Chapter 22
Penny
My suitcase waits by the front door—all zipped, upright and obnoxiously sure of itself—as if it’s already halfway to Washington and can’t believe I’m still dithering about goodbyes to this Podunk town.
Snobbish luggage!
Muriel’s in her recliner, feet propped on the ottoman and robe belted tight. She looks equal parts grandmother and general, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of sweet tea and the other clutching the remote so she can get caught up on her soap operas as soon as I leave.
“You keep starin’ at that suitcase like it’s got the answers,” she says, not looking away from the local news, which is winding up.
“Maybe it does,” I mumble, pacing the small stretch of floor between the sofa and the front window.
“What’s that?” she crows, pretending to be hard of hearing.
I shoot her a subtle glare. “Nothing.”
“Don’t nothing me,” she retorts. “What’s the suitcase sayin’ to you?”
Breathing a frustrated huff, I wave my hands. “Maybe it’s saying, ‘Don’t do this, Penny. Stay right here in Whynot.’”
Muriel gives me a look over the rim of her glasses.
“I told you, I’m fine. I’ve got Betsy, Connie and Reba all splitting the duties you were handling for me.
I’m fully able to spend time at the restaurant and run things otherwise.
It’s time for you to go. You have a shiny new promotion waiting in DC, and even if this has turned into a tragedy because you caught the feelings, you know you’re destined for bigger than Whynot. ”
I flop down on the sofa adjacent to her chair. “Caught feelings?”
“Caught the feelings,” she repeats. “With Sam. You caught the feelings and it’s holding you back. A nasty bug, really.”
“It’s not a cold,” I mutter.
“No,” she says mildly. “But you’re actin’ like you might die from it.”
I sigh and glance around the living room. “I just worry about the café. You’re still getting your strength back, and—”
She waves a hand. “I’ve got it handled. You trained Connie to do inventory and ordering, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And I hired young Billy Turner to haul deliveries and change light bulbs so I don’t have to climb a ladder and break another hip.
The vendors are set, the books are balanced, and if the fryer breaks again, Floyd’ll come fix it for a slice of pie.
Quit tryin’ to make excuses for why you don’t wanna go. ”
“I’m not making excuses,” I argue, even though the heat in my face says otherwise.
Muriel tilts her head. “Aren’t you?”
I bite my lip, staring at the patterned rug. The truth sits heavy in my chest. “I just… I’m happy here. Happier in a way I didn’t know I ever needed. I know this job is important, but what if I go back and realize I left something that mattered more?”
Her tone softens. “You mean someone. Call it what it is. You’re in love and you don’t want to leave because of that.”
I blink at her in surprise. “I never told you that.”
“Didn’t have to,” she says simply. “I may be old, but I’m not blind. You’re not worried about me or that café, Penny Pritchard. You’re scared to leave that man you love.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It’s such a clean, unflinching truth that arguing feels pointless. I sink back into the couch, voice quiet. “I didn’t plan on this.”
“Nobody ever does. Love’s like humidity—you don’t notice it till it’s already in your hair.”
That gets a laugh out of me, even as I feel the tears burn. “I do love him,” I admit. “Completely. Stupidly. It’s like my heart grew new roots without asking permission.”
Muriel leans forward, her expression warm but sharp. “You tell him yet?”
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t want to make it harder.”
“Honey,” she says, “you sayin’ it doesn’t make it harder. It makes it honest. You don’t wanna get on that plane tomorrow with a mouth full of words you never said. That’s the kind of silence that’ll haunt you and the regret you’ll never recover from.”
I swallow. “It won’t change anything. I’m still leaving and Sam’s still staying.”
She shrugs. “Then at least you both know the truth. Love’s the best foundation you can build a future on, no matter what shape it ends up takin’.”
That’s the thing about Muriel—she doesn’t give me fairy tales, just solid ground. I glance at my watch, then to her. “You sure you’re okay if I stay at Sam’s tonight? I’ll head straight from there to the airport in the morning.”
“Would you rather watch Jeopardy with me or hang with your honey?” she asks with a sly grin.
“You, of course.” I stand up from the couch and move to the side of her recliner. “I’d rather stay here and watch Jeopardy with you.”
“Liar,” she grumbles as I bend down to hug her, inhaling her perfume and feeling the soft strands of her gray curls against my cheek.
“I’ll miss you,” I whisper.
“’Course you will,” she says, patting my back. “But that’s the price of having good people in your life—you miss ’em when you go.”
I pull away with a watery smile. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
She grins. “I’ve survived worse than running a café without you. Now go. You’ve got a handsome man waitin’ to see if you’ll show up before your carriage turns into a pumpkin.”
?
It’s full dark by the time I pull up outside Sam’s house. The porch light glows golden against the encroaching night, and the air prickles my skin. My rental car ticks as it cools, the engine’s quiet pinging matching the rhythm of my nerves.
I take a deep breath, grab my overnight bag, and walk up the path. Before I can even knock, the door swings open.
Sam fills the doorway—barefoot, a faded T-shirt from a brewery in Wilmington, hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. The minute he looks at me, all the tension I’ve been carrying melts away.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey yourself,” he replies—and then he’s kissing me.
It’s not tentative. It’s a full-bodied, soul-stealing kiss that hits with the force of knowing time’s running short. My bag thuds to the floor. His hands slide to my waist, then up, and I clutch his shirt to pull him closer.
“We’re going to bed right now,” he murmurs against my mouth. “No arguing. I’m not letting you out of said bed till you’re late for that flight.”
I laugh, breathless, but whatever protest I might’ve had dies when his mouth finds mine again.
He carries me down the hallway and clothes trail behind us, a breadcrumb path of cotton and denim.
When we reach his bed, everything slows.
There’s no frantic urgency, no rush to get anywhere.
Just the soft slide of skin, the quiet exhale when he touches me like he’s tracing a map he’s afraid to lose.
He whispers my name once, rough and reverent, and when I answer, it’s not with words but a sound that belongs only to him.
It’s tender. Intimate. The kind of lovemaking that blurs time—half goodbye, half promise.
Afterward, we lie tangled in the quiet. The sheets are warm, the ceiling fan hums, and Sam’s hand drifts in slow circles over my hip. The glow from the bedside lamp paints his skin in amber light, catching the faint, but sad, smile.
“I hate that you’re leaving,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I whisper. “I hate it too.”
“But it’s… the right move.”
Is it? It’s something I’m still not sure about. I worked so hard for this, and it feels like something I’m supposed to do, and yet part of it feels wrong.
“Sure it is,” I manage to say, because that feels somewhat right.
Sam squeezes me. “You’re too damn smart not to chase the big things. Just means I’ll have to find reasons to come visit you.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. “You hate traffic.”
“I’d drive through fire ants if it meant seeing you.”
That’s enough to undo me. My throat tightens, and I trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He freezes for a beat, then rolls toward me, eyes searching mine like he’s waiting for me to take it back. When I don’t, he exhales slowly and deeply.
“Say it again,” he says.
“I love you.”
He smiles—real, wrecked, beautiful. “Good. Because I love you too.”
I feel the tears sting and laugh a little through them. “Now what do we do with that?”
He brushes his thumb under my chin until I look at him. “We hold on to it. We don’t panic. We figure it out one day at a time.”
I rest my hand over his heart, feeling it thud steadily beneath my palm. “You make it sound easy.”
“It won’t be,” he says. “But we’re both tenacious as hell. It will work out.”
A tide of doubt rolls through me, followed quickly by panic. The words are good and I want to believe them, but the thought of being away from Sam is dreadful.
I push it aside and snuggle into his embrace. The quiet stretches between us, full of warmth and ache. I press a kiss to his chest, and he tightens his arm around me until the whole world feels small enough to fit in this bed.
Tomorrow, I’ll get on a plane.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
But tonight, love feels big enough to bridge the distance and I have to hold on to that thought.