Page 90 of Once Upon A Second Chance

I turn my head, press a lazy kiss to his hair, and feel him smile against my skin.

Outside, the world keeps spinning.

Inside, everything finally feels right.

Chapter Nineteen

Richard

If there’s a better sight in the world than Penny Morgan in the kitchen, barefoot, hair still a little messy from sleep, humming off-key as she spoons coffee into the machine, I don’t know what it is.

I lean against the doorway and just watch her for a minute, soaking it in.

She’s wearing one of my old t-shirts, one that she stole from me when we were in college, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, and every so often she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, still half dancing to a song only she can hear.

The morning light spills through the windows, catching the copper threads in her hair, making her look almost untouchable. Sacred, in a way she’d laugh at me for thinking.

It’s not just that she’s beautiful—though she is,painfully so.

It’s the way she exists so fully in a space, so alive and unafraid. It’s the way her forehead scrunches a little when she counts scoops of coffee under her breath.

It’s the way she mutters “perfect” to herself when she finds the right mug, as if even this small thing deserves care.

God, I love her.

I love her so much it feels like it’s stitched into the lining of my bones, like it’s something I was built for, whether I understood it back then or not.

She glances up and catches me staring. Her smile is soft, a little shy, like she’s still getting used to the idea of me looking at her like that and meaning every goddamn second of it.

“Coffee’s almost ready,” she says, lifting an eyebrow like maybe I’ve lost my mind standing there gawking at her.

“Take your time,” I murmur, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Worth the wait.”

She rolls her eyes but blushes, turning back to pour the water into the reservoir.

My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter where I left it.

For a second, I think about ignoring it. Nothing could possibly be more important than this moment, this woman, this life I’m just starting to build with her.

But the second buzz makes something in my gut twist.

I pick it up.

It’s a text from Andrew Keller.

Not a greeting. No pleasantries.

Just one line:

"Rebecca’s not done. She’s planning something big. Watch your back."

I stare at the screen, heart dropping into my stomach.

Across the kitchen, Penny hums a few bars of a song I don’t recognize, oblivious to the world caving in just outside the circle of warmth we’ve managed to carve out for ourselves.

For one long, selfish moment, I want to put the phone face-down and pretend Inever saw it.

Pretend we’re untouchable.