Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
W hitney opened the door to Perky’s Coffee Shop and inhaled the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh-baked pastries that lined the glass cases. Just looking at them made her gain weight. The shop was bustling with the usual afternoon crowd, a mix of locals catching up on gossip and tourists soaking in the charm of Jubilee.
She had just finished another long shift at the clinic. Her scrubs felt heavy on her shoulders, and exhaustion weighed her down. Her father had called earlier, asking if she could come help at the restaurant, but for once, she told him no. She just wasn’t up for more chaos today. She didn’t want to hear him complaining about the new vegan café, and she definitely didn’t want to hear him telling her that her dreams were silly.
She needed a moment to herself, and Perky’s was the perfect refuge.
Walking up to the counter, she ordered her usual caramel latte, her eyes drifting as she waited. That’s when she spotted a familiar figure sitting by the window. Madeline was hunched over her laptop, a steaming mug of coffee beside her and a look of frustration etched on her face.
Whitney smiled and waved. Latte in hand, she made her way across the room and tapped on Madeline’s table.
“Mind if I join you?”
Madeline looked up, her expression softening into a smile. “Of course, Whitney, sit down. You actually just saved me from another hour of staring at a blank screen.”
Whitney laughed as she slid into the chair across from her. “Writer’s block?”
“The worst case I’ve had in a long time,” Madeline admitted, shutting her laptop with a sigh. “I thought maybe a change in scenery would help, but so far, all I’ve managed to do is drink way too much coffee.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one sneaking away from responsibilities today,” Whitney said. She took a sip of her latte, savoring the warm, sweet flavor.
Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Sneaking away?”
Whitney leaned back in her chair. “Dad wanted me to help at the diner after my shift, but I told him I was too tired. It’s not exactly a lie—I’m exhausted, mentally and physically—but I just needed a break, you know?”
Madeline nodded. “Sometimes you have to put yourself first. Your dad’s going to survive without you for one night.”
“Yeah, tell him that,” Whitney said with a small smile. She took another sip of her latte, then asked, “Anyway, how’s your mom? I haven’t seen her around town lately.”
Madeline chuckled. “Oh, she and Burt decided to take a little trip to Pigeon Forge. They’re seeing the shows and probably eating their weight in pancakes. I’m sure she’ll return with a million stories to tell.”
Whitney laughed. “That sounds like your mom. Did Jasmine and Anna go with them? I thought I heard something about a family trip.”
“They did,” Madeline confirmed, referring to Brady’s sister and niece who lived with him. “The two of them tagged along. It’s good for them to get out of town for a bit. Brady and I were invited, but we decided to stay back. Too much going on around here, and I figured I’d use the quiet time to get some writing done—or so I thought,” she said, gesturing to her laptop.
“Well, at least you’re trying.”
They laughed, and Whitney felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. She took another sip of her latte, hesitating momentarily before speaking again.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked softly.
“Of course,” Madeline said, leaning in slightly.
Whitney looked down at her cup, swirling the foam with her straw. “Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about Tate—the guy who owns the vegan restaurant.”
Madeline tilted her head. “Oh, you’ve met him?”
Whitney nodded, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. “Yes, I snuck over to the café one day out of curiosity. Just wanted to take a look. He was there. He’s nothing like I thought he’d be—very nice, kind, cordial. Then, a few days later, he came to the clinic because he burned his hand, and I was the one to take care of it.”
Madeline’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and Whitney sighed.
“I don’t know. He’s just different. He’s so nice, and he really seems to get me. We’re very much alike. We talked about wellness and community and everything I’ve been dreaming about for years. It’s like he understood without me having to explain everything. It’s been a long time since I connected with somebody like that.”
“Sounds like he made quite the impression,” Madeline said.
“He did,” Whitney admitted, smiling. “But it’s not just that. It’s like he sees the things I want to do and the person I want to be, and he doesn’t think it’s silly. He doesn’t think it’s impossible. He believes in it.”
“Whitney, that’s a rare thing. You deserve someone in your life who sees you for who you are and supports your dreams—whether it’s friendship or something more. It sounds like Tate could be that for you, just like Brady is for me.”
“Maybe,” Whitney said with a sigh. “But what about my dad? He’d lose his mind if he knew I was spending any time with Tate, let alone considering him a friend. It feels impossible to balance my loyalty to my dad with everything I want for myself.”
Madeline reached across the table and squeezed Whitney’s hand. “I know it’s hard, but at the end of the day, this is your life—not your dad’s. If you follow your heart, it doesn’t mean you’re betraying him. It means you’re being true to yourself. He’s had his chance to live his own life, and you should have your chance to live yours.”
Whitney nodded slowly. “I guess I just don’t know if I’m brave enough.”
“You are,” Madeline said firmly. “I’ve seen it. You’re very strong, Whitney, and when the time comes, you’re going to make the right choice for you.”
“Thanks, Madeline. I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime,” Madeline said, smiling warmly. “Now, what do you say we order a couple of pastries and avoid all our responsibilities for at least another hour?”
Whitney laughed, nodding. “I’d say that sounds perfect.”
* * *
M adeline set the last dish on the table. They were having a steaming pot of chicken and dumplings. The aroma filled the kitchen, mingling with the scent of the biscuits that she’d baked earlier. Brady was already seated at the table, pouring a glass of sweet tea for each of them.
“This looks great, Madeline,” he said. “You’ve outdone yourself yet again. You’ve become quite the Southern chef. Maybe you could write a cookbook one day.”
She laughed softly, sitting down across from him. “Well, I’ve been working very hard on my Southern cooking skills since I moved to Jubilee, and I figured since it’s Sunday, we could use a proper dinner for a change.”
He lifted his glass as a mock toast. “To proper dinners and good company.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled as they dug into the food. As usual, the conversation flowed easily. Brady discussed Gilbert’s latest antics, updated her about the farm, and discussed her struggles with her newest book.
Just as they were settling into a comfortable rhythm, Brady’s phone buzzed on the table, a distinct tone signaling a call-out. His hand stilled as he was reaching for a biscuit, and he let out a quiet sigh.
“Duty calls,” he said, pushing back from his chair and standing.
Madeline frowned, watching as he grabbed his keys from the counter. “What is it?”
“Just a small fire,” he said. “Probably nothing, just routine.”
She followed him to the doorway, leaning against the frame as he slipped on his boots. “Please be careful,” she said, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.
He paused, turning back to her with a reassuring smile. “I’m always careful. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Brady had been on the volunteer fire department for many years, even before he met Madeline, but since she had met him, he hadn’t had to go out on many calls until recently. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and with that, he was gone, the sound of his truck rumbling down the dirt road into the quiet of the evening.
She stood there for a moment, hugging herself, staring out at the empty spot where his truck had been. She hated this feeling, this nagging worry that crept up from her stomach to her chest every time he had to go on one of these calls. They hadn’t happened often, but this unusually dry season had made the fires more frequent, and she just couldn’t shake the fear that one day, something wasn’t going to go as planned. There had been so many big fires in the adjoining towns over the years that she had heard about. Some had been devastating. Some had taken lives.
She closed the door and returned to the kitchen, where a half-eaten meal sat on the table, a reminder of his absence. She cleared the plates and wrapped up the leftovers, trying to distract herself by tidying up. Once the kitchen was clean, she went to her writing desk and opened her laptop, determined to at least focus on her next book. But minutes turned into hours, and her mind kept drifting back to Brady.
She imagined him out there, in all of his gear, surrounded by heat and smoke, trying to keep the town safe. She pictured his steady hands and his calm demeanor, the qualities that made him so good at what he did, but those same qualities were what made it so hard for her to say how much she worried about him. She couldn’t ask him to ever give up that job. Being a firefighter was part of who he was, part of the sense of duty to the community that he loved, and she loved that about him, even if it meant that she had to live with this low-level, constant anxiety that came with it when he was on a call.
Suddenly, the sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside broke her train of thought. She jumped up from her desk and ran to the window, relief washing over her when she saw Brady’s truck pulling into the driveway.
A few moments later, the front door opened, and he stepped inside. “Hey,” he said, his voice steady as always.
Madeline ran across the room, wrapping her arms around him before she could think twice. “You’re okay,” she said, her face pressed into the side of his neck.
He laughed, his arms wrapping around her. “I told you it was routine, nothing to worry about.”
She pulled back with her hands resting on his shoulders. “You smell like smoke.”
“Well, it was a fire ,” he said with a grin.
Madeline swatted at his arm. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he teased as he kissed her forehead.
As much as she wanted to scold him for not understanding her worry, she knew it wouldn’t do any good. This is who he was: steady, dependable, and completely devoted to helping others.
“I saved you some dinner,” she said, pulling his hand toward the kitchen. “Figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”
“You’re the best,” he said.
* * *
C oop sat at the corner booth in his diner, his face frowning as he reviewed the day’s receipts. His usually busy restaurant was quiet now, the kitchen’s hum reduced to just the occasional clang of a pot or pan as Wanda cleaned up for the evening. He tapped his favorite pen against the table, his jaw clenching tightly.
"Another slow day," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
Whitney walked over cautiously, carrying a tray of clean salt shakers to restock the tables. She didn't even need to ask what was bothering him. His expression said it all.
"Everything all right, Daddy?" she asked, setting the tray down and slipping into the seat across from him.
"No, it's not," he snapped, tossing the pen onto the table. "Look at this." He gestured to a stack of receipts. "Sales are down again this week. We're bleeding money here, Whitney."
She looked at the receipts, trying to figure out the best way to respond. "Well, it's been a little slow, but it happens sometimes, Daddy. Remember last summer when?—"
"Don't give me that," he interrupted. "This isn't just a slow spell, and you know it. It's that fancy cafe across the street. They're stealing my customers, plain and simple."
Whitney tried to keep her tone neutral. "Daddy, we've had ups and downs before. This could be the very same thing. It might not have anything to do with that cafe. All your regulars are still here every day.”
"Not about the cafe," he scoffed, leaning back against the booth. "Well, what else could it be? Ever since they opened, people have been going over there for their overpriced smoothies and salads instead of coming here to eat real food, good food. I see them walk right past my door with those little paper cup samples."
"People like trying new things," Whitney said. "It doesn't mean they won't come back here. Coop's has been a staple in Jubilee for over forty years. They're not going to forget that."
"Staple or not, it doesn't matter if I can't pay the bills. We'll have to close the doors. And what really gets me is that guy, that Tate Morgan, thinking he can just waltz into town and take over like he's God's gift to Jubilee."
Whitney stiffened at the mention of Tate's name. She somehow felt protective of him. She kept her gaze on the table, hoping her father wouldn't notice the flush creeping up her neck.
"Daddy," she said gently, "maybe it's not at all about competition. People like variety. They may go there one day and come here the next. That's not necessarily a bad thing."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You sound like you're defending him."
"Well, I'm not," Whitney said quickly. "I'm just saying that we don't know for sure that the cafe is the reason sales were down today. It could be anything. The economy, the season, people traveling."
"Don't give me excuses, Whitney. I know what I see. I've been running this business for decades, and I know what my numbers should be. That place is a problem, and the sooner people realize it, the better."
She wanted to tell him the truth—that she'd met Tate, that she'd been to the restaurant, that she'd treated him at the clinic—but she knew exactly how he would react, and she still couldn't bear the thought of disappointing him. When her mother died when Whitney was in elementary school, the only person she had in the world was her father. No other family, no siblings. He was her world, and she just did not want to upset him.
"You're awfully quiet. Something you're not telling me?"
Whitney's heart raced. "No, Daddy. I'm just tired, that's all."
"You need to remember where your loyalties lie, Whitney Faith. Family comes first, always."
The words stung more than she expected. She nodded and rose from the table. "I know, Daddy. I need to get back to work."
He didn't stop her as she walked away, but she could feel his frustration hanging heavy in the air, following her like a shadow. She'd never seen her father act like this—well, at least not for this long. He often ranted and vented about every little thing, but this seemed to really be weighing heavily on him, and she worried about him, worried about his health.
She stepped into the kitchen, her hands shaking as she grabbed a dish towel and started wiping down the counters. She was torn, caught between her father's unrealistic expectations and the new connection she felt with Tate. Tate, the man who understood her dreams in a way her father never could.