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 pull out her chair, admiring the forest-green dress that swishes around her knees when she walks. She has all that dark red hair pinned up with tendrils framing her face.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she says with an exaggerated batting of her eyelashes.
I know she expects me to quip back at her, but instead I bend down to whisper. My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “You look incredible tonight.”
Her blush is evident, even in the candlelight.
When I sit down, she says, “You clean up damn good, too.”
“I had to dust off the sport coat. Didn’t want Clementine’s revoking my Southern gentleman card.”
She laughs softly, and that sound—that easy, unguarded joy—hits me like a balm.
I glance around and sure enough, several people are watching us. I lean forward, my gaze meeting hers over the candle. “What do you think everyone makes of us?”
Penny’s regard roams the restaurant, and when they’re back on me, the corner of her mouth lifts. “That I’ve turned heathen seductress after my years in DC and I’m here to corrupt the town’s favorite son.”
I snort so hard, the couple next to us—Mr. Pellam, the local bank president, and his wife—shoot us a disapproving look.
Penny and I grin at each other and then the waitress shows up. It’s a rarity that I don’t know her, because it’s hard not to know everyone in such a small town. She’s polite and efficient, and although her accent is quite neutral, my guess is a northern transplant who came south for the weather. We’re told the specials, Penny orders a glass of wine, and I order an IPA on draft. Mrs. Pellam flattens her lips in disapproval when we clink our glasses across the table. Doesn’t bother me a bit if she’s a teetotaler. That’s part of the charm of Whynot.
Penny orders the salmon with a lemon cream sauce, and I go for the steak. We share the corn bread basket between us, and I can’t help noticing the way she tears hers into neat little pieces before she eats, like she’s savoring the ritual as much as the food.
“So,” she says between bites, “have you always known you’d stay in Whynot?”
I nod, setting my fork down. “Yeah. It’s home and always will be. While I loved living in Chapel Hill while I was in college, I really missed this place.”
“What did you miss?” she prods, with obvious interest.
I have to think about it. “I like its rhythm. I like knowing every face that walks into Chesty’s or down Main Street. I like that if my truck breaks down, somebody’s gonna stop to help instead of drivin’ around me. It’s slow sometimes, and people can be… opinionated, but this town’s my compass. Keeps me grounded.”
Her smile is soft. “You make it sound like a love story.”
“It kind of is,” I admit. “I love this town even when it makes me crazy.”
She tilts her head. “So why hide your writing from it, then? Don’t you think they’ll come through for you?”
That question lands clean and sharp, and I can’t do anything but shrug. “Who knows, but people here like their boxes wrapped tightly. Sam-Pete—the bartender, the handyman, the local boy who never left—that’s the version they’re comfortable with. S. P. Rochelle, the guy who writes steamy romance novels? That’s a foreign creature I’m not sure they’d want to know.”
Penny folds her hands under her chin, studying me. “Maybe you’re underestimating them.”
I throw it back at her, because although she’s been gone for six years, she knows this town as well as I do. “You really believe that?”
She offers me a sheepish smile. “Probably not. At least not for a big chunk of the people. But you have some who will be thrilled for you. All the Mancinkus clan, Pap, Aunt Muriel, Sissy, Mary-Margaret. Hell, I know Floyd will probably offer to be security for you.”
I laugh because Floyd will probably want to be president of my fan club. “On the flip side, you know just how deeply conservative most are. My dad’s going to get teased, which will affront his masculinity, and my mom will be humiliated. I know I can’t live my life for them, and I don’t care what people say about me, but I do care what it does to them.”
Penny doesn’t argue. She just looks at me, really looks, with understanding. “That’s a lot to carry.”
“I got strong shoulders. It’ll be fine.” I nab the last piece of corn bread, splitting it with her. “What about you? You asked why I stay, but really… why did you leave?”
She looks toward the window, to the slow parade of headlights on Main Street. “Because I wanted more and I needed something bigger. I wanted the bustle, museums, art and people who thought in color instead of black-and-white. But really, my job landed me there. I found purpose there.”