Chapter 34 Penny
34
PENNY
“Sandy,” I called, dragging myself into Petal Pusher like a kid on the verge of a tantrum.
I needed to talk to someone—someone who at least had a sliver of understanding about this whole Mac situation. Sandy knew we’d once been a thing. She knew it had been secret. She knew we ended it. What she didn’t know were the details. And right now, I regretted not sharing them sooner. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t feel so alone with all this.
I could’ve called Aspen, but I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to unravel the entire mess. I needed a soft place to land. A quick fix. Someone to help me piece my head back together before I spun out completely.
The same questions kept circling. Was it too soon to feel the way I was feeling about Mac? In every movie, the girl always waited until the final scene to forgive him. But me? I was ready to crash right now—ready to throw myself headfirst into us again. But was I really ready? Had I given myself enough time?
Sandy was my best bet.
She stood behind the counter, wrapping a bouquet in brown paper, her hands graceful and practiced, each movement filled with purpose. The way she worked was almost meditative.
“Hello, sweetie,” she said, not missing a beat as she secured the bouquet.
I let my tote drop to the floor with a thud and sighed loudly. Loud enough to pull her attention. Her eyebrows pinched as she gave me a slow once-over, the concern settling into her face like a storm cloud.
“You don’t look so good,” she said, placing a sticker on the brown paper and sliding the bouquet aside.
I flopped onto the counter, folding myself in half like a soggy napkin.
“My brain feels like mush,” I groaned.
She reached out and rubbed slow circles on my back, her touch grounding me more than I expected. We sat in a few beats of silence before she gently asked, “And you came to talk about it?”
I nodded, cheek mashed against the counter. The friction made a tiny squeaking noise that would’ve been funny if I didn’t feel so emotionally drained.
“Want to head out back and talk in private? I can close up shop,” she offered, removing her hand as I straightened.
“No,” I sighed. “Can I help with bouquets instead? Emotions always feel easier when my hands are busy.”
Fidgeting, picking, tapping—anything to let my hands distract my heart long enough to form a coherent sentence.
“Come around,” Sandy said with a small wave, motioning me beside her.
She had a bucket full of fresh-cut blooms, all sorts of colors and textures spilling over the rim. I scanned the selection, eventually picking a few stems I thought looked pretty together.
Sandy had already laid out brown paper for me. I started trimming stems, arranging them mindlessly as my mouth opened, words tumbling out without much thought.
“I need advice. It’s about Mac.”
She hummed softly, enough to tell me she was listening but waiting for more.
“You know we were secretly seeing each other for a while,” I said, placing down a few Gerbera daisies and fussing over their angle.
“Six months,” she replied casually.
I scoffed. Of course she knew. If I ever doubted I’d come to the right place, that was proof enough.
“Yeah. Six. Then something happened and we ended it. But a few weeks ago, he came back, demanding a second chance.”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice warm but firm. “If you want my advice, I need the full story.”
I picked up a sprig of baby’s breath, tucking it into the daisies as I spoke. “He was married. Never told me. I was at his house, in his flannel and my underwear, when a woman showed up and served him divorce papers.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sandy turned toward me fully, her hand landing flat on the counter, those bright blue eyes locked onto mine.
“Exactly,” I muttered. “So I left because I was pissed.”
“And? What else?” she prodded.
I tilted my head, confused. What else?
“If it was just a secret hook-up, two people having fun,” she said, “why was him being married in the past such a dealbreaker? What made you run before knowing the full story?”
I stared at her, stunned. I didn’t think about it like that.
I turned back to the bouquet, rearranging it even though it didn’t need it. The flowers became a stand-in for the chaos I felt in my chest.
“I was hurt,” I admitted. “Betrayed. Embarrassed. My head was spinning and I didn’t know what to believe.”
“Because?” she prompted.
I’d already known but refused to say it to someone else out loud.
“Because I was falling for him,” I whispered, throat tight. “And I was scared. I felt stupid for catching feelings for someone I was only supposed to be hooking up with.”
I slammed a final flower into place a little too hard. A few petals drifted off like casualties to my anger.
“But that doesn’t excuse him,” I added quickly. “He didn’t call. He didn’t text. And when he finally did, it was like nothing had even happened.”
Sandy reached out, her fingers curling gently around my arm.
“No, it doesn’t excuse him,” she said softly. “But maybe… maybe you weren’t just running because of what he did. Maybe, deep down, you were looking for an exit because you didn’t know how he felt about you. Maybe sabotaging it felt safer than waiting around to be disappointed.”
Her words hit me like a freight train.
My head tilted back slightly, eyes fluttering shut. The rush of reality was nearly too much for me to bear.
Sandy watched me for a long moment, her fingers still resting on my arm, grounding me.
“You know,” she said quietly, her eyes softening, “you remind me a lot of myself at your age.”
I blinked, surprised. “Me?”
She nodded, pulling her hand away and reaching beneath the counter for another roll of brown paper. “I was twenty-six, working in my aunt’s flower shop. Thought I had it all figured out. I met this super cute guy through a supplier. He was charming in that dangerous kind of way. Said all the right things. Made me feel seen in a way I didn’t even realize I was craving.”
Her smile faded just a little. “We dated in secret for months. Not because we had to, but because I didn’t want to ruin the fantasy by letting the real world in.”
She glanced at me. “Sound familiar?”
I nodded, heart tight. Too familiar.
“One day, I showed up at his place with cinnamon rolls, his favorite.” She gave a small laugh, full of regret and old wounds. “And when he opened the door, he was… holding a toddler.”
My mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”
“Turns out, he had a child, which he conveniently forgot to mention. I was humiliated. I left without a word and never looked back. Didn’t even give him the chance to explain. It hurt too much.”
She paused to lay out more paper, her fingers still calm and steady. “But here’s what I learned later. He wasn’t a bad man, Penelope. He had his reasons. And I’d gotten so wrapped up in my hurt that I never gave myself the chance to hear the full story. I let pride drive the getaway car.”
I stayed quiet, the weight of her words settling into my chest.
“Was he the one that got away?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Sandy smiled, soft and fond. “For me, no, because I met Hank shortly after that, and that man was my whole world. Though I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I’d let my heart be just a little braver.”
She turned fully toward me now, her eyes shining with quiet certainty. “What Mac did hurt you. And you have every right to be angry, to feel betrayed. But don’t confuse your hurt with the whole truth. Ask yourself this, is your pride protecting you, or is it keeping you from something that could be real?”
I looked down at my half-finished bouquet, the petals now trembling in my hands.
“I don’t want to get hurt again,” I whispered.
Sandy reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “No one does. But the best love stories? They’re built on choosing to stay even after things fall apart. Not because it’s easy but because it’s worth it.”
Her words hit a place I’d been avoiding for weeks.
I looked down at the bouquet again, watching how the soft cloud of baby’s breaths curled around the bold daisies.
“I should also mention,” I said, folding one side of the brown paper, then the other, and tucking the bottom beneath to create the perfect wrap, “I’ve been making him grovel for the last few weeks. Earn my trust back, inch by inch.”
Sandy let out a full, delighted laugh—the kind that shook her shoulders and tilted her head back. “Oh, Penelope. Only you would have a man on his knees.”
I shot her a playful wink. “Literally”
She grinned. “Oh, my. To be young again.”
We worked in quiet rhythm for a while, the gentle snips of scissors and rustling paper filling the space. I found comfort in the movement, in the way my hands kept busy even when my thoughts refused to sit still. But the question had been building in my chest, pushing harder with every heartbeat.
“Do you think it’s too soon?” I finally asked, pausing with my hand resting on the edge of the counter. “To give in? Should I stick to my word?”
Sandy looked at me, no judgment in her expression—just calm, steady warmth. “Too soon says who? You’re the one setting the standard here, sweetie. No one else. You created those boundaries because you needed them. Because he needed to work to earn his way back to you.”
I nodded slowly, still unsure.
“Do you think he’s done that?” she asked.
There it was—vulnerability, thick in my throat. I didn’t know. I was still living in the shadow of the unknown. But talking to Sandy cracked something open. Her story. Her kindness. It reminded me that love didn’t have to come perfectly packaged to be real.
“You don’t have to decide today,” she said softly. “Take a few days. Sit with everything we talked about. Ask yourself what you want, not just in this moment, but in the long run. You’re smart. Passionate. Beautiful inside and out. You already know the answer, you just have to trust yourself to hear it.”
Her words wrapped around me like a warm breeze. I felt something close to clarity—not certainty, not yet. There was peace, and maybe that was enough for now.
“But if it were me,” Sandy added with a mischievous grin, giving my shoulder a playful bump with hers, “I’d make him sweat it out a little longer. It’s more fun that way.”
I laughed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pressing a grateful kiss to her cheek. She smiled into it, leaning against me with the kind of warmth that made you feel instantly safe.
“Thank you, Sandy. For everything.”
As we pulled apart, she brushed her hands off on her apron, and her smile stayed soft.
“Oh, I saw that flyer you posted at the grocery store this morning, about the bar,” she said casually. “The crochet club would love to come out and support the library fundraiser.”
“That would be amazing,” I said, my heart lifting a little. “The more the merrier.”
“You know who the ladies are hoping shows up, though?” she asked, her tone dipping into something gossipy and gleeful.
I hummed, slapping a sticker onto the paper to seal the bouquet. “Who?”
“That Logan boy. Especially if he gets up on that mechanical bull, shirtless.” Sandy giggled like a teenager. “Those muscles on him…”
“Oh my God,” I groaned with a laugh, shaking my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“If I had my way, though,” she said slyly, “I’d like to see that cute bartender hop up on the bull.”
My head whipped toward her, eyes wide. “Wait… Mac?”
She burst into laughter and waved her hand. “Oh, no, no. The one with all the piercings.”
“Dudley?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, pointing a finger at me, delight lighting up her entire face. “That one’s too handsome for his own good.”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed so hard my eyes watered.
“Unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head, but feeling lighter than I had when I walked in.