Chapter Twenty
Cora stumbled down the stairs, her feet crammed into hiking boots she hadn’t worn since high school.
The kitchen, where a flour bomb had detonated an hour ago, was now suspiciously spotless.
Jack stood at the counter, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, looking far too relaxed for someone who’d nearly set the place on fire.
“Thanks for cleaning up,” she said, accepting the coffee with a grateful sigh. One sip, and an involuntary moan escaped her. “Okay, you’re forgiven for the attempted arson. This coffee is magical.”
Jack gave a quick bow. “I aim to please.”
“You aim well,” she added, taking another sip. It was strong, dark, and exactly what she needed.
“Well, don’t tell my grandfather that,” Jack said, his smirk softening into a grin. “He thinks my coffee is too strong. Says it can strip paint off a wall.”
“Weak coffee is for weak people. This is perfect.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll make sure to tell him that the next time he complains.”
“Tell him I said it. Seriously, people need to stop pretending they enjoy that watery stuff.” She took a long, satisfying inhalation from the cup, savoring the richness. “And if he doesn’t like strong coffee, he’s really going to hate the next trend in the coffee industry.”
Jack’s brow quirked. “Which is?”
“Floral coffee.” She grinned, waiting for the wrinkle in his nose as she explained.
“They always talk about coffee tasting like chocolate or berries, but now they’re mixing coffee flowers with the beans during roasting to give it floral notes.
People are already adding lavender and rose syrup to their drinks.
Soon, it’ll be all over those fancy coffee shops. ”
He raised his cup in a toast. “I’ll stick with my garden-variety drip coffee. Black.”
“Your loss,” she said with a shrug. “Now grab your keys. We’re going on a field trip.”
His eyebrows shot up, but without missing a beat he tugged his keys from his jeans pocket. “Weren’t you the one who said you don’t do mornings?”
She followed him outside, her boots crunching against the gravel as she climbed into his truck.
The door closed with a solid thud behind her, and she hesitated, searching for the right words.
She wasn’t a morning person. Not even close.
Spontaneity had never been one of her strengths either.
But something about being back in Sunrise had made her question whether it might be a good idea to toss her spreadsheets out the window every once in a while.
He shot her a sideways glance. “So, what changed today?”
“Besides the early wake-up?” She stared out the window, watching Main Street blur by in the soft morning haze.
The quiet hum of the town settled into her bones, the familiar rhythm of Sunrise sinking in deeper than she’d ever let it before.
“I guess I needed to feel close to Lolly. To remember why she loved this place.”
Jack’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white for a second. “Thought you couldn’t wait to sell and get back to New York.”
The more time she spent in Sunrise, the more it tugged at her in ways she wasn’t expecting. New York was her safety net, her structure, her routine. But Lolly and The Spoon were calling her back, making her question everything.
“Yeah,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I thought so too.”
Silence settled between them as the paved streets of Sunrise gave way to narrow dirt roads winding through thick brush.
The sky had started to lighten, soft pinks and golds stretching across the marsh and shimmering on the water as it snaked its way through the reeds.
She guided Jack toward an opening in the trees, the path barely wide enough for the truck.
She winced as branches scraped against the windows, cringing at the sound.
“Sorry about your paint job.”
Jack shrugged and patted the dashboard. “Don’t worry. She’s taken worse hits in this town.”
As they bumped along the uneven path, she found herself stealing glances at Jack, noticing how the morning light played against the rough angles of his face—the scar above his eyebrow, the scruff on his jaw. She was so lost in the details that she didn’t even notice they’d stopped until he spoke.
“I think this is the end of the line.”
“Huh?” She blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts. Then she saw the small clearing ahead, the truck parked right at the edge. “Oh. Right. We’re here.”
Jack eyed her worn boots. “You sure you’re up for this?”
She rolled her eyes and hopped out of the truck, her feet sinking slightly into the damp earth. “Please. I may have been gone a while, but I haven’t forgotten how to take a walk in the woods.”
She started down a barely visible trail, a dawn chorus of birds filling the air.
Jack stuck close behind, his occasional touch steadying her when she stumbled over hidden roots.
Every time his hand brushed against her back, goosebumps prickled up her spine, though she was pretty sure it wasn’t the chill of the morning causing them.
“So,” Jack said, his voice teasing, “you joked about me being a murderer last night, but this feels an awful lot like one of those bad made-for-TV movies where the serial killer lures his unsuspecting victim into the woods.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Please. If I were a serial killer, I’d have way better taste in victims. And, besides, I’ve been too busy running away from my life to plot your demise.”
Jack chuckled, the sound low and warm. “What do you have to run away from?”
As they tromped down the path, the quiet surrounds made it easier to open up. She found herself telling him about Brad-slash-Alex-the-Jerk, the job she lost, and how everything had seemed to fall apart at once.
Jack gently tugged at the back of her shirt, stopping her in her tracks. “Wait. You’re telling me this guy asked you out so he could steal your work?”
Her cheeks flushed, heat creeping up her neck as she stared at the ground, suddenly too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Yeah, pretty pathetic, huh? I’ve spent my life trying to predict everything, and I didn’t see that one coming at all.”
Jack’s hand moved from her shirt to her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. His gaze darkened with something intense, something she couldn’t place.
“He must have been a complete moron,” he muttered, his voice rough.
For a moment, they stood there, his fingers warm against her skin, his words hanging between them. Her pulse quickened, each heartbeat louder in her ears. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, Jack dropped his hand and stepped back, shaking his head.
“Please tell me you at least keyed his car or something.”
Cora tilted her head, a slow smile tugging her lips. “No, but I did sign him up for the American Cheese of the Month Club.”
Jack blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Yeah. Individually wrapped slices of generic orange cheese, delivered every Wednesday afternoon.” She crossed her arms, enjoying the memory. “He used to complain about how it wasn’t real food. I figured he wasn’t a real man, so it seemed like a good fit.”
Jack let out a bark of laughter.
“Revenge isn’t usually my style,” she said with a shrug, “but he was such a food snob, I made an exception.”
“Remind me to stay on your good side.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Or at least let me help the next time you need to take somebody down. I know a guy with flexible morals and a set of tools he probably shouldn’t have.”
Cora laughed, the sound catching her off guard. She was beginning to think Jack Harlow might not be the bad boy everyone made him out to be.
Then his tone shifted, the playfulness giving way to something quieter.
“For what it’s worth,” Jack added, his voice softening, “I think you’re doing pretty great. Not many people could handle what you’ve been through and still be standing. Let alone dragging poor, unsuspecting men on crack-of-dawn adventures where they might get murdered.”
He winked and stepped around her, wading through the knee-high grass, the dew still clinging to their boots.
As they pushed through brambles and sidestepped mud pits that looked more solid than they were, Cora found herself opening up more than she’d expected.
She told Jack about her time in New York, about the dreams she’d chased and the reality that didn’t quite live up to them.
How she’d once wanted to run a marathon, learn to speak Italian, write a cookbook, and somehow be one of those people who can eat cupcakes without ever gaining weight.
Jack shared stories from his childhood in Sunrise, which looked a whole lot different than hers.
While Cora had spent her summers selling lemonade on The Spoon’s lawn and riding her bike to the library, Jack had been sneaking into the community pool after dark and learning how to hotwire lawnmowers for fun.
She listened with growing fascination as he painted a picture of the Sunrise she’d never really known.
The parts of town she’d driven past, but never visited, where front porches sagged, air conditioners rattled in every window, and neighbors kept an eye on you, not to help, but to make sure you didn’t cause trouble.
He grinned as he told her about the small-town antics he and his friends used to get into, his voice tinged with nostalgia and a little disbelief that they’d made it out in one piece.
“Wait,” she said, swatting a mosquito off her ankle. “You and your brother actually stole a rooster from your neighbor?”
Jack grinned, looking both sheepish and proud. “In our defense, we were going to return him. We just thought he needed a makeover first.”
She doubled over laughing. “A makeover? What did you do to him?”
“Did you know neon hair dye works on feathers? And glitter will stick to them?”
The mental image of a multicolored sparkly rooster was too much. “I did not. What did your grandfather say when he found out?”