“Guess I finally found my audience,” I say.
Penny smiles into her drink. “Guess they finally found you.”
CHAPTER 18
Penny
Whynot’s classiest gasstation 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 flashesFUEL UP, WIND DOWNand on the other side of the building sits four gas pumps that stay perpetually busy since it’s the only gas station withina 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.
