Page 24 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

Mindy: Wait, Penny is back together with Dick?

Babs: No! That’s the name we call Richard. That’s not Dick. That’s Jake Montgomery.

Mindy: Are you sure? I don’t remember that boy having so many tattoos.

Stew: I have software we could run the picture through to confirm.

Fletcher: Ladies AND STEW, this chat is for official town business.

Chapter 9

Penny

Is it possible to be so embarrassed that your cheeks remain permanently flushed? That’s the question I asked Google this morning. For the record, Google says no, embarrassment cannot cause permanent damage. The internet and I will have to disagree on this one. Or maybe it’s just that my life is a continual cycle of embarrassment.

I stare at the photo in the town chat of Monty and me, right as his lips brushed against mine. Who even took it? And why does it look so hot? Why does it look like Monty wants to kiss me just as badly as I wanted to be kissed?

I got zero sleep last night. All I could do was replay the entire interaction at the bar over and over in my head. And his declaration in the store. Both were insane.

He didn’t press me on it. He dropped me off at home, and in all likelihood he’ll probably wake up today and regret it completely. Especially when he finds out that the town is taking bets on our almost kiss.

Still, I can’t get over the fact that the man I had a crush on for nearly half my life is asking me to date him. For show, of course.

I need to get out of my own head. And I need fresh air. Which is why I’m heading to the farm.

Running the bookstore means I get to make my own hours. It makes little sense to be open weekday mornings—barely anyone comes in—but after school and in the evenings, there’s a chance for foot traffic.

Though there’s never a lot of foot traffic unless it’s my mother popping in to say hello, Tally bringing me treats, or the Monday-night book club.

Still, I keep my hours from eleven to seven most days and often hang out in the store during the evening to catch up on my own reading with a cup of tea before bed. Which means that mornings are all mine and so, when I’m not spending them stressing how to make my business turn a profit, I am at the farm.

Before heading inside the big house, I stare at the Instagram post I spent over an hour preparing this morning. I know social media publicity could turn the fortunes of the store around; I just haven’t quite figured out how.

As I stare at the measly ten likes on my post, I know this isn’t it.

Resigned, I pocket my phone and head inside. I won’t be able to solve this problem now. That’s a future Penny problem.

“But I don’t want to wear shoes!” I hear Quinn scream at the top of his lungs as I open the door to our family home.

“Then you don’t get to help Uncle Jesse on the farm,” Billie says calmly. She’s standing in the front hall but she’s facing the other way so she’s yet to spot me.

“You are the worst mom ever!” the seven-year-old screams before running past me, storming up the steps, and slamming a door.

Billie winces and squeezes her fists. When she turns, she pulls up short.

“Knock knock,” I say meekly, trying to break the tension.

“How much of that did you hear?” she asks, deflated.

“Not much.”

“One more week until school starts,” she whispers. “Just one more week.”

I squeeze her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“The worst part is that I really want to call Jesse and ask him to come and help me handle this.” She sighs. “But I can’t call my brother every time my son acts up.”

“You know Walker doesn’t mind,” I offer, because he doesn’t. Plus, Quinn is a good kid. He’s just growing up and adjusting to a new life here at the farm; no one is at their best a hundred percent of the time. Though it must be tough for Billie having to shoulder that mostly alone.