Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I should leave because I know she’s got a lot to do and I’ve got my run to complete, followed by a hell of a lot of computer time ahead of me.
But I really don’t want to go yet. “How’s Muriel holding up?” I ask.
“She’s doing okay,” Penny says softly. “She’s such a tough woman, so it’s a little hard to see her laid up like that. I’m pleased to report that she is still spectacular at bossing people around, which I take as a good sign.”
“And did you quit your job or something?” I ask hesitantly. While I don’t know a lot about Penny’s job, I know enough people in this town who do, and I’ve heard about her over the years. The big takeaway has always been that she’s passionate about her work.
“No, fortunately,” she says on a long exhale. “At least not yet. I had seventeen days of PTO, which will get me through about three weeks here, and after that… I’m not sure. I talked to my boss yesterday and he seems accommodating, but this field is competitive and the work is demanding. I’m not sure if they’ll hold my position that long.”
While I don’t know exactly what she does, I am compelled to champion her. “They’d be idiots to let you go.”
She gives a little huff of laughter. “You haven’t met my boss.”
“No,” I say, studying her. “But I’ve met you. You don’t lose easily.”
She freezes for a heartbeat, eyes flicking to mine. Whatever she sees there makes her swallow hard. Then she looks away, deflecting with humor. “That sounds like a compliment.”
“Maybe it is.”
Outside, a car door slams, the sound of the town coming to life. It startles us both.
“Thanks for the help,” she says finally, brushing her hair from her face.
“Anytime.” I glance at my watch, irritated I forgot to pause my run tracker. “Call me if you need anything. I’m just a few blocks away and can be here in a jiff.”
“Will do.” She follows me back to the front of the restaurant to the glass door. “Where are you off to now?”
“Going to finish my run and then I’m at home. I’ve got a long day ahead at my ‘other thing.’”
“That again.” Her tone’s teasing but curious. “You really aren’t going to tell me what this mysterious side gig is?”
I grin, pushing open the door. “Let’s just say it involves creativity and an alarming number of inappropriate words.”
She laughs, low and skeptical. “Still evasive, huh?”
“Still curious, huh?”
We trade looks and for a second, it feels like the start of something that I didn’t know I needed to begin.
I nod toward the kitchen. “Don’t burn the biscuits, Bean.”
“If I do, I’ll call you to rebuild the kitchen.”
“Then we’re both screwed.” I push the door wider, letting in the morning air. “You should stop by Chesty’s one night. I’ll pour you something stronger than coffee.”
Her mouth curves, equal parts challenge and promise. “I think I’ll do that.”
I step outside, the door jingling closed behind me. I take off into my run and when I glance back, Penny’s standing at the window, backlit by the warm glow of the café, smiling at me.
And for reasons I don’t even want to start unpacking, the whole day already feels brighter. I throw a hand up in farewell and pound the pavement with more energy than I had before.
I tell myself it’s just endorphins, that easy high from the miles, but that’s a lie and I know it.
It’s Penny.
I cut down toward Crabtree Creek, the water glinting between the trees. The air’s warming fast now, cicadas testing their voices. A few early risers wave from porches and I wave to every one of them. By the time I reach the duplex, my brain’s already trying to switch gears to the other job. I’ll shower, make coffee, and park myself in front of the laptop. It’s set up on the small kitchen table, only big enough for two people—I need to prepare myself mentally to stay parked there for the next ten hours.
Deadlines don’t care if you were up before dawn. The manuscript’s due in three weeks, and my editor’s polite reminders are starting to sound like threats.
By the time I sit down to work, the courthouse bell tolls seven. The cursor blinks, waiting. I should be thinking about the next chapter I need to write, but all I can picture is Penny Pritchard standing in a cloud of flour, looking like trouble-wrapped big-city polish.
And even though I have too much to do and not enough time to do it, I actually don’t mind that distraction.
CHAPTER 4
Penny
By eight a.m., I’ve developed a newfound respect for short-order cooks, circus performers and anyone who’s ever tried to herd caffeinated Southerners before sunrise.
The restaurant smells like bacon grease and fresh biscuits. Steam hisses from the coffee maker while Johnny hollers “Order up!” from the pass window for what feels like the hundredth time. I’m juggling coffee pots, refilling creamers, and trying to look like someone who knows what she’s doing.