well, I’ll be darned. You must be Lolly’s granddaughter. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.”
Cora blinked, caught off guard for a second, but quickly recovered, sticking out her hand. “Yes, I’m Cora. How did you know my grandmother?”
Lincoln’s face softened as he wrapped her hand in his. “How did I know her? Honey, she was the . . .” He paused, his smile fading just a little. “That was a long time ago.”
Jack watched as Cora processed his words, surprise and curiosity flashing across her face before she pulled herself together with a wry smile.
“Well, it seems like everyone in this town was under Lolly’s spell.”
Lincoln stared at her for a moment before letting out a rough laugh. “Lord, girl. You sound just like her. Got her fire too, I’ll bet.”
Cora ducked her head, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t know about that. Lolly was . . . well, she was something else. Vivacious, beautiful. I’ve always felt like a pale imitation.”
“No,” Gramps and Jack said in unison. They exchanged a glance, heat crawling up Jack’s neck as his grandfather studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
Jack cleared his throat, steering the conversation back on track. “Look, Gramps, we need you to tell us what happened between you and Lolly. All of it.”
Gramps’s expression darkened, his hands returning to the faucet, fiddling with a loose bolt. “That’s ancient history, Jackie. Best left in the past where it belongs.”
Cora stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Lincoln, this is important. It might be the key to saving the café.”
His hands stilled. For a long moment, the only sounds were the distant call of seagulls and the soft lap of water against the shore. Then, with a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagged under the weight of something old and unresolved.
“All right,” he finally said. “But not out here. Come on inside.”
As they settled into the living room, Gramps’s eyes drifted, staring at something far beyond the faded wallpaper and creaky floors. He sat in silence for a long time before speaking.
“I met Lolly at The Salty Spoon, back when it first opened,” he began, his words slow, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to let them out. “She was saving up for college, working behind the counter. I took one look at her and . . .” He trailed off, lost in the memory.
“And?” Cora prompted gently.
He blinked, pulling himself back to the present. “And I suddenly developed a powerful appetite for mediocre coffee.”
He shot Jack a knowing look, and Cora shifted closer on the couch. Jack ignored the urge to slide his arm around her and pull her in even tighter.
“But Lolly’s parents had different plans,” Lincoln continued, his voice hardening as old memories resurfaced. “They didn’t want her with a mechanic like me. They had their sights set on someone with the status of Tobias Worthington.”
At the mention of Worthington, Jack’s muscles tightened, his jaw clenching so hard it sent a dull ache through his skull.
Of course it all led back to him. Jack’s hand curled into a fist against the armrest, anger bubbling just under the surface.
Before he could let it take over, Cora’s hand moved to his thigh, light but steady.
Her touch grounded him, pulling him back.
He glanced at her, and she gave him a small, reassuring nod.
She turned back to Lincoln, her voice calm but firm.
“What happened next? Did you and Lolly meet in secret?”
Gramps nodded, but then hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well, it wasn’t like that, not at first. We were friends.
” He glanced at Jack and sighed. “Okay, maybe more than friends. But it had to be secret. Her parents would’ve had a fit if they knew she was seeing me.
” He paused, eyes drifting toward the window again.
“But we had a plan. I was saving up, and we were going to run off together. Start fresh, away from her parents and their expectations.”
Cora leaned forward, teasing him. “Let me guess, you fell in love with her cooking, right? Seems to be a theme around here.”
Lincoln let out a full, rich laugh. “Lord, no. That girl couldn’t boil water without setting something on fire. I’m the one who taught her to cook. Late nights in The Salty Spoon’s kitchen, after her parents had gone to bed.”
Cora blinked. “Wait . . . you taught Lolly to cook?” Her voice cracked with disbelief. “But I’ve seen her recipes. She was a kitchen goddess.”
Lincoln chuckled, his eyes soft with the memory. “Not when I met her. Back then, Lolly couldn’t make toast. I had to show her the basics. She didn’t even know how to boil an egg.”
“You’re telling me the woman who was famous for her cooking couldn’t always cook?” Cora’s laugh hung in the air, her eyes widening as the truth sunk in. It was as if a weight lifted off her shoulders. Her grandmother, the legend, had once been just as lost.
Jack watched her process it, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, and—for a second—he almost saw a piece of her settle into place.
But as he looked at her, his mind also spun. The Lolly he knew was untouchable in the kitchen. The thought that she’d once needed lessons? That didn’t sit right. “You really taught Lolly to cook?” he asked, still trying to wrap his head around it.
Lincoln didn’t miss a beat. “Jackie, where do you think you got your talent from?”
His words pulled Jack back to the kitchen of his childhood.
He pictured himself standing on a rickety stool, stirring gumbo or flipping pancakes while Gramps showed him the ropes.
His grandfather had never said much, just handed him a spoon, told him to taste, and to trust his instincts.
He’d learned more by his side than in any fancy kitchen he’d ever worked in.
Cora leaned forward on the edge of her seat. “So, what happened? How did it all go wrong?”
Gramps’s face darkened. Without a word, he stood up and moved to the window. For a moment, Jack thought he wouldn’t answer. His hands gripped the windowsill, shoulders tense. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
“It was the night of the Honeysuckle Festival. Lolly had just been crowned queen, and I was looking for her. I wanted to steal a kiss before she went back to playing the perfect daughter.” He paused, fists tightening at the memory.
“That’s when I saw Tobias with her. He had his hands on her.
She was saying no, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go. ”
The room seemed to freeze. Cora stiffened beside Jack, her body tensing with the same anger that shot through him. Her hand found his, and he laced their fingers together, squeezing tight.