Chapter 18
Penny
Whynot’s classiest gas station smells like diesel, scuppernong grapes and gossip.
Miller’s Gas & Wine—our infamous one-stop shop for Pinot and petroleum—is buzzing as I pull in just before dusk. The place is an utter contradiction and if there’s ever an easy way to describe just how quirky our town is… it’s Miller’s.
Its white clapboard building was designed to look like a farmhouse with black shutters and features flower boxes out front made from tractor tires.
It has a sprawling porch with white rocking chairs always inhabited by a few farmers shooting the shit.
On the side, there’s a stone patio with wrought iron tables under a pergola where you’ll find the younger crowd sipping wine and eating hot Cheetos straight out of the bag.
In the front window, a neon sign flashes FUEL UP, WIND DOWN and on the other side of the building sits four gas pumps that stay perpetually busy since it’s the only gas station within a ten-mile radius.
I park beside a mud-splattered John Deere tractor idling in the small parking lot whose owner is currently loading a case of rosé onto the back like he’s smuggling treasure.
For all the reasons why I left Whynot, this is one of the reasons I regret walking away.
Nowhere in the world could you find such a conundrum of lifestyles, all somehow meshing.
It’s why last night at Chesty’s, my heart was filled to the brim with the backbone of this community showing up to support Sam.
I wave to several people and walk inside, which has standard gas station fare—rotating hot dogs, rows of candy and chips, refrigerated selections of soda and beer, and then the pride of Miller’s… its wine selection.
Bottles gleam on two compact rows with tiny handwritten signs identifying regions.
Jason Miller, the owner, knows his stuff.
He went to school to become a certified sommelier and then brought his knowledge back to Whynot.
He currently stands behind the register, checking out someone buying a pack of chewing tobacco and a can of Cheerwine.
“Hey, Penny,” he says with a chin lift. “Good time at Chesty’s last night.”
“The best,” I reply. “I’m meeting Larkin for a glass of wine. What do you recommend?”
“Got a great new Weissburgunder in from the Baden region in Germany. It’s served chilled.”
“Tell me about it,” I say as I move toward the cooler.
Brian efficiently rings up his customer. “It’s light, crisp with notes of apple and citrus. Pairs well with chicken or seafood, or in your instance, since you’re meeting Larkin… girl talk.”
“Funny guy,” I murmur and locate the bottle.
Brian takes my money, produces a corkscrew, and expertly opens the bottle, then hands me two sparkling-clean glasses. I take them out to one of the patio tables and I’m halfway through pouring when Larkin saunters up, her Sweet Cakes tee smudged with flour.
She leans over and we air-kiss, almost giddy with the notion of enjoying a bottle of wine together.
“You know it’s a good day when you can get gas and a buzz at the same place,” she says, dropping into the chair across from me and waving at a passing farmer.
“Welcome to Whynot’s version of happy hour,” I reply, handing her a glass.
She raises it in salute. “Let’s continue the celebratin’ of our newest local celebrity. Or rather… your newest love interest. Those kisses you thought you were stealing weren’t exactly under the radar last night.”
I groan, but she grins wider. “Honey, don’t even try to deny it. Half this town’s placing bets on when y’all are gonna start signing autographs together. Floyd’s already workin’ on a Books and Bourbon Couples’ Night poster.”
“Lord help us,” I mutter, though a smile tugs at my mouth. I take a sip of my wine, relish the flavor and stay utterly mum.
“Oh, come on,” Larkin drawls. “Spill the damn beans.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She studies me, trying to figure out the best way to get me to admit there’s something serious between me and Sam.
I stare her down.
And then she leans back so she can see around the corner to a couple of old farmers rocking in the chairs while they talk about soybean yields. “Hey, Jimmy… did you know that Penny and Sam are sweet on each other?”
I kick her under the table and glare at her, but she ignores me.
“Seems ah heard sumpin’ ’bout it,” Jimmy replies. “Tell me more.”
“Well,” Larkin says.
I kick her harder and she yelps, turning to face me.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll fill you in.”
My best friend crosses her arms on the table, ignores her wine and lifts her eyebrows in a gesture that she’s ready to absorb.
I take another sip of the Weissburgunder, not because I need the fortification, but because it is indeed delicious. “Okay… seeing Sam’s name on those posters, hearing people cheer for him at Chesty’s, I’m so proud.”
Her mouth quirks. “I know there better be more to this story,” she warns because she doesn’t care about Sam’s writing or the community divide right now. She wants the deeper deets.
I circle my finger around the top of my glass. “Sam is… amazing. He’s smart, kind, funny, accomplished. What’s not to like?”
“Sounds like a lot to love,” she counters.
I jolt. “Love?”
“Yeah… love. I mean, if you’re aiming high, those are the qualities you want for a committed, forever relationship.”
“Well, duh,” I quip. “But… we just started seeing each other. That’s a big leap.”
“Have you had sex?” she asks bluntly.
Larkin can’t shock me and I wouldn’t hide this information. “Yes, and it was freaking amazing. Transcendental, even. But still… love?”
“Oh, come on, Penny Bean,” she chides. “I get you’re a big-city gal these days, but you’re still a small-town romantic. Besides, you’ve known Sam your whole life. He’s not a stranger, and I know this because you’d never jump into bed that fast. I know there are deep feelings here.”
“Of course there are,” I agree. Why deny it? “But… it’s kind of, sort of terrifying.”
“Why?” she asks, twirling her wedding band. Easy for her to ask when she’s found her happily ever after.
“Because you said it… I’m a big-city gal. In case you forgot, my life is in Washington. Sam’s life is here.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” she rebukes.
“What… you think he’s just going to pack up and move there with me?”
“Why not? His job is mobile. Have laptop, will travel.”
I shake my head, ignoring that small punch of hope that something like that could be a possibility.
“No… Sam is Whynot. Whynot is Sam. He loves this place and would never leave, and even if he would, he’d be miserable.
All of this was supposed to be temporary.
I came back to help Muriel. Not to”—I gesture vaguely at the table, the town, the stars beginning to blink overhead—“fall for the guy next door.”
Her brows lift. “So, which is it? You fallin’ for him… or just visitin’?”
The question hangs heavy between us. I swirl my wine, watching the pale gold whirlpool catch the fading light. Somewhere behind us, a tractor engine sputters back to life, and the sound fills the silence I can’t seem to.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “Sam feels right in a way nothing in DC ever has. But that’s where my work is.
It’s where I’ve built my purpose. When I’m there, I feel like I’m doing something important.
When I’m here…” I glance around at the twinkle lights and the farmers laughing by the pumps. “I feel like I’m someone.”
Larkin studies me, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re both. Maybe you just need to figure out where your voice sounds loudest. You could take that passion and do something here with it. And selfishly, I’d kill for you to come back home for good.”
I snort, half amused, half touched. “You sure you don’t moonlight as a therapist?”
She clinks her glass against mine. “Nah, just Southern. We’re born with the gift of nosy wisdom.”
A burst of laughter escapes me. It feels good, easy. Around us, Whynot hums in that perfect, unpolished harmony it does best—trucks idling, cicadas warming up for their nightly concert, the faint hum of a country song leaking from someone’s cab.
Another farmer rolls up in a beat-up Chevy and tips his hat. “Don’t drink all the good stuff, ladies.”
Larkin waves. “Too late!”
He chuckles, shakes his head and shuffles inside. The scene could be painted on a postcard labeled Southern Contradictions: Exhibit A.
But even as I laugh, a knot of worry sits low in my chest. Sam and I are easy together—dangerously easy—and I can’t tell if that’s comfort or warning.
I sip my wine and picture him on his porch swing, the way he listens when I talk, really listens, like my words have weight.
The thought aches in all the right and wrong places.
By the time the bottle’s empty and the fairy lights threaded through the overhead pergola are glowing full strength, there are no barriers to our discussion.
We talk more about love, particularly with Larkin’s new marriage to Deacon.
She keeps pushing the notion of a forever with Sam and I just nod along at the possibility.
And when it’s time to leave, I pull Larkin into a hug.
“This was so much fun,” she says as we squeeze each other. “Let’s plan another one soon.”
“Just tell me when,” I say as we pull apart.
“And seriously, Penny… I know I’m pushing this happily ever after with Sam, but it’s because I want you to know a really deep and true love. I’ve found it and it’s the best feeling in the world. I just want my best friend to have that too.”
Her last words stick with me as I drive to Sam’s.
The road winds past fresh tilled fields that will soon be planted with cotton, soybeans and field corn.
Sam grew up picking tobacco right from these very plots, a horrid summer job that many of my friends did to earn money. It’s part of our way of living.
I think about Sam, how very ingrained he is in this community. So much so, even with his own mother turning against him as a result of well-intentioned judgment, he’s not lost hope about this town.
My heart’s doing that fluttery, foolish thing it does when I let myself think this could last, because just like I told Larkin, I don’t know that Sam would be the same if he ever gave it up.
Just as I know now—it isn’t a simple fling. It never was.
Sam’s porch is lit by string lights and fireflies, the kind of magic no decorator could replicate. He’s stretched out on the swing when I pull up, one arm draped over the backrest.
“You’re late,” he calls, grinning as I climb the steps. “I was about to send a search party.”
“Got lost in girl talk and a wonderful Weissburgunder that Jason recommended,” I say, sinking onto the swing beside him.
He chuckles, arm coming around my shoulders to pull me in for a gentle kiss. “Dangerous combination. All good at the diner today?”
“Yeah… it’s running smoothly. Muriel’s starting to come in and do some oversight management and a few employees have really stepped up to the plate. How was your day?”
“It was quiet,” he says thoughtfully. “I wrote all day… sitting right at my new desk. It was very productive.”
“I’m glad you’re settling into all of it. Did Derek get that Good Morning America spot booked?”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, but only after I refused to go to New York for a studio interview. He about had a fit, but it turns out, they’re willing to come here so they can show the whole country boy, masculine author in his native environment.
That’s what makes the story, according to Derek.
A producer is coming tomorrow to shoot something called B-roll footage and get background on me. ”
“Wow,” I murmur at the implications. “Fame is sneaking up on you.”
“Yeah, and not sure I like it. I’m going to have to play this all by ear.”
“You’re going to be fabulous at managing it, I promise.”
The swing creaks gently as we rock. It’s peaceful, too peaceful, and that’s probably why my nerves start buzzing.
He glances sideways. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
I lift a shoulder. “Been thinking about tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that.”
“And one day, the day will come that you’ll head back to DC.”
“Yeah,” I murmur softly. “Muriel needs me less. And that means leaving this behind. It means leaving you behind and I’m not liking that.”
“I’m not liking it either,” he admits. “But I know how much your career means to you. You’ve got a lot to consider.”
“And how do you feel about it?” I ask hesitantly.
“I don’t want you to go,” he admits, and the relief makes me dizzy. “But I can’t ask you to stay. I’ll never ask you to give up your dreams for me.”
Even if he’s one of my dreams, I think to myself.
“I’m struggling,” I admit, not feeling the slightest bit foolish about exposing my insecurities. I trust him. “I love my job. I love the city. But… my feelings for you are running pretty deep. I don’t know how those things fit together.”
He takes a slow breath, looking out at the horizon. “You’ve got wings, Penny,” he says softly. “And I’ve got roots. It’s going to be hard to meet in the middle. Maybe one of us just learns to reach higher… or dig a little deeper.”
My throat tightens. “You’re such a poet… you make it sound so easy.”
He smiles faintly. “Nothin’ worth keepin’ ever is.”
We fall quiet again, the swing moving in slow rhythm. I watch the fireflies flicker across the yard, little bursts of light that appear and vanish before you can decide if they were real. The kind of beauty you have to accept is temporary, but you know it will be back tomorrow.
Something heavy and hopeful twists in my chest. Sam reaches over, links his fingers with mine, his thumb tracing idle circles against my skin.
“I don’t know if I can stay put,” I whisper. He squeezes my hand, gaze steady on the fireflies dancing through the dark. “And I can’t ask you to leave.”
I stare at him, wanting him to push me to ask him to let go of Whynot. Instead, he leans in and kisses me. A soft touch, then his tongue slides in my mouth and I groan from the contact.
With his lips against mine, he rumbles, “How about we put that on the back burner and you let me take you to bed?”
“Would there be orgasms involved?” I ask with a smirk.
“More than one, you lucky girl,” he says, and just like that, I forget about roots and wings.