Page 96 of Once Upon A Second Chance
His hair’s a little messy, like he ran a hand through it one too many times, and his mouth tips into a half-smile when our eyes meet.
For a second, everything else—the buzz, the stares, the chaos—falls away.
Without a word, he crosses the space between us, pulls one hand free from his pocket, and cups the back of my neck gently.
And then he kisses me.
Right there, in the middle of the clinic hallway, where anyone could see.
The kiss is firm and certain, no hesitation, no fear. He kisses me like it’s not a risk, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to love me out loud.
I hear a few wolf whistles somewhere down the hall. Someone claps—probably Jenkins, the retired old surgeon who thinks everything is a soap opera—and Lena calls out, "Finally!"
I can’t help it—I laugh against Richard’s mouth, pulling back just enough to see the crinkle of happiness around his eyes.
"You sure you want to be seen with me?" I tease, voice low so only he can hear.
He brushes his thumb across my cheek, thumb slow and reverent. "I’m pretty sure I want to spend the rest of my life being seen with you."
There’s a whoop from one of the nurses—Patel, I think—and another voice calls out, "Get it, Penny!"
Richard grins and leans his forehead against mine. "I guess we’re a package deal now."
"Guess so," I whisper back, heart pounding, not from fear this time, but from something steadier. Something stronger.
We stand there for a beat longer, soaking it in, before Lena breezes by with an entirely too-innocent smile.
“Penny, when you get a minute, you might want to check the latest posts," she says sweetly. "Let’s just say... Queen Churchill’s pyramid is collapsing.”
Richard chuckles against my hair, pulling me in tighter for a second before letting me go reluctantly.
As he heads back toward the surgical wing, patients and staff alike nod and smile at him—at us.Like we’ve weathered the worst of it and come out the other side not just intact, but stronger.
I watch him go, warmth spreading through my chest, and think that maybe, just maybe, Mount Juliet is starting to feel like home for both of us.
And Rebecca?
She’s finally reaping exactly what she sowed.
The Bachelor is on the TV, but neither of us is really watching.
Lena and I are sprawled across my couch, a pile of snack bowls scattered around us—popcorn, chips, a half-empty box of cookies—and two glasses of wine resting precariously on the coffee table. Bijou’s wedged herself between us like she’s the guest of honor, her head resting heavilyon my thigh.
The real entertainment isn't the desperate contestants fighting over a mediocre man in a tux.
It’s the steady stream of phone notifications lighting up our phones every few seconds.
Rebecca’s downfall is unfolding in real time.
First came the local news article:Prominent New York Society Woman Accused of Fraudulent Business Practices.Then the social media posts from angry "investors," receipts attached, timelines of all the money that vanished into thin air.
Screenshots of her ties to not one, but three, pyramid schemes. Bankruptcy filings. Hushed rumors that she'd skipped out of town at dawn, leaving a trail of unpaid debts and burned bridges.
The cherry on top? A blurry photo someone caught of her at the airport in New York with an overstuffed suitcase and sunglasses big enough to hide half her face.
“She ran after she got back home,” Lena says around a mouthful of popcorn, scrolling through the latest post gleefully. “Full-on fled. Not even a ‘no comment,’ justpoof—Churchill out.”
“Coward,” I say, grinninginto my wine glass.
