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)
Her eyes catch mine and she smiles before dropping down beside Pap on a stool. She spares me a quick glance, then nudges Pap with her shoulder. “You buying the first round or what?”
His attention abandons the game, and probably only because the Titans are winning. He nods at me and lifts a finger. “Give the girl a cold one, Sam-Pete. She earned it today.”
I fish a beer out of the cooler, twist the cap, and expertly toss it behind my back to make a clean entry into the garbage can. I place the bottle before her. “Rough day?”
“Define rough,” she says, and takes a swallow and sighs as she savors the fizz, then groans in delight. “If running a diner is a circus, I’m the clown who set herself on fire.”
Pap’s mouth twitches. “Was it hopping all day?”
“Packed,” she says, exhaling the way people do when they set down a heavy box. “Apparently the entire county missed bacon cooked by someone else. My step count is illegal.”
“Happy problem,” I tell her.
“Happy and loud,” she agrees. She swivels halfway toward Pap, her arm brushing the bar. “I didn’t get to talk to you much this morning.”
Pap chuckles. “You mean what with you being the town’s salvation and all?”
Penny rolls her eyes. “No, seriously… how are you doing?”
Pap’s shrug wants to be nonchalant and almost makes it. “Doctor says I’m fine. Still kicking and cancer’s in full remission.”
Her expression softens, all the sparkle and snark turning warm. “Good. You look… strong.” She eyeballs him critically. “I can tell still as stubborn as ever, but I didn’t expect the chemo to burn that out of you.”
He hides a pleased huff in his beer. “Can’t keep a Marine down.”
“That’s for sure,” she says, smiling into her bottle. She takes another drink, then glances around like the quiet is a novelty. “It’s weird to hear myself think.”
“What’s it saying?” I ask, shooting a quick glance down at the other customers to note their half-full pint glasses and deep conversation.
“That my feet hurt and my heart’s fine.” Then, without prompting, she adds, “DC didn’t have nights like this. Even the quiet felt… wired.”
I lean on my forearms, give her space to talk or not. “You miss it?”
“Parts,” she admits. “There’s obviously so much to do there. So many great restaurants, museums, art galleries.”
Pap rests his arm on the bar, fully engaged. “Explain to me what you did in the big city. Not sure I understand exactly what you do.”
“I work for a nonprofit agriculture lobby group,” she says, grinning in that self-aware way of someone who knows how ridiculous politics can sound in plain English. “Long days. A lot of meetings where I push and prod and argue until something actually moves.”
I’m admittedly fascinated. “Like what? Give us an example.”
Penny’s lights up and for a second, the exhaustion drops away. “We’ve been fighting to secure subsidies for small farms—helping family growers stay competitive against big agribusiness. Things like soil restoration grants, fair crop pricing, and disaster relief programs that reach the people who need them.”
Pap lets out a low whistle. “That’s good work.”
Damn good work, if you ask me.
“Why’d you pick that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She shrugs, but there’s warmth behind it. “It made sense. We’re surrounded by farms here—half the county’s livelihood depends on what they can pull from the dirt. My best friend’s family runs one, Muriel buys her produce from local growers… it’s all connected. I guess I wanted to make sure people like them didn’t get left behind.” She looks back and forth between us. “I guess it was my way to stay connected to my roots.”
Pap tips his beer her way. “So, you’re the reason we got all that pork-barrel spendin’ up in DC?”
“Exactly,” she says with a mock-serious nod. “Except mine actually involves pork.”
I can’t help laughing. Her mouth quirks into a grin before she takes another sip, the gloss worn off her lips and a faint pink across her knuckles like she brushed a steam plume. She looks like she spent time today on something that mattered.
“Here’s a question,” I say, resting both forearms on the counter. “What’s harder… lobbying or running Central?”
“Interestingly enough, turns out pouring coffee and herding regulars requires similar skills to wrangling senators. You just smile, listen, redirect, never promise pie you don’t have.”
I bark out a laugh and Pap grunts his approval like she just recited a field manual. “You did good today.”
“Thanks.” She tips the bottle again, slower this time. “But I’ll be glad to get back to my calling.”
It’s weird how that sentiment hits me. On the one hand, you can’t help but be happy that Penny has found success and purpose in her career, but on the other hand, there’s something about our flirting that makes me want to convince her to stay.