Pap chuckles. “You mean what with you being the town’s salvation and all?”
Penny rolls her eyes. “No, seriously… how are you doing?”
Pap’s shrug wants to be nonchalant and almost makes it. “Doctor says I’m fine. Still kicking and cancer’s in full remission.”
Her expression softens, all the sparkle and snark turning warm. “Good. You look… strong.” She eyeballs him critically. “I can tell still as stubborn as ever, but I didn’t expect the chemo to burn that out of you.”
He hides a pleased huff in his beer. “Can’t keep a Marine down.”
“That’s for sure,” she says, smiling into her bottle. She takes another drink, then glances around like the quiet is a novelty. “It’s weird to hear myself think.”
“What’s it saying?” I ask, shooting a quick glance down at the other customers to note their half-full pint glasses and deep conversation.
“That my feet hurt and my heart’s fine.” Then, without prompting, she adds, “DC didn’t have nights like this. Even the quiet felt… wired.”
I lean on my forearms, give her space to talk or not. “You miss it?”
“Parts,” she admits. “There’s obviously so much to do there. So many great restaurants, museums, art galleries.”
Pap rests his arm on the bar, fully engaged. “Explain to me what you did in the big city. Not sure I understand exactly what you do.”
“I work for a nonprofit agriculture lobby group,” she says, grinning in that self-aware way of someone who knows how ridiculous politics can sound in plain English. “Long days. A lot of meetings where I push and prod and argue until something actually moves.”
I’m admittedly fascinated. “Like what? Give us an example.”
Penny’s lights up and for a second, the exhaustion drops away. “We’ve been fighting to secure subsidies for small farms—helping family growers stay competitive against big agribusiness. Things like soil restoration grants, fair crop pricing, and disaster relief programs that reach the people who need them.”
Pap lets out a low whistle. “That’s good work.”
Damn good work, if you ask me.
“Why’d you pick that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She shrugs, but there’s warmth behind it. “It made sense. We’re surrounded by farms here—half the county’s livelihood depends on what they can pull from the dirt. My best friend’s family runs one, Muriel buysher produce from local growers… it’s all connected. I guess I wanted to make sure people like them didn’t get left behind.” She looks back and forth between us. “I guess it was my way to stay connected to my roots.”
Pap tips his beer her way. “So, you’re the reason we got all that pork-barrel spendin’ up in DC?”
“Exactly,” she says with a mock-serious nod. “Except mine actually involves pork.”
I can’t help laughing. Her mouth quirks into a grin before she takes another sip, the gloss worn off her lips and a faint pink across her knuckles like she brushed a steam plume. She looks like she spent time today on something that mattered.
“Here’s a question,” I say, resting both forearms on the counter. “What’s harder… lobbying or running Central?”
“Interestingly enough, turns out pouring coffee and herding regulars requires similar skills to wrangling senators. You just smile, listen, redirect, never promise pie you don’t have.”
I bark out a laugh and Pap grunts his approval like she just recited a field manual. “You did good today.”
“Thanks.” She tips the bottle again, slower this time. “But I’ll be glad to get back to my calling.”
It’s weird how that sentiment hits me. On the one hand, you can’t help but be happy that Penny has found success and purpose in her career, but on the other hand,there’s something about our flirting that makes me want to convince her to stay.
Penny rolls the bottle between her palms, not in a rush to go or to fill the silence. I wipe a clean patch of wood as she and Pap chat about the nation’s capital, and I pretend I’m not listening to the cadence of her day—the way DC sharpens her vowels and how Whynot rounds them back out.
She flicks me a look, a quick pass of green eyes and pretty freckles beneath. “You ever miss anything, Sam? Or are you one of those rare creatures who landed exactly where he’s meant to be?”
“Depends on the night.” I gesture lightly at the empty stools, nod at both Pap and Penny. “On Wednesdays, this feels exactly right.”
“Hmm.” She smiles like she can see the rightness, too, in the quiet and the slow. Then she elbows Pap, affectionate. “And you? Are you still where you need to be?”
