Chapter 17
Penny
Sunday morning, I wake to gentle autumn light spilling into my apartment.
I forgot to shut the curtain last night—probably because I was too busy replaying every second of yesterday.
From the way Monty stayed by my side at the football game, to the warmth of his hand as he pressed it to my cheek under the maple tree.
I’m pretty sure he’s got the tension-building lesson locked in. It’s been less than a week since the beginning of our arrangement and I already ache to kiss him.
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, forcing my eyes to stay open because I know if I shut them, I’ll picture the way Monty’s jade eyes dilated beneath his glasses as he swiped at the melted marshmallow on my lips.
And how he held my gaze as he brought that same thumb to his mouth, using his tongue to suck at the sugary taste.
My core clenches at the thought and I will myself to forget the deep groan that rumbled from his throat, the way he murmured, “Delicious, Xuxuzinho.”
If I don’t forget every single second of that interaction, I’ll do something dumb, like grab the little toy in my nightstand and think all about those slutty glasses and masculine whimpers as I ride an orgasm.
And I am not coming while thinking about Monty. That is—I shake my head—just no. Not happening. Nope. Bad idea.
I jump out of bed, refusing to entertain any more of my wanton thoughts, and rush to my apartment’s front window.
I peer across the street to see if the Open sign is hanging on my sister’s store.
Sundays in Hope Harbor are for the farmers market, so Tally normally stays closed and sets up a stall there instead.
Part of me wants to get her alone so I can freak out about this whole Monty thing with her, but the other part of me knows I should avoid being alone with her so I don’t go and spill the truth about it being fake.
All it will take is one person finding out for the gossip to grow like a weed in a pumpkin patch, overtaking our whole little plan and ruining everything.
***
I’m already contemplating my second cup of coffee when I arrive at Rosie’s. The farmers market is held behind the brewery, and the parking lot is full despite it only being 9:30 a.m.
A set of black-and-white-checkered pots filled with mums in various autumnal shades—burgundy, burnt orange, and my favorite, deep golden—line the walkway that leads up to the brewery.
I smile, knowing that Rosie probably set them out to spite the Liberty Ladies and the way they tease me for getting in the fall spirit nice and early.
Now that the first two weeks of September have come and gone, I suppose the rest of the town will catch up with me.
Each year it seems like the town decorations get more elaborate, especially on Maple Lane.
The Liberty Ladies will soon be working to outdo me.
Especially Babs. She loves leaning into the Halloween vibe for her shop; black velvet spiders will hang from the raspberry-pink awning while transparent ghosts will haunt the glass windows.
She dresses up in a different costume almost every day of October for her customers. It’s a bit much, even for me, but I guess that’s because I prefer my fall decor more cozy than spooky.
When I step through the oversized barn doors of the brewery, I’m hit by the scent of crisp apple from the numerous burning candles scattered across the bar top. It makes the entire space warm and cozy, emulating the effect of an old wooden stove.
The majority of the market’s customers are out back already, though I spot Fletcher at the bar chatting with Billie as I work my way out there.
Her blond hair bounces as she laughs at something he says before handing him a to-go coffee cup.
When he winks at her before disappearing outside, I do a double take.
“Was Fletcher Matthews just flirting with you?”
Billie’s brown eyes widen, and she shakes her head aggressively. “Um, no. He’s keeping an eye on Quinn while I work. He and Henry play well together,” she says of their two sons.
“Oh, right! How’s the new job going?” I ask. Though she moved here to help my mother with weddings on the farm, she’s been filling in at the brewery to make some extra cash now that Walker, Tally, and my mom can step in to help watch Quinn.
An easy smile forms on Billie’s lips. “It’s really good. I like it here a lot.” Her eyes shift around the brewery and I can tell she’s speaking from the heart.
“Coffee or not coffee?” she continues, pulling out my personal mug from the rack above the bar. Written on the front, in big letters, are the words This Is Definitely Coffee.
All of us girls have one. Mine is burnt orange, obviously, while Rosie’s is red and Tally’s is yellow. I happen to know Rosie got Billie a teal one to match all of ours, but I’m not sure if she’s given it to her yet.
Tradition states that we drink prosecco out of our This Is Definitely Coffee mugs. No one is the wiser. Well, at least that’s what Tally and Rosie like to pretend. I’m pretty sure the entire town is onto us.
“If you’ve got apple cider, I’d love some with my not coffee,” I say to Billie with a wink.
She giggles in response. “You got it, babe.”
She pours me my drink as she explains that the girls are out back. I remind her to come and join us when she gets a break, then head outside.
“Finally!” I hear Rosie screech as I step onto the porch.
“We were beginning to think Monty kidnapped you again,” Tally teases, tipping her yellow mug in my direction, a coy smile on her face.
In one of her long cotton dresses, with buttons up and down the center that drive Walker mad, my sister is the epitome of relaxed gorgeousness.
Today’s dress is a golden color with white embroidery along the edges and ruffles at the bottom.
Her caramel hair is pulled over her shoulder in a fishtail braid, and her long lashes flutter excitedly my way.
Beside her, it’s impossible to not feel like a bit of a slob. I’m in my typical fall attire—an oversized cardigan atop black leggings and a deep green shirt. I tug on my own braid, pulling at the hair tie, and set my waves free.
“He never kidnapped me. And I’m not late.”
Rosie takes a sip of her drink, her violet eyes glittering with excitement, and I know even before she speaks that I’m screwed.
“Well, if Monty didn’t kidnap you, then riddle me this: On a scale of one to ten, how good of a kisser is he?”
I breathe a sigh of relief that she didn’t ask if I was really dating him. My sister and her best friend have a rule that if they ask you a question while drinking, you have to answer truthfully or be cursed with bad sex for ten years.
Do I really believe in the curse? No. But am I willing to risk bad sex? Also no. I mean, I’d have to be having sex in order for that to be a concern, but hopefully in the next ten years I will, and when that happens, the last thing I want is for it to be bad.
I bet it wouldn’t be bad with Monty. My face flames at the thought and both my sister and Rosie squeal with laughter. “Oh, he is, isn’t he!” Rosie exclaims.
“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” I mutter, focusing on my drink. Plus, this lady has never kissed Monty so I really can’t tell them anything.
I glance past them as they continue to gab about how I’m protesting too much, focusing on the market behind them.
Rosie started the farmers market last year and it was a genius idea. What started out as locals checking out their neighbors’ homemade wares has turned into a destination for people from all over the New England coast to visit.
Some of that success is thanks to a few viral TikToks that included Walker wearing a cowboy hat and eating Tally’s honey cupcakes—who knew women would go crazy over that? Me. I knew.
The viral videos that I curated not only helped Tally get her bakery off the ground, but they also brought attention to our farm, Hope Harbor, and this market.
If only I could find that same type of success on social media for my own bookstore.
What used to just be simple white folding tables is now dozens of little tents, adorably decorated by each business. Our farm’s table boasts a field’s worth of gorgeous bouquets and gourds available to purchase. It’s being managed by Walker, Quinn, and Daisy.
Tally’s table, which is currently unmanned, is home to an array of delicious baked goods. There’s also a table lined with homemade jams, and another with handmade jewelry.
There’s even a man who makes and sells fancy knives.
He’s positioned in an area we like to call thirst-trap row.
This summer the whole lot of them only ever wore shirts without sleeves.
I swear they checked out one another’s muscles more than they worried about what they sold.
But today, at the turn of the weather, they’re all dressed in different versions of plaid.
“Well, happy fall, y’all,” I croon, as Tally and Rosie join me at the railing to survey the goods.
Rosie snorts. “That’s probably what your sex dreams are made of, huh? A man in flannel.”
“Not just any man,” Tally sings.
I roll my eyes.
“Right, because Penny has a boyfriend now,” Rosie teases. It almost feels as if she’s testing me.
If we were in a real relationship, would I deny the fact that he was my boyfriend? Play down the relationship because it’s new? Probably.
“Shhh, it’s early days.” I shrug, acting sheepish. “We haven’t defined anything.”
“Maybe not to each other, but he claimed you in front of the entire town!” Rosie says proudly.
“He didn’t claim me,” I grumble.
“Right, and Walker and I didn’t sneak around for months in secret last spring,” Tally says with a laugh.
I roll my eyes again. “You’re right, you didn’t. Every single person in this town knew what you were up to. There was no secrecy involved.”