Chapter 7 - The Escape From Magnolia House And The Drive Down King Street
We didn't say goodbye to Diane.
We didn't wait for the cutting of the seventy-fifth birthday cake, which was probably shaped like a multi-tiered wedding cake anyway.
Grandma Eleanor caught my eye as we started walking back down the crushed-shell drive toward the gates, gave me a sharp, approving nod, and raised her champagne flute in a silent salute.
I raised my glass of scotch back to her, finished the last drop, and left the heavy crystal tumbler sitting on top of a stone pillar.
When we reached Nora’s silver sedan, she didn't hesitate.
She walked around to the driver’s side, unlocked the door, and slid behind the wheel with a fluid grace that told me she was finally back in control of her own life.
I climbed into the passenger seat, folding my legs into the small footwell once more, and watched as she started the engine without a single rattle of her keys.
She put the car in reverse, backed smoothly out of the temporary parking space, and headed down the long driveway, past the wrought-iron gates of Magnolia House, and out onto the shaded streets of Charleston.
For the first ten minutes, neither of us spoke.
The windows were rolled down, letting the humid South Carolina air rush through the cabin, carrying the scent of salt marsh, old brick, and blooming azaleas.
Nora drove with her hands relaxed at ten and two, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, a small, triumphant smile lingering at the corners of her mouth.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said finally, glancing sideways at me as we stopped at a red light on Meeting Street.
“I was just thinking,” I said, leaning my arm against the door and resting my chin in my hand.
“About what? How much trouble I’ve caused you?”
“About how you spent three months planning a bakery, saving your own money, learning how to temper chocolate, and standing up to a woman who probably terrifies half the city council—and you still needed to pay a stranger a thousand dollars in cash to act as your boyfriend.”
Nora flushed slightly, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
“I’m good at logistics, Evan. Not improvised theatrical performances.”
“You handled yourself just fine back there.”
“Only because you were standing next to me looking like a mob enforcer who was five minutes away from throwing Miles Harper into the Cooper River.”
I let out a low rumble of amusement.
“I didn't throw him anywhere.”
“You didn't have to. The way you looked at him was basically a felony charge without the paperwork.”
The light turned green, and Nora pressed down on the accelerator, steering the sedan toward the historic downtown district where King Street narrowed into a maze of boutiques, antique shops, and small cafes.
“So,” she said, her voice dropping into a lighter, more curious tone.
“Now that the family brunch is officially behind us, and my mother is currently hyperventilating into a linen napkin… what happens to the fake boyfriend?”
I turned my head, letting my gaze drift over her profile—the sharp line of her jaw, the dark curls of hair escaping her chignon, the steady, fierce intelligence in her eyes.
“Who said anything about him being fake?” I asked quietly.
Nora hit the brakes a little too hard as a delivery truck pulled out in front of us, the car jolting forward before she recovered and smoothly steered around it.
She stared straight ahead at the road, her knuckles tightening slightly against the steering wheel.
“You’re a billionaire developer with a private security network and a face on the business page of the local paper,” she said, her voice dropping lower.
“I’m a pastry chef who’s about to spend every waking hour trying to keep a commercial lease from going under on King Street.”
“Sounds like a terrible match,” I agreed mildly.
May you like
“It is.”
“Good thing I’ve never been very good at following rules.”
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