Chapter 44
Chapter forty-four
Kate
Penny’s is packed for a weekday, the lunchtime rush buzzing around us as we step inside. Kinsey zeroes in on an empty booth tucked near the back wall.
“Move,” she says, already weaving through the tables. “Before somebody’s mee-maw beats us to it.”
I follow her, sliding into the booth. She drops into the seat across from me with a huff, stretching her back a little as she settles. Just a tiny wince, a small outward sign of discomfort—nothing I can call attention to without her brushing it off in a storm of sarcasm. So I don’t. I tuck it away.
A server brings us menus and water. Kinsey flips hers open, glances for half a second, and sets it aside.
“BLT and fries,” she announces. “And whatever you order, just know I’m stealing part of it.”
I laugh. “Good to know where we stand.”
Our drinks arrive, and once the server steps away, Kinsey rests her forearms on the table, eyes locked on me with that no-bullshit stare she uses when she’s about to crack me open emotionally.
“So,” she says. “How are things with Cam the Baseball God?”
I choke on my water. “Stop calling him that.”
“What? He’s hot. And tall. And he’s got that responsible-coach energy that screams ‘I know how to help.’ That’s basically porn for single moms.”
“Please stop talking.”
She grins. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I smooth my napkin on my lap, trying to keep my voice even. “It’s…complicated.”
“It’s not,” she says immediately. “You’re terrified, and he’s being patient. That’s the whole dynamic.”
I give her a look. “Do you want me to talk, or do you want to talk for me?”
“Oh, I’ll let you talk. I just already know the answers.”
She’s impossible. And I love her for it.
“We said things were casual in the beginning,” I say. “And it was. But now it’s…different.”
“Different good or different scary?”
“Both,” I admit. “I just don’t want to screw anything up. For Evie. For me.”
Kinsey leans in, her voice softening in a way most people never hear. “You’re not screwing anything up by caring about someone. That’s not scary—that’s growth.”
I blink at her. “When did you become wise?”
“I’ve always been wise,” she says. “You just ignore it when it’s inconvenient.”
I laugh, and she smirks like she’s collecting points for correctness.
“You like him,” she presses.
“I do.”
“And he likes you.”
“He does.”
“Oh, please, you two don’t just like each other.” She waves me off. “Cam goes to the library on his lunch break even when he doesn’t have books to return. The man stands there pretending to read historical fiction while watching you shelve returns like it’s his new religion.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “He does not.”
“Kate,” she says flatly. “He does. I’ve seen it. The entire town has seen it. Connie Thatcher’s aunt said she’d put money on you getting pregnant by Christmas.”
I groan. “Wonderful.”
“Oh, it is. But seriously,” she continues, nudging my water glass with her finger. “What’s the actual hesitation? And don’t give me the excuse—I want the truth.”
I take a slow breath. “I think he’s in it for the long haul. But it still feels risky, ya know? And it’s not just the thought of him leaving, it’s the thought of being vulnerable. I think somewhere along the way, I forgot how to let someone love me.”
Her expression shifts. “We’ve all been hurt in the past, and Lord knows, you’ve seen the worst of it. But needing someone doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And not everyone leaves. That man loves you and Evie. You’re a lucky woman, Kate.”
The server returns with our food, breaking the moment. Kinsey steals a fry from my plate before her own is even settled and points it at me like it’s an extension of her argument.
“Have the talk,” she says. “You’re ready, even if you think you aren’t. And he’s definitely ready. The man looks at you like you alphabetically shelved his soul.”
“Kinsey.” I laugh.
“You know I’m right.”
I pick up my sandwich, trying to hide the smile tugging at my mouth. She notices anyway.
We eat, sliding back into familiar teasing and stories about Gordy’s regulars. She tells me about a college guy who tried to impress her by ordering “the strongest drink you’ve got,” only to cry halfway through it. I laugh so hard I nearly choke.
When we finally leave Penny’s, the air outside feels lighter. Or maybe I do.
Kinsey bumps her shoulder against mine as we walk toward our cars. “Go talk to him,” she says. “You won’t regret it.”