Page 25 of Once Upon A Second Chance (Once Upon A Time…To Happily Ever After #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

Richard

I’m not sure I’ve ever been more nervous about a simple dinner in my life.

And I’ve survived medical school interviews, malpractice depositions, and Thanksgiving with Rebecca’s extended family, so that’s saying something.

Penny sits beside me in the passenger seat, legs crossed, hands tucked into her lap.

She looks calm on the surface, but I can tell by the way she keeps smoothing the hem of her dress that she’s not exactly relaxed either. She catches me glancing at her and offers a small, wry smile.

"It’ll be fine," she says, sounding more like she’s trying to convince herself than me.

I reach over and squeeze her hand gently. "I don’t care if it’s a disaster. I’m not going anywhere."

Her smile warms, softens. "Me either."

Still, my stomach churns all the way to the restaurant.

The place my parents picked is the most upscale Mount Juliet has to offer—a white-tablecloth kind of establishment that tries a little too hard with things like balsamic reductions and words like fusion on the menu.

But it’s quiet, the lighting’s warm, the tables are spaced far enough apart that it feels almost private, and the food is actually quite good.

We spot them near the back—my father already nursing a whiskey, my mother rearranging the silverware like a general preparing for battle.

They stand as we approach, and I brace myself for impact.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, my mother steps forward and smiles—an actual, genuine smile—and reaches out to take Penny’s hand in both of hers.

"Penny," she says warmly. "You look lovely."

Penny thanks her, squeezing back lightly, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

We sit, and for a few minutes, everything feels oddly... normal. Drinks are ordered. Menus are perused. Small talk about the weather and the town’s seemingly endless construction projects floats easily across the table.

Then, somehow—maybe because we all secretly know we need to air it out—the conversation shifts to the past.

"Remember when you tried to cook Thanksgiving dinner in that shoebox apartment you had senior year?" my father asks, glancing at me with a rare gleam of humor.

Penny laughs, bright and unguarded. "He nearly set the oven on fire."

"I was multitasking," I protest, grinning despite myself.

"You put a frozen turkey in at 450 degrees," Penny says, nudging my foot under the table.

My mother actually chuckles, dabbing her napkin at the corners of her mouth. "Richard always thought he could brute-force his way through things."

"Still does," Penny mutters under her breath, just loud enough for the table to hear.

We all laugh, even my father, and the knot in my chest finally starts to ease.

The conversation drifts from there—college memories, old stories about classmates Penny and I both knew, light teasing about how I once got a black eye playing intramural basketball because I refused to wear goggles.

For the first time in a long time, it feels... easy.

At the end of the meal, as the plates are cleared and the waiter brings the check, my mother reaches across the table and places her hand lightly over Penny’s.

"I want to thank you," she says, her voice softer than I’m used to hearing. "For standing by Richard. For protecting him when he didn’t even realize he needed it."

Penny blinks, momentarily speechless.

My mother squeezes her hand once, gently, then lets go, sitting back like she hadn’t just lobbed a grenade of emotion into the middle of the table.

I glance at Penny, who’s still absorbing it, then at my father, who gives me a short, approving nod.

Maybe we’re not going to be the kind of family that spills out declarations of love over every meal.

Maybe we’re not perfect.

But maybe—just maybe—we’re getting somewhere.

And as I reach for Penny’s hand under the table, twining our fingers together, I know with absolute certainty that whatever comes next, we’re ready for it.

Together.

The truck’s engine rumbles low beneath us as we head back toward Penny’s place, the headlights carving a soft path through the quiet streets of Mount Juliet.

The town’s tucked into sleep already—porch lights glowing, windows dark—and for the first time in what feels like years, there’s nothing chasing us. No lawsuits. No scandals. No ghosts clawing at the door.

Just her.

I glance over at Penny, half expecting to find her smiling the way she did at dinner, laughing at something my mother said, her hand brushing mine under the table. But she’s quiet, staring out the passenger window, her forehead resting lightly against the glass.

There’s a pinch between her brows that wasn’t there earlier.

“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low, careful not to break whatever thread of peace we’ve managed to weave tonight.

She turns her head and gives me a soft smile, squeezing my hand where it rests between us on the seat. “Yeah. Just tired, I think.”

She’s lying. Not about being tired—that much is probably true—but there’s something else lingering behind her eyes.

Something unsettled. But when she leans over a second later and rests her head lightly against my shoulder, I decide maybe it’s nothing that won’t heal with sleep and time.

Maybe we’re both just feeling the weight of the fight we finally won.

I squeeze her hand gently and focus on the road, letting the steady hum of the tires soothe the last frayed edges of my nerves.

By the time we pull into her driveway, the stars are thick overhead, the porch light casting a familiar golden halo across the front steps. I kill the engine, and for a moment neither of us moves. The quiet between us is full, but not heavy. Just... charged.

I turn toward her, meaning to say something—maybe something stupidly simple like I love you again, like thank you for tonight—but whatever words I had vanish when I see the way she’s looking at me.

Open.

Hungry.

Mine.

Before I can second-guess it, I’m reaching across the console, cupping her jaw with one hand, pulling her in for a kiss that’s supposed to be gentle.

It’s not.

She meets me halfway, her fingers threading into my hair, tugging just hard enough to make my pulse spike. It’s messy, desperate, all the gratitude and exhaustion and need boiling over at once.

We break apart just long enough to fumble out of the truck, slamming the doors behind us, laughing breathlessly as we stumble up the front steps.

I barely register the key turning in the lock before I’m crowding her against the door, hands skimming under the hem of her dress, mapping familiar territory like a man starved.

Her breath hitches against my mouth when I lift her slightly, pressing her back against the wood, feeling the solid, real weight of her in my arms.

She’s my home in a way nothing else ever has been, and I’m done pretending I can live without it.

Without her.

We make it inside somehow—clothes already starting to peel away, kisses getting sloppier, hotter, less restrained.

The front door slams shut behind us, the sound echoing through the quiet house.

Penny’s heels click against the hardwood floor as she turns to face me, her bright blue eyes blazing with an intensity I haven’t seen in weeks.

Her lips part slightly, and I can see the flicker of her tongue wetting them, a gesture so small yet so charged. I’m already hard, my cock throbbing in anticipation, as I take a step toward her.

“Richard,” she breathes, her voice low and husky, “I need you.”

There’s no preamble, no gentle easing into this.

She needs me, and I need her, and the air between us crackles with it.

I close the distance, my hand tangling in her long blonde hair, pulling her face up to meet mine. Our lips crash together, hungry and desperate.

Her taste is familiar yet intoxicating—a mix of the wine we shared at dinner and the sweetness that’s uniquely hers. I groan into her mouth, my other hand sliding down her back to grip her ass, lifting her effortlessly.

She wraps her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my thighs, and I carry her toward the bedroom, our kisses never breaking.

The bedroom door slams shut behind us, the sound muffled by the thick carpet. I kick it closed with my heel, never taking my eyes off her.

Penny’s hands are everywhere, tugging at my shirt, her nails scraping against my skin as she pulls it over my head. I toss it aside, my focus solely on her.

Her clothes cling to her like a second skin, showcasing her petite yet shapely figure, her toned legs and the curve of her hips. I want to worship every inch of her, but right now, I just want to fuck her. Hard. Rough. Like we’re both starving and she’s the only meal.

I set her down on the edge of the bed, her legs still wrapped around me. Her hands go to my belt, fumbling with it, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Hurry,” I tell her, my voice a plea. She doesn’t need to be told twice. She has my belt off and my zipper down in just a few seconds.

I shove my pants and boxers down in one swift motion, my cock springing free, thick and throbbing.

Penny’s eyes widen at the sight, her lips parting in a silent moan. She reaches out, her fingers wrapping around my shaft, stroking me once, twice, before I grip her wrist and pull her hand away.

“Not yet,” I growl, my voice rough with need.

I’m not here to be teased. I’m here to claim her, to remind her—and myself—that she’s mine.

I push her back onto the bed, her hair fanning out across the pillows. She’s wearing a simple lacey black bra and matching panties under her dress, but they’re not going to last long.

I pull the dress off over her head, then pull the bra off roughly, the delicate fabric tearing under my hands.

Her breasts spill free, full and perfect, her nipples already hard and tight, aching for my touch. I lean down, taking one into my mouth, sucking hard, my tongue swirling around the peak. She arches her back, her hands tangling in my hair, her moans filling the room.

“Richard,” she gasps, “please.”

“Not yet. You have to wait.”