Guess that makes you lucky, then #2
“So you just got here?” he asks me.
“Just,” I confirm. “Still finding my bearings.”
“That’d be north,” Mason offers, pointing vaguely out the window.
“Thank you,” I say dryly. “Invaluable navigation skills.”
A quiet ripple of amusement moves through the others, but Evan doesn’t look away. There’s something in the way he holds eye contact, as though he’s cataloguing details without meaning to.
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet to pay Rose, and something slips free. A coin hits the tiles and spins once before settling near the leg of my stool. He mutters something under his breath and starts to move, but I’m already bending down.
“Hang on.” I pick it up and hold it between my fingers. “You dropped your penny.”
“It’s a nickel,” the tall guy at the back says, who's name I think is Ghost.
“I know,” I say, turning it over slowly. “I’m being nostalgic.”
Evan steps forward to take it, but I don’t pass it back right away.
“When I was little,” I continue, because apparently my mouth has decided we’re sharing family memories now, “my dad used to call me his lucky penny.”
I smile without meaning to, and Evan’s hand pauses.
“Every morning before he left for work, he’d say, ‘Find my Penny, pick her up, all day long I’ll have good luck.’” I shake my head slightly. “He never walked out the door without doing it. If he forgot, he’d come back in and pretend he’d left something.”
The warmth of the memory sits in my chest for a second, but then I realize I’m still holding the coin. And still talking.
I reach forward and place it back in Evan’s warm palm.
“Sorry,” I say lightly, suddenly aware of my heartbeat drumming in my chest. “Occupational hazard of being named Penelope. You get a lot of coin-based anecdotes.”
His fingers close around it, brushing mine gently.
“Guess that makes you lucky, then,” he says.
I huff lightly. “Depends who you ask.”
Definitely not my stepmother.
He studies me for a moment, then slips the nickel into his pocket without another comment. I tuck my hands back around my coffee and look down at it, suddenly very interested in the foam.
I always do this. It starts out simple and somehow ends up as a complete overshare. I force a small breath through my nose and lift my head again before the quiet stretches too long.
“So, uh, you’re looking for someone for your daughter?”
His posture shifts. “Yeah.”
“For the long term?”
“That’s the plan.”
I nod slowly.
“Well, I’m between jobs at the moment—so I’ve got time. And I’m good with kids.” I hesitate, choosing the next part carefully. “If you needed something short-term while you sort out someone permanent, I could help.”
Colt tilts his head, considering my statement, and Mason’s eyebrows climb halfway to his hairline. The quiet guy looks between us like he’s watching a chess match.
“You don’t know me,” Evan says evenly.
“That’s true.”
“And I don’t know you.”
“Also true… But,” I add, meeting his gaze, “I show up when I say I will. I don’t panic easily. And I take responsibility for children seriously.”
He searches my face for a moment.
“I appreciate it,” he finally says. “But I’ve got it covered.”
A faint, ridiculous pang twists somewhere beneath my ribs, but I cover it quickly with a short nod. “Fair enough.”
Mason looks like he’s about to protest on my behalf, but Evan purposefully ignores him.
Colt drains the rest of his coffee before nodding toward the door. “We should get back.”
They shift toward the door in a loose formation of navy shirts and broad shoulders.
Mason turns and points back at me. “Ginger’s still my favorite.”
“Obviously,” I say through a grin.
The bell chimes as they leave, and I turn back to my cinnamon bun with an exhale, but I’m only half paying attention. My gaze drifts toward the window without meaning to.
They’re halfway down the street now. Mason’s talking with his hands, and Colt bumps shoulders with the quiet one called Ghost.
Evan walks slightly behind them, and he doesn’t look back—not that I expect him to. Still, I watch them until Rose sets a glass of water down beside me.
“Well,” she says mildly. “That was a lively introduction to our local fire department.”
“They’re… enthusiastic,” I say.
“That’s one word for it.”
I take a bite of my bun, chewing thoughtfully.
“He’s careful,” Rose adds after a moment.
“Evan?”
She nods, and I glance toward the street again.
“Yeah,” I murmur, dragging my attention back to her. “I gathered.”
“And he loves his little girl more than anything.”
Of course he does. And of course he declined my offer. Wandering into town and offering to look after his kid after a conversation about the Spice Girls isn’t exactly how responsible adults make childcare decisions.
But there was something in the way he’d looked at me that I understood far too well. The kind of caution people mistake for coldness when really, it’s just what happens after life teaches you to guard the what softness you have left.
I take another bite and let the icing melt against my tongue. “What about her mom?”
“Left a while ago now… It wasn’t good. He’s all she’s got now.”
I can relate.
I sit there for another minute, watching the last of the foam slide down the inside of my cup. The espresso machine hisses behind the counter, and Rose moves around me in easy circles, clearing cups and wiping tables.
My gaze drifts to the door again, and I catch myself thinking about small towns and pop music and men who build high walls around their lives.
Then I straighten.
“Well,” I say, brushing my fingers together, “if I’m going to make questionable life choices, I may as well start with the bar down the road.”
Rose’s mouth twitches. “Tell Gwen I sent you.”
“I will. Thank you, Rose.”
I step outside, and the door swings shut behind me with a soft thud. The street stretches in front of me, and I glance toward the corner the firefighters disappeared around.
Then I square my shoulders and pivot toward Neverland with a determined inhale.
This was still a good life decision, Penny. Definitely.
And cocktails can’t possibly be harder than a firefighter’s questionnaire.