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He’s behind the counter, working on paperwork. When he spots us, he lights up, coming around the counter to give Nora a hug.
That girl has a hold on every single person in this town.
“Little lady, how are you? Why don’t you stop growing already?” He laughs.
“Oh Mr. Ben, I can’t do that!” She giggles. I can’t help but smile.
Clapping me on the back, Ben shakes my hand, and Nora goes behind the counter to spin on his stool like she always does.
“Just coming by to check on Penelope’s car,” I say. “I know you talked to her not too long ago but I figured I could bring her any news when we get back to the inn.”
“The parts should be here today actually,” he says. “It should take a day or two for me to replace them in her car and then she will be on her way.”
I try to wrap my head around this. In a day, maybe two, she’ll be gone. What if I never see her again?
“That’s good news, right, Brent?” Ben’s voice brings me back from my thoughts and into the present.
“Definitely. I’m sure she can’t wait to get home in time for Christmas,” I say. I hope he buys it, because I sure as hell don’t.
“But Dad, then Penelope won’t be here for the Christmas Eve Ball,” Nora whines. “I wanted her to see my pretty dress.”
“What pretty dress?” I don’t remember buying her a new dress.
“The one we have to buy, silly. For the ball. Duh.”
This kid.
“Ohhhh that one.” I play along, adding shopping for a new dress to my mental to-do list. The list is a million miles long and growing.
“Will you save me a dance at the ball?” Ben asks Nora, taking her hand and helping her down off the stool. “I want to see your pretty dress.”
“Of course, Mr. Ben,” she says seriously. “I will write it down so I don’t forget.”
Both Ben and I look at each other and laugh, shaking our heads. She’s a 40-year-old trapped in a 7-year-old’s body.
“All right, little one, let’s go to the grocery store and then we can go back to the inn and tell Penelope the good news if she’s there.”
“Oooookay but it’s notgoodnews, Dad.”
We both say bye to Ben and head back out into the cold and into my truck. The cold seeps through my jeans. I crank the heat as soon as I turn the car on.
As we pull into the grocery store parking lot a few minutes later, I go around to the passenger side door, take Nora’s hand, and help her out of the truck. She holds onto my hand as we enter the store, swinging it as we grab a shopping cart and say hi to everyone we pass.
“Okay, we need cereal, waffles, eggs, bacon, pasta, and spaghetti sauce,” I say as she climbs onto the back of the cart. I stand behind her, pushing the cart along. “You can pick out the cereal if you want.”
“Yay! Thank you, Dad. You’re the best.”
It doesn’t take long before we make our way through the store, finding everything we need. We only get stopped four times to chat, then we get in line at the register.
As we’re waiting our turn to check out, I glance at the stupid tabloids. My body goes rigid.
“What the hell,” I say a little too loudly. I pause, taking a closer look.
“Dad, you cursed. Do we need to start a curse jar again?” Nora asks me as she follows my line of sight. “Omigosh is thatPenelopeon amagazine!?” She squeals, standing on her tiptoes to grab it off the rack.
Why is Penelope on the front of a tabloid? And why does it say “Spotted: Penelope Maxwell In Small Town Bar?”
PenelopeMaxwell?
