Page 31 of Once Upon A Second Chance
"Let’s be honest," Rebecca continues, flicking a piece of invisible lint off her sleeve. "Richard has a type—ambitious, sophisticated. The kind of woman who doesn’t settle for small-town."
My blood boils. I take a step forward—
Then Penny laughs.
It’s not nervous. Not angry. A full, throaty laugh, like Rebecca’s just told the funniest joke she’s ever heard.
Rebeccablinks. "What’s so funny?"
Penny wipes an imaginary tear from her eye.
"Oh, honey. You really think you’re the sophisticated one?"
She gestures to Rebecca’s pristine outfit. "You’re dressed like a Desperate Housewife to come intimidate me in a parking lot. That’s not class—that’s the very definition of desperate."
Rebecca’s smile twitches. "You’re adorable."
"And you’re transparent." Penny tilts her head. "Let me guess—Andrew’s already bored with you, isn’t he?"
A muscle jumps in Rebecca’s jaw.
"See, here’s the thing," Penny continues, voice sweet as poison. "Richard didn’t leave you, he left the idea of you. The one he thought he should want. But me?" She shrugs. "He chose me. Twice."
Rebecca’s composure cracks. "You’re just a rebound—"
"Funny, he didn’t sound like he was rebounding last night."
My mouthfalls open.
Rebecca’s face flushes crimson.
Penny pushes off the car, stepping into Rebecca’s space. "Now, unless you want the whole town to know exactly how over you he is, I suggest you take your monogrammed napkin rings and get the hell out of my parking lot."
For a second, Rebecca looks like she might actually lunge. Then she spots me and the entire clinic staff, who have gathered by the windows.
She forces a laugh. "This isn’t over."
"Oh, yes, it is. It surely is." Penny unlocks her car. "Bye, ‘Becky’."
Rebecca storms off, heels click-click-clicking toward her rented town car and I walk over to join Penny.
I’m still staring when Penny turns to me.
"What?" she says, all innocence.
I shake my head, grinning. "Remind me never to piss you off."
She smirks, tossing her bag into the passenger seat. "Ground Rule #7: Don’t corner me in parking lots."
Then she drives off, leaving me standing there, utterly in awe.
The diner hums with its usual post-church chaos—families crammed into vinyl booths, waitresses balancing towers of pancakes, and the constant clatter of silverware against thick ceramic plates.
Sunlight streams through the streaked windows, catching on the dust motes dancing above a coffee machine that's been wheezing since the Reagan administration.
I'm slumped in a corner booth, nursing my third cup of bitter diner coffee, when the bell above the door jingles with far too much dramatic flair.
Every head in the place swivels toward the entrance.
