Chapter Twenty-Seven
The café felt like a tomb. It was too quiet, thick with the choking weight of failure.
Cora slumped behind the counter, clutching her grandmother’s favorite apron to her chest. The clock on the wall ticked loud and steady, every click a gut punch, counting down to midnight.
To the end of everything Lolly had built.
She flinched at the sound of another knock at the door.
How many had there been today? Well-wishers, neighbors poking their heads in, and at least one overeager real estate agent, probably salivating at the thought of slapping a “For Sale” sign out front.
She kept ignoring them, burrowing deeper into her misery with every tap on the glass. She just wanted to be left alone.
“Cora? Honey, are you in there?” Mrs. Henshaw, Lolly’s old neighbor, said through the door. “I brought you a chili dog. Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”
A laugh nearly clawed its way out, but it got stuck somewhere between a scoff and a sob. A chili dog? Like that was going to save the day. Not even a truckload of chili dogs could fix this mess.
At least she wasn’t alone. Governor Sam had been planted at her side all night, his big, sad eyes tracking her every move.
He’d nuzzled his face onto her lap more times than she could count, leaning his heavy body against her leg as if he could keep the pieces of her from spilling out onto the floor.
Now and then, he’d let out a deep, mournful sigh that echoed her own.
“You’re not helping, Sam,” she muttered, scratching behind his ears.
His tail thumped weakly against the floor. He wasn’t buying her lie.
“Fine, you are helping,” she admitted, her fingers curling into his fur. “But not enough to fix this. Sorry, buddy. Not even you can pull that off.”
She pushed to her feet and wandered around the café, but every step dragged her deeper into the mess of her thoughts.
Lolly had poured her heart into this place.
Every recipe card, every crooked picture frame on the wall, and every smudge of flour on the windowsill whispered her name.
And Jack, who was no doubt sitting alone in a holding cell, had fought so hard for something that was never really his to save.
Neither of them got what they wanted. Not Lolly. Not Jack.
And not even her.
A knock, this one louder and sharper, broke through her thoughts.
“Cora!” Nathaniel called through the door. “Time’s up. Open the door.”
She slid the bolt back, and the door practically flew open. Nathaniel burst through, a trail of suited goons close behind him.
“Hello, Cora,” Nathaniel said with a sneer.
There it was—that broken nose. The one that reminded her that Jack had stood up for her earlier. A flicker of satisfaction bloomed in her chest before Nathaniel’s voice pulled her back.
“So good of you to let us in. I was afraid we’d have to break down the door.”
She crossed her arms, trying to keep her hands from shaking. “You’ve got no right to be here, Nathaniel. The loan’s not due until midnight.”
He chuckled, the sound grating on every nerve.
“Ever the optimist, I see. But let’s be realistic.
The café is mine now.” He turned to his crew of suits, barking orders like some B-list villain.
“Jackson, catalog the equipment. Peters, inventory the stock. And someone, please, remove that dog. I refuse to conduct business with an animal sprawled out on the floor.”
The animal in question barely flicked an ear. Governor Sam had other plans. With a heavy sigh, he flopped onto his side, making himself even more comfortable, right in the middle of the entrance.
One of Nathaniel’s assistants crept toward him. “Uh, hey, buddy . . . let’s move it along?”
Sam blinked lazily. Then, to really hammer it home, he let out a low grunt and sprawled out, taking up more room than a good-sized area rug.
Nathaniel’s patience snapped. “What’s wrong with you idiots? It’s just a dog!”
Two of his lackeys bent down, trying to hoist Sam’s massive frame off the floor. But Sam was having none of it. He went completely limp, limbs splaying like overcooked noodles. The harder they tugged, the more he settled in.
Cora smirked, unable to help herself. “Careful. He’s a master at playing dead.”
Nathaniel turned back to her. “It’s pointless, Cora. The loan’s due, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He spread his arms wide, presenting his latest conquest. “I own everything.”
A wave of nausea hit her, and she clutched her arms tighter across her chest, trying to keep her voice steady. “You can’t just—”
But before she could finish, Winston burst through the door, his eyes blazing. His bow tie was askew, his hair flying in every direction, and he clutched a large cardboard box to his chest.
He paused, taking in the scene, including the men wrestling with the dog, Nathaniel’s smug, broken-nosed face, and Cora’s tear-streaked one. And then, with all the authority of a knight charging into battle, he raised his chin and declared, “Not so fast!”
Winston marched across the room, weaving around Worthington’s employees and the immovable heap of Governor Sam. Every step was filled with purpose, and his gaze was locked on a single empty table, which he approached as if it were his battleground.
Nathaniel’s jaw actually dropped. “I beg your pardon?”
But Winston didn’t even look his way. He set the box down with a heavy thud.
“Winston,” Cora whispered, her heart breaking all over again. A traitorous tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away, her voice trembling. “It’s okay. Lolly would understand. We tried our best.”
Winston turned to her, eyes bright behind his crooked glasses. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “Oh, my dear,” he said softly, though somehow his voice carried through the room like a warm breeze. “We’re not here for Lolly. We’re here for you.”
As if on cue, the door swung open again, and a flood of people poured in. Mrs. Henshaw, clutching her brown paper sack of chili dogs, elbowed her way to the front. The Johnson twins followed behind her, floral dresses fluttering like they’d just stepped out of a Southern postcard.
She recognized faces from all over town—Dr. Willa, the vet, Mrs. Cowl, her middle-school English teacher . . . even Earl had left his post at the checkerboard in front of the bait shop to make an appearance.
“What is the meaning of this?” Nathaniel’s voice shot up an octave, his composure slipping as he took in the crowd that was now filling the café.
Winston straightened his bow tie, still rumpled but every bit the dapper gentleman. “We still have an hour, Mr. Worthington,” he said smoothly, his tone carrying the weight of finality. “And I believe we’re about to witness a miracle.”
With a flourish that made Cora’s heart stop, Winston pulled a book from the box and held it high in the air.
The glossy hardcover showed Lolly, grinning from ear to ear, with her arm around Cora.
They were both dusted in flour, their faces lit with the kind of joy that only comes from conquering the world together.
Cora blinked, stepping closer, her heart pounding with equal parts fear and hope. “What . . . what is that?”
Winston’s smile was soft and proud. “This, my dear, is Sunrise Memories: Recipes and Stories from The Salty Spoon. And unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s about to become a bestseller.”
Just like that, the crowd surged forward. One by one, people stepped up to the table with cash in hand, eager to buy a piece of Sunrise history. The air in the room shifted from heavy with despair to something that felt lighter.
“But . . . how?” she stammered, completely overwhelmed. The steady flow of cash, the smiling faces, the life that was being breathed back into the café. “When did you do all of this?”
Winston chuckled, shaking his head as though she’d asked something ridiculous. “Oh, I didn’t do this, Cora. I’m just the delivery man.”
“Then who?”
He nodded toward the door, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
She turned, her heart skittering in her chest as Aggie and Bea burst through the entrance.
Aggie’s shrimp costume was askew, the claw smacking her in the face as she tried to smooth down her hair.
Bea looked as if she’d rolled through a powdered sugar storm, her floral dress now a sticky mess.
And then, behind them, Jack appeared.
He was bruised, disheveled, and had dark circles under his eyes that told the whole story of the day. But when his gaze met hers, his face lit up with a smile so warm, it was like sunshine cracking through storm clouds.
Beside her, Winston’s voice was low. “Jack did it.”
Cora stood there, frozen, as Jack’s eyes locked onto hers. Her heart, which had been threatening to give up entirely just moments ago, suddenly remembered how to beat and decided to make up for lost time by thundering in her chest.
Before she knew what she was doing, her feet were moving.
She launched herself across the room, dodging startled customers and narrowly avoiding a collision with Mrs. Henshaw’s chili dogs.
Jack caught her mid-leap, his arms wrapping around her so tightly she could barely breathe.
But she didn’t care. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the scent of coffee and cinnamon that always clung to him, mixed now with something that smelled suspiciously like . . . jail soap?
She pulled back, her hands flying to his face, fingers gently probing the bruise blooming on his cheekbone. “Are you okay? What happened? How did you—”
He grinned that lopsided grin of his, the one that made her knees go a little weak. “What’s a little jailbreak between friends?” he said with a nod to Aggie, Bea, and Lincoln, who looked more than a little proud as they took in the crowd of people lined up behind Winston’s table.
“But Winston said . . .” she stammered, her brain still trying to catch up.