Derek rubs his jaw. “I just don’t want to see you lose momentum.”
“I hear you,” I say quietly. “And I appreciate you’re doing your job. But you have to understand, my life is on a new trajectory and I’m not going to lose control of it. I will redirect it toward things that are as important to me as writing.”
An understanding smile ghosts his face. “Toward Penny.”
I meet his gaze. “Toward balance. She’s part of that,yeah. But it’s not just her. It’s me finally accepting who I am. It’s about me going after what I really want.”
He studies me for a beat, then exhales. “Fair enough.”
I sense his acquiescence, but I don’t want there to be any mistake. “The subject of Penny and where she fits into my life isn’t up for discussion. She’s going to be a priority for me, and I need you to accept that.”
Derek nods somberly, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I hear you loud and clear, and I really want you to be happy. Because a happy writer is a prolific writer, and a prolific writer makes his agent lots of money.”
I snort and give him a light punch on his shoulder. “You’re such a weasel.”
“And that will make you very rich,” he replies, his chin lifted proudly.
CHAPTER 20
Penny
The lunch rushat Central Café has eased into a lazy afternoon rhythm. Only a few customers remain, lingering over a piece of pie after their meatloaf and fried okra special.
Muriel came in to have said special, but I know she’s here to check on things. As is her right.
This is her baby, after all.
She’s currently at a table near the counter, queen of her domain once again, surrounded by a trio of her lifelong friends—Missy, Doris and Louise. Gone is her wheelchair and now she’s only using the Rollator walker. Her hospital gown has been traded for a pink floral dress that speaks to the spring weather. I’m proud to report that her sass is intact and her patience for recovery is nonexistent.
She’s tried twice now to take over the inventory, but I chased her away. I lean against the counter with my clipboard and watch her hold court. Every few minutes,she sneaks a glance toward the kitchen to make sure it’s not burning down. She keeps a watchful gaze on the waitresses, making sure that they are catering to every customer’s needs. More than once, she looks over at me with that skepticism that I’m doing everything just right.
“You keep watchin’ me like that, I’m gonna start chargin’ you a manager’s salary,” I say when her eyes land on me.
Muriel chuckles. “Please. You couldn’t afford my opinion.”
“That’s what scares me.”
“Good. Fear keeps you from overbakin’ the corn bread.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever,” I grumble, waving her off.
Her friends cackle, fanning themselves with laminated menus even though it’s not even hot outside. Fanning, though, is a way of Southern life as it not only chases the heat away but the bugs as well. I watch as the ladies pass around a folded newspaper with Sam’s face on the front—an article about his new book release. Doris sighs dramatically. “That boy’s smile could melt the butter clean off a biscuit.”
Muriel snorts. “Don’t tell him that. His ego’s already got its own zip code.”
I grin because if there’s one person in this town who doesn’t have an ego, it’s Sam.
Just thinking about him causes fluttery feelings, but it’s always tempered with the pang somewhere between excitement and dread. Muriel’s recovery is going better than anyone expected. She’s walking, she’s got her wit, and she’s threatening to be back behind the counter within a week. Which means my excuse for staying in Whynot grows thinner by the day.
The thought sticks with me as I circle through the café, topping up coffees and straightening sugar caddies. The bell over the door jingles with the occasional customer, the day stretching warm and easy—until my phone buzzes on the counter.
I glance down.
Charles Ward—AgriSolutions Policy Group.
My boss.
Stomach bottoming out, I pick up the phone and stare at it with apprehension. We’ve been communicating by email and I’ve assumed everything’s okay with my extended leave. For a split second, I imagine the worst—I’ve been away too long, they’ve replaced me, or he’s calling to fire me politely. Mouth dry, I move to the door and step outside.
