Chapter 3
Sam
The world looks different before six a.m. Definitely quieter, completely stripped down. It’s like the town hasn’t put on its makeup yet because the streets are empty and it’s really the people who bring the shine to Whynot.
Doesn’t mean I don’t like this time though.
I only have the old-fashioned lampposts to keep me company as my running shoes slap the pavement.
The spring air is cool against my skin and the robins are starting to wake up, warbling out their birdsong.
I tell myself I run for my health, but the truth is, I like how alone I am in this moment.
My route starts at the duplex, cuts behind Crabtree Creek, loops past the water tower, and then I’m back running parallel to Courthouse Square.
I try not to step on the little golden halos the streetlamps cast onto the sidewalks, much the same way I pretend to jump my car over tree shadows when driving down the road.
By the time I hit Wilmington Street, sweat slicks my back and the sky’s brightening from gray to pink. Floyd’s Hardware Emporium is dark and Lady Marmalade’s is shuttered.
Then I see it—light spilling from behind the glass at Central Café.
It’s so shocking to me that I come to a dead stop, staring at it in confusion.
Muriel’s place has been dark for going on two weeks and there’s not been a hint in the gossip mill that it would be reopening anytime soon.
In fact, my mama talked to the ladies in her church, and they have a meal train set up to feed Muriel for the next two months.
But now there’s a soft glow inside, and movement—somebody bustling around, sleeves rolled to the elbows. I drift closer, curiosity getting the better of me.
Penny Pritchard.
Fiery-red hair piled on top of her head, vivid green eyes, freckles dusting her nose.
She’s wearing gray sweatpants and a faded Duke T-shirt that’s brushed with flour like she’s been through a bakery explosion.
A pencil’s jammed through her bun, a smear of dough across one cheekbone. And still—God help me—she’s beautiful.
Always has been.
Whynot’s golden girl, the one every girl wanted to be, and every guy wanted to be with.
Homecoming queen, smartest in her class, full scholarship to Duke, and the first to pack up and leave for bigger things.
She’s two years older than me and was always way out of my league, but yeah…
I had a crush on her. The only reason she knew I existed was because Whynot’s so small, you can’t help but know everybody to some extent.
I watch as she moves a bucket from table to table, removing stacked chairs and wiping them down with vigorous energy.
She constantly blows a stray lock of hair that’s fallen into her face, but she never slows down.
Every summer during college, she’d storm back into town and work at Central waiting tables to earn extra money.
I stop outside the door, debating if I should go in or mind my own business. Putting the puzzle pieces together—flour on her face, scrubbing things down—it seems Central Café might be fixing to open.
Curiosity wins and I knock on the glass door. Penny jumps, whirls around with her sponge raised like a weapon. When she sees me there’s instant recognition and fear melts into relief.
She tosses the sponge into the bucket, removes the yellow rubber gloves and comes to the door.
When she unlocks and opens it with a neighborly smile, she says, “Jesus, you scared me, Sam-Pete.”
“It’s just Sam,” I say with a grin as I step in. “And is it… still Penny Bean?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “My nickname never bothered me. Call me what you want.”
I glance around. “Didn’t mean to scare you, although I do enjoy seeing a woman ready for battle before sunrise.”
“What are you doing lurking around at five thirty in the morning?” she asks conversationally, resting a hand on the back of one of the wooden chairs. “Can’t sleep without the sound of beer taps?”
“Day off,” I say easily. “I run on my days off. Helps me keep my boyish figure.”
She snorts. “You’re still working at Chesty’s? I saw you walking in on my way into town yesterday.”
“Sure am. Keeps the lights on, but I’ve got something else going on the side.”
Her brows lift with interest. “Something else?”
I grin, wiping sweat off my temple with the hem of my T-shirt. “Yeah.”
“Well, that’s cryptic.”
I wink at her. “That’s because it’s none of your business, Penny Bean.”
She laughs again and damn it’s pretty. For a second, it’s 2013 again—me at seventeen, her at nineteen, standing by the lake while she and her friends argued over whose turn it was to swing off a rope into the murky waters.
She laughed at something one of them said, quick and genuine, and it branded itself into my memory.
That carefree, gorgeous girl who dazzled all around her.
I clear my throat, glance around pointedly. “Is Central Café opening back up?”
“Hopefully in two days,” she says, and I can hear the fatigue in her voice.
“And you’re…” I let the sentence drift, an indication I’d love a little more information.
“And I’m taking some time away from my job to help Muriel out,” she says with a wan smile. “She’s not allowed back in this place for another eight weeks and financially, it’s going to put her under. I stepped in and well… you’ll be seeing me around a lot more in the coming months.”
“That is not a hardship at all,” I say, and yeah… I meant it to come out flirty. I’m not the same seventeen-year-old who crushed on Penny.
She blushes and drops her gaze. That’s very unlike the Penny Pritchard I have imagined… a Washington, DC lobbyist who probably eats congressmen for lunch.
“I can see you’ve been up to no good in the kitchen.”
Penny frowns, head tilted in confusion.
I enlighten her. “You’re covered in flour, but I don’t smell biscuits.”
“Ah,” she says in understanding. “I’m practicing Muriel’s recipe. While Johnny and Betsy are great cooks, Muriel did all the baking. I was going to pop them in the oven, but I can’t get the oven to light. I think the pilot’s dead.”
I toss my head toward the swinging double doors that lead into the kitchen. “Want me to take a look?”
The bright smile nearly blinds me. “That would be awesome.”
I follow her back into the kitchen, telling myself it’s not a mortal sin to give her ass a quick glance of appreciation. “You know,” I draw. “Larkin would help you with the baking in a skinny minute if you asked her.”
“I know she would,” Penny replies as she steps aside for me to get to the oven. “That’s what besties do. And don’t think I won’t call on that Southern hospitality if I need it, but for now, I think I’ve got it under control.”
I crouch, flick the switch, and listen for the click, but I get nothing. “Yep, gas line’s closed.” I reach under the counter, find the valve and twist it. The burner flares to life with a satisfying whoosh.
She startles, then laughs, the sound bright and genuine. “Show-off.”
“Just practical.” I straighten, wiping my hands on a towel. “You’d be surprised what bartending teaches a man about broken appliances.”
“Yeah, like how to drink bourbon and hope for the best?”
“Exactly. Need me to do anything else while you got me?”
“No, but I know who to call if I do,” she replies, and… was that a bit of flirtation in return?
I should leave because I know she’s got a lot to do and I’ve got my run to complete, followed by a hell of a lot of computer time ahead of me.
But I really don’t want to go yet. “How’s Muriel holding up?” I ask.
“She’s doing okay,” Penny says softly. “She’s such a tough woman, so it’s a little hard to see her laid up like that. I’m pleased to report that she is still spectacular at bossing people around, which I take as a good sign.”
“And did you quit your job or something?” I ask hesitantly. While I don’t know a lot about Penny’s job, I know enough people in this town who do, and I’ve heard about her over the years. The big takeaway has always been that she’s passionate about her work.
“No, fortunately,” she says on a long exhale.
“At least not yet. I had seventeen days of PTO, which will get me through about three weeks here, and after that… I’m not sure.
I talked to my boss yesterday and he seems accommodating, but this field is competitive and the work is demanding.
I’m not sure if they’ll hold my position that long. ”
While I don’t know exactly what she does, I am compelled to champion her. “They’d be idiots to let you go.”
She gives a little huff of laughter. “You haven’t met my boss.”
“No,” I say, studying her. “But I’ve met you. You don’t lose easily.”
She freezes for a heartbeat, eyes flicking to mine. Whatever she sees there makes her swallow hard. Then she looks away, deflecting with humor. “That sounds like a compliment.”
“Maybe it is.”
Outside, a car door slams, the sound of the town coming to life. It startles us both.
“Thanks for the help,” she says finally, brushing her hair from her face.
“Anytime.” I glance at my watch, irritated I forgot to pause my run tracker. “Call me if you need anything. I’m just a few blocks away and can be here in a jiff.”
“Will do.” She follows me back to the front of the restaurant to the glass door. “Where are you off to now?”
“Going to finish my run and then I’m at home. I’ve got a long day ahead at my ‘other thing.’”
“That again.” Her tone’s teasing but curious. “You really aren’t going to tell me what this mysterious side gig is?”
I grin, pushing open the door. “Let’s just say it involves creativity and an alarming number of inappropriate words.”
She laughs, low and skeptical. “Still evasive, huh?”
“Still curious, huh?”
We trade looks and for a second, it feels like the start of something that I didn’t know I needed to begin.
I nod toward the kitchen. “Don’t burn the biscuits, Bean.”
“If I do, I’ll call you to rebuild the kitchen.”
“Then we’re both screwed.” I push the door wider, letting in the morning air. “You should stop by Chesty’s one night. I’ll pour you something stronger than coffee.”
Her mouth curves, equal parts challenge and promise. “I think I’ll do that.”
I step outside, the door jingling closed behind me. I take off into my run and when I glance back, Penny’s standing at the window, backlit by the warm glow of the café, smiling at me.
And for reasons I don’t even want to start unpacking, the whole day already feels brighter. I throw a hand up in farewell and pound the pavement with more energy than I had before.
I tell myself it’s just endorphins, that easy high from the miles, but that’s a lie and I know it.
It’s Penny.
I cut down toward Crabtree Creek, the water glinting between the trees.
The air’s warming fast now, cicadas testing their voices.
A few early risers wave from porches and I wave to every one of them.
By the time I reach the duplex, my brain’s already trying to switch gears to the other job.
I’ll shower, make coffee, and park myself in front of the laptop.
It’s set up on the small kitchen table, only big enough for two people—I need to prepare myself mentally to stay parked there for the next ten hours.
Deadlines don’t care if you were up before dawn. The manuscript’s due in three weeks, and my editor’s polite reminders are starting to sound like threats.
By the time I sit down to work, the courthouse bell tolls seven. The cursor blinks, waiting. I should be thinking about the next chapter I need to write, but all I can picture is Penny Pritchard standing in a cloud of flour, looking like trouble-wrapped big-city polish.
And even though I have too much to do and not enough time to do it, I actually don’t mind that distraction.