Page 70 of Slow Burn
“Free food,” Cole threw in.
Natasha laughed. “There’s that,” she agreed, then her smile went shy. “I made one of the desserts.”
Jocelyn’s brows shot up. “Did you?”
Natasha shrugged. “It’s a recipe from the internet. My mama would never touch a kitchen. Neither would Granny. I’m learning on my own.”
“I have a great recipe, if you want it.” The words slipped out before Jocelyn could stop them. Her throat tightened, regret sparking instantly.
But Natasha’s eyes lit up, bright as the fire. “Really?”
Cole’s fingers brushed her back again in reassurance, like he knew she was second-guessing her offer.
Baking had been her mama’s passion. It’d started with Nan, but it was Mama who’d been magic with it. The diner Bonnie worked at used to sell her homemade treats, and Jocelyn remembered sitting at the counter when people would stop in just to buy whatever she was offering that week. Truckers went out of their way off the standard route to get one of Bonnie’s Baked Beauties.
After she died, when the pain hadn’t been quite so sharp—or maybe because she wanted to keep her daughter’s memory alive—Nan had taught Jocelyn, too, passing down the magic and a recipe book of Bonnie’s favorites.
Jocelyn bit back her hesitation so she could answer Natasha. Her sister. A practical stranger. The representation of all the things she’d never had. But she couldn’t go back on her word.
“Sure,” she said, sounding more certain than she felt. “I can email it to you.”
Natasha practically bounced. “That would be amazing!”
And Jocelyn, aching for connection, let herself give in. Just one recipe. For her sister.
twenty-six
“Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself.” - Mark Twain
Cole watched firelight flicker over Jocelyn’s face as Natasha introduced her to some of the folks she often ran with. Jocelyn might’ve had an interaction or two from back when she was a local, seeing as most were natives, but he couldn’t be sure if she knew them.
Didn’t matter when twenty years were stacked between then and now.
He kept watch as he absently polished off Jocelyn's plate of her sister's apple crumb cake. She'd passed it off to him, saying she was too full, though he suspected it was nerves more than anything. They all seemed friendly enough, but the discussion about two “non-threatening” notes sat heavy in his mind, and everyone deserved his suspicion.
“That’s a right pretty thing you’ve had on your arm this evening.”
Cole cut a glance sideways as Clyde came to stand next to him. “That she is.”
Clyde folded his arms across his chest. “Bonnie Murphy’s girl, ain’t she?”
“Yep.” Cole took the last bite of cake, dropping the plate into a trash can.
“Heard she went up to see old Joe.”
Cole eyed him, though it wasn’t a surprise he’d’ve heard. Small towns and all that. It wasn’t a stretch, either, given that he and Joe were about the same age. Probably ran together at one point.
“What else’ve you been hearin’, Clyde?” Cole asked as he folded his arms across his chest.
Eyes twinkling, Clyde grinned. “Oh, lots of things. Plenty from those folks ridin’ your tail about running that Murphy girl off.”
There was that. “Doing a bang up job of it.”
Clyde gave a raspy chuckle. “That you are, Cole.” He rubbed a hand over his chin, the sound like sandpaper. “Dottie and I are just tickled about the tizzy they got up in about it.”
Cole straightened, pursing his lips as he glanced at Dottie near the dessert table. “Y’all don’t think she ought to get run off?”
Clyde rolled back on his heels. “Heavens, no. We need a little intrigue around here. And the Murphys have always provided that. ‘Sides, it’s good for you.”
