Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
W hitney and Madeline walked arm-in-arm around the square. The late afternoon breeze carried the scent from the flower shop down the way, and the town buzzed with activity as locals ducked in and out of the stores.
“Man, I really needed this,” Whitney said. “Between shifts at the clinic, helping Dad, and trying to plan my next move, I feel like I’ve barely had a moment to just breathe.”
Madeline gave her a knowing smile. “You’re doing so much, Whitney. Sometimes, a walk and good company are all you need to recharge. And, of course, I totally understand what you mean. Brady’s been a little bit difficult because he doesn’t like for someone to take care of him.”
Whitney smiled. They both stopped to admire the display in Frannie’s bakery window, commenting on how they had both earned a slice of pie and planned to get one later.
As they turned the corner, Whitney suddenly froze mid-step.
“Wait a minute,” she said, her gaze locking on a small storefront nestled between the bookstore and the boutique.
“What is it?” Madeline asked.
Whitney pointed to the glass door of the building, a newly hung sign that read For Lease, gleaming in the sunlight. The space looked modest but inviting, with large front windows that let in plenty of light. Whitney remembered that it had been an old insurance office, though it looked a bit worn and outdated.
“Madeline,” Whitney whispered, “look at the space.”
Madeline tilted her head. “It’s cute. Is this the kind of place you’ve been looking for?”
Whitney nodded, stepping closer. “It’s perfect. I mean, it needs some love, obviously, but look, it’s right here in the heart of the square. Everybody would pass by it on their way to the shops, and those windows would be amazing for natural light during yoga classes.”
Madeline smiled. “I can see the wheels turning in your brain already. What are you picturing?”
Whitney stepped up to the window, pressing her hands against the glass. She saw things that other people might overlook—a blank canvas waiting to be transformed. She could imagine the polished wood floors and softer lighting. She envisioned mats lined up neatly for yoga class, a cozy corner with chairs for her mindfulness workshops, or maybe even small desks for consultations.
“It could be everything,” Whitney said, her voice filled with excitement. “Yoga, meditation, nutrition workshops. I could have a whole schedule of classes. And the windows are so inviting, people could see what’s going on just walking by, and maybe they’d want to join in.”
Madeline crossed her arms and grinned. “Well, it sounds like you’ve already moved in.”
Whitney turned to her and smiled. “It’s just a dream right now.”
Madeline shook her head. “You’ve done a lot toward your dream already, Whitney. Wellness night was a big success, and the town is clearly ready for something like this. Call the number, find out the details. This dream of yours doesn’t have to just live in your head.”
Whitney hesitated and looked back at the sign. “What if it’s too expensive? What if it’s not exactly what it seems, and I waste their time?”
“What if it works out great?” Madeline countered. “You’ll never know unless you try, and you’ve got everybody rooting for you.”
Whitney took a deep breath and pulled out her phone. “Okay,” she said, dialing the number on the sign. “Let’s see if this dream has any chance.”
Madeline clapped her hands. “That’s my girl.”
* * *
W hitney adjusted the blood pressure cuff around her father’s arm as he sat on her exam table at the clinic. Coop fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable.
“Daddy, would you stop squirming, please?” she said, tightening the cuff. “I can’t get an accurate reading if you keep moving around.”
He huffed but settled down. “Feels like I’ve been poked and prodded enough already. How much longer do we have to wait for the doctor?”
Whitney smirked. “You’re the one who insisted on coming early to beat the rush, and now you’re complaining?”
Coop muttered something under his breath, but she ignored him. His blood pressure had improved a lot since the hospital stay, and she felt a small sense of relief.
“Well, your numbers are better,” she said, writing in his chart. “The medication seems to be helping.”
“Good,” Coop replied gruffly, “but I don’t like taking pills every day.”
Whitney gave him a look. “Daddy, we’ve been over this. This is not optional. Your health depends on it. I better not find out that you’ve stopped taking those pills.”
Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be Dr. Grant,” Whitney said, but when nobody entered, she realized they’d still have to wait. She sat down for a few minutes on the stool beside him, tapping her pen against the clipboard.
“Since we have a few minutes,” she began, her voice hesitant.
Coop raised an eyebrow. “What are you up to? You look like you’re about to drop some bad news on me.”
“It’s not bad news,” she said quickly. “Well, at least I don’t think it is.”
“Spit it out, Whit.”
She took a deep breath. “I signed a lease on the storefront I told you about.”
For a moment, Coop didn’t respond. His face was unreadable, and Whitney braced herself for the explosion. Instead, to her surprise, he smiled.
“You signed the lease?”
“I did,” she said cautiously. “I know you’re probably upset. I know you think I should just stay at the clinic or keep helping at the diner, but?—”
“Whitney,” he interrupted, holding up his hand, “stop. I’m proud of you.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Wait, what?”
He chuckled. “You heard me. I realize I’ve been a stubborn old fool. I was so caught up in my own fears that I couldn’t see just how much all of this meant to you. But after everything that’s happened, I finally realized something.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“We only get one shot at this life, and I was holding you back because I was scared. Scared you’d fail, scared you’d leave me, scared I’d lose you. But you know that’s not fair to you, and it’s definitely not the kind of man I want to be. So yeah, I’m proud of you, kid. I’m sorry if I’ve made this so much harder than it needed to be.”
Whitney’s throat tightened with emotion. “Daddy.”
He reached out and patted her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know I’m always rooting for you, even if sometimes I don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“And that means more than you’ll ever know,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
“So, since you’re in a supportive mood,” Whitney said, her tone lightening, “how would you feel about becoming my first success story?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I mean,” she said, sitting up straighter, “I think I can help you—not just with your diabetes and blood pressure, but with everything. I could show you how to eat healthier, help you come up with better options for the diner menu, teach you how to meditate, breathe, manage stress.”
Coop held up a hand, looking overwhelmed. “Hold up just a minute. You’re talking about a lot of changes here. I’m not sure I’m ready for all that.”
“I’m not saying you have to do everything all at once. But if you let me help you, I think you’ll see a big difference. Besides, you’ll be helping me too. If I can show people how much this has helped you—the most stubborn man in town—it’ll be the best advertisement for my new studio.”
He scratched his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been eating fried chicken and biscuits my whole life. You asking me to give that up?”
“Not give it up,” she said, “just balance it out. You’d be surprised how some of this healthy stuff can taste. Tate’s been helping me figure it out, and you already like what he brought over the other day—and what you tried at his place.”
Coop grumbled something under his breath. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll let you try. But don’t expect me to turn into some kind of health nut overnight.”
Whitney laughed. “Deal. One step at a time.”
The door opened, and Dr. Grant stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Good afternoon, Coop,” the doctor said. “How are we feeling today?”
Coop glanced at Whitney and then back at the doctor. “Better,” he said. “Maybe I’m ready to start making some changes.”