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)
“Thanks for the beer, bartender,” she says, pulling cash out of her rear jeans pocket, which I know is intended to tip me.
“Put your money away, Penny. It’s no good here.”
She hesitates, then shoves it back in. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Penny taps the counter twice, like a goodbye, and heads for the door. The bell gives a sleepy jingle, then she walks out—back into the heavy honeysuckle Carolina night.
I find myself staring at the empty stool long after she’s gone. I wipe the ring her bottle left on the bar, even though it’s already dry, and I catch myself smiling like an idiot.
Nine thirty tomorrow suddenly feels a damn long way off.
CHAPTER 6
Penny
By the time the last customer leaves Central Café, I’m exhausted. My feet ache, my back protests, and there’s a smear of chocolate pie filling on my forearm I didn’t notice until now. I scrub it off with a wet rag.
Still, despite the aches and the fact my tummy feels like it’s filled with butterflies, I can’t stop smiling. It was another successful day at the diner, and now I’m going on a date.
Well, no… not a date. An outing. A friendship adventure.
It’s something, but it’s with Sam Rochelle, and I have to admit, he’s been plaguing my thoughts all day. He’s so intriguing, and he’s obviously as handsome as ever. Back when we were in high school, and him being two years younger than me, I never looked at him as more than a cute guy. The age difference back then pretty much ensured we ran in different circles.
But in only a few short days, has he become a joyful reason to be back in Whynot? He’s definitely a break from the pressure of the restaurant, and he takes my mind off whether I’ll have a job back in DC when this is all said and done.
I double-check that the coffee pots are rinsed and the neon Open sign is dark before heading to the restroom with my tote bag. From inside, I dig out the little arsenal I packed this morning—mascara, lip gloss, deodorant, dry shampoo, and an extra set of clothes folded with the precision of a woman who overthought every decision today.
I change out of my café clothes and into something that feels more me—a sleeveless floral blouse with a flirty tie at the shoulder and cropped jeans that hit just above my favorite wedge sandals. I dab a touch of perfume behind each ear, fluff my hair, and swipe gloss over my lips. It’s ridiculous how much effort I’m putting into what Sam called “just showing me something,” but the flutter under my ribs hasn’t let up all afternoon.
By the time I’ve locked the front door and stepped out under the streetlamp, my nerves are on overdrive. The sound of a truck engine draws my attention just as Sam pulls up along the curb and rolls down the window.
“Hey, pretty lady,” he calls out. “Want a ride?”
I pretend skepticism. “I don’t know… you look like you could be dangerous.”
His warm eyes twinkle and his dimples pop. “I am indeed dangerous, but you don’t look like you scare easy.”
True enough, so I open the passenger door and hop in.
I take him in quickly… dark jeans and a gray Henley that clings to his chest.
Sam’s smile starts slow and spreads easy. “You clean up nice, Ms. Pritchard.”
“I had a hot date with a mop and a stack of dirty pie plates,” I say, feigning casual while tugging at the tie on my blouse. “Thought I’d look presentable for the encore.”
He glances down, taking in the outfit, and there’s a hint of something playful in his eyes that makes the whole effort feel worth it. “Encore looks good on you.”
I can’t hide my grin. “Where are we going, exactly?”
“You’ll see.”
“If this ends in a shallow grave, I’m haunting you.”
“That’s fair,” he says, putting the truck in drive. The soft rumble of the engine vibrates through the seat. We pull out onto Main Street, passing darkened storefronts and porch lights glowing behind lace curtains.
We drive by Mainer House, the three-story home looking straight out of a picture book.
“I love that house,” I murmur as I crane my head to look at it. “When I was little, I used to think it was what Whynot was supposed to feel like. Big porch, oak trees, fireflies—like it was holding the town together.”
“Having a place you love matters,” he says, his tone softening.
“It does,” I agree quietly. “It’s like it anchors you.”
Sam looks at it as we pass by. “It’s finally looking nice again after Lowe painted it neon pink,” Sam says.
I laugh. “Muriel told me about that. Sounds like I missed a lot of fun.”
“I don’t know that Lowe thought it was fun.” Sam chuckles. I notice that he’s a confident driver, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on a very well-muscled thigh.