A sob caught in her throat as she read the simple inscription scrawled in her father’s sloping script.
Sweet P.
ThePstood for Penny, and he’d called her by the endearment ever since she could remember. Oh, how she longed to hear him say it just one more time. And wrap herself in the comfort and contentment of being unconditionally loved and cherished.
That’s why she still hadn’t opened the letter—the one she’d found hidden in the desk the day after he died.
Once she broke the seal, she’d lose her last remaining connection to her father. Right now, everything else belonged in the past, merely a memory. But the letter? It could live in the future. As long as she held on to it, not knowing what words it contained, her dad still had something to tell her, perhaps a piece of wisdom to impart.
Whenever she missed him so much she could barely breathe, she’d pull out the envelope. Simply holding it in her hands drew him closer. She could hear his voice, rich and gravelly like a scratched vinyl spinning round and round on their old gramophone as he regaled her with one of his imaginative fairy tales. And if she closed her eyes tightly enough, she could inhale his scent—vintage wool, aged leather, and sandalwood.
Deep down, she knew she’d have to read it someday. But until that day came, she’d relish the connection, no matter how fleeting.
In her lowest moments, it always lifted her spirits.
And tonight, she didn’t think she could sink any lower.
* * *
Some things never changed.
All throughout high school, Mayor Burns made it his personal mission to break Colt’s spirits, claiming he had a zero-tolerance policy for negligent behavior like reckless pranks. Orbuffoonery, as Burns so eloquently described it.
Of course, the mayor’s narrow-mindedness regarding fun and games only encouraged Colt to get more creative. Which usually played out in the same way—a cat-and-mouse game of elaborate hijinks and uninspired punishments. Like the time Burns ordered him to pick up trash for an entire summer after a confetti-cannon stunt gone wrong.
But he’d never been able to tie Colt to the Great Chicken Incident the day of graduation. Was it possible he’d waited all this time for payback?
Colt shook his head in disbelief.Nah… that’d be crazy. But still, Burns’s latest move had gone too far. And as an adult…thistime, he could refuse to play along.
Although, spending time with a woman as beautiful as Penny Heart wasn’t exactly torture. And the assignmentwasright up his alley. A few weeks filled with adrenaline-inducing adventures paid for by the chamber of commerce? Maybe he was looking at this all wrong.
Maybe ole Burnsy had actually done him a favor.
Seeing the situation in a new light, Colt’s weighted footsteps lifted as he made his way to Jack’s Diner for one of his friend’s famous sarsaparilla floats.
He cracked a smile as he took in the bare-bones exterior, recalling Jack’s complaint regarding Mayor Burn’s suggested “improvements.” The place was far from being an eyesore, with lush English ivy ambling up the ruddy brick walls, but Burns might have a point. Especially when it came to the name. While it may have started out as a diner, over the years, Jack had added a spacious back patio with ample event seating, a large smoker, and two barbecue pits. And his menu had grown. Sure, his humble, down-home friend may not want to admit it, but he’d built himself an incredibly successful restaurant.
A cowbell jangled overhead as Colt pushed through the front door, instantly bombarded by the sweet-and-spicy scent of Jack’s signature barbecue sauce.
Jack glanced up from the bar where he carefully dried large soda fountain glasses, sliding them on the shelf behind him.
“Might as well keep one of those out for me,” Colt told him with a grin, hopping onto the cracked leather barstool. “Gimme the usual.”
Never in one place long enough to have a “usual” anything, Colt liked the way it rolled off the tongue.
“Coming right up.” Behind the bar, Jack scooped three enormous mounds of his in-house bourbon vanilla ice cream into the tall glass before popping the top off an ice-cold sarsaparilla. “Are you here to pick up dinner for your new roomie?”
“Har-har,” Colt muttered as Jack poured the soda over the ice cream. Delicious fizz bubbled to the surface. It tasted a million times better than a regular root beer float, and Colt had missed the nostalgic indulgence. The faint licorice flavor reminded him of home. “He’s having dinner with Beverly. So, I’m on my own tonight.”
Shaking his head, Jack stuck a long soda spoon and an oversize straw into the glass before sliding the float across the counter toward Colt. “Who would’ve thought crotchety ole Frank Barrie would land himself a good woman before either of us?” Chuckling, he added, “Well, beforeme, anyway. We both know you’re a die-hard bachelor.”
“Proudly.” Colt raised his float in a salute. “So, are you going to take my dinner order sometime today? Or do I have to climb back there and make it myself?”
“As if I’d let you set one foot in my kitchen! You’d probably do something ridiculous like julienne a carrot. Wechopthings around here. Or if we’re feeling really fancy, we might dice.”
“In that case, I’ll take one of your pulled pork sandwiches, fries, and an extra-large serving of your barbecue sauce.”
Pushing through the swinging door that led to the kitchen, Jack yelled, “Johnson, give me a Big Bad Wolf, a haystack, and a bucket of the mother lode.”
