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)
This is her baby, after all.
She’s currently at a table near the counter, queen of her domain once again, surrounded by a trio of her lifelong friends—Missy, Doris and Louise. Gone is her wheelchair and now she’s only using the Rollator walker. Her hospital gown has been traded for a pink floral dress that speaks to the spring weather. I’m proud to report that her sass is intact and her patience for recovery is nonexistent.
She’s tried twice now to take over the inventory, but I chased her away. I lean against the counter with my clipboard and watch her hold court. Every few minutes, she sneaks a glance toward the kitchen to make sure it’s not burning down. She keeps a watchful gaze on the waitresses, making sure that they are catering to every customer’s needs. More than once, she looks over at me with that skepticism that I’m doing everything just right.
“You keep watchin’ me like that, I’m gonna start chargin’ you a manager’s salary,” I say when her eyes land on me.
Muriel chuckles. “Please. You couldn’t afford my opinion.”
“That’s what scares me.”
“Good. Fear keeps you from overbakin’ the corn bread.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever,” I grumble, waving her off.
Her friends cackle, fanning themselves with laminated menus even though it’s not even hot outside. Fanning, though, is a way of Southern life as it not only chases the heat away but the bugs as well. I watch as the ladies pass around a folded newspaper with Sam’s face on the front—an article about his new book release. Doris sighs dramatically. “That boy’s smile could melt the butter clean off a biscuit.”
Muriel snorts. “Don’t tell him that. His ego’s already got its own zip code.”
I grin because if there’s one person in this town who doesn’t have an ego, it’s Sam.
Just thinking about him causes fluttery feelings, but it’s always tempered with the pang somewhere between excitement and dread. Muriel’s recovery is going better than anyone expected. She’s walking, she’s got her wit, and she’s threatening to be back behind the counter within a week. Which means my excuse for staying in Whynot grows thinner by the day.
The thought sticks with me as I circle through the café, topping up coffees and straightening sugar caddies. The bell over the door jingles with the occasional customer, the day stretching warm and easy—until my phone buzzes on the counter.
I glance down.
Charles Ward—AgriSolutions Policy Group.
My boss.
Stomach bottoming out, I pick up the phone and stare at it with apprehension. We’ve been communicating by email and I’ve assumed everything’s okay with my extended leave. For a split second, I imagine the worst—I’ve been away too long, they’ve replaced me, or he’s calling to fire me politely. Mouth dry, I move to the door and step outside.
Leaning against the brick wall, I connect the call. “Hi, Charles.”
“Penny! Glad I caught you.”
He sounds… normal. Jovial, even. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”
His voice comes through bright and professional, like it always does when he’s about to drop something big. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s the opposite. The board just approved a national restructuring. We’re creating a new position—Senior Policy Director of Agricultural Strategy, and you’re the first person I thought of.”
I blink at the horizon, the words slow to land. “Senior policy director?”
“Yes. It’s a major step up. You’d lead our team on the Sustainable Farming Initiative—liaising with Congress, writing policy recommendations, traveling to summits. It comes with a salary increase to one ninety-five, plus a generous travel stipend and a small team of analysts. Of course, the responsibilities are heavier. You’d be doing probably about seventy percent travel.”
My pulse stutters. Did he say one ninety-five? As in one hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars a year?
“Wow,” I say lamely. “I mean… that’s incredible. I’m flattered you would consider me, especially since I’ve had to take leave.”
“Penny,” Charles says, almost in a chiding manner. “You’re so good at what you do, it’s why we let you take the leave. We nurture our people here. When we have talent such as yours, we do what we can to keep you. If the salary isn’t enough, it is negotiable.”
My head spins and I’m having a hard time comprehending what’s going on. “I’m not sure when I’d be able to return.” I glance over to Muriel, who is walking around with a pitcher of sweet tea on the seat of her Rollator, filling glasses. “My aunt still has a ways to go in her recovery.”
“Not a problem. We’ll hold the position if you want it.”
I wipe a sticky palm on my jeans. Why in the heck are my hands sweating?
“Can I have some time to think about it? The amount of travel is definitely something I want to make sure I’m committed to undertaking.”
“Of course,” Charles said. “But I’d really like an answer within forty-eight hours. If you decline it, we’ll go outside the company.”