Page 8 of Once Upon A Second Chance (Once Upon A Time…To Happily Ever After #2)

Chapter Seven

Richard

But today, the air feels lighter. Maybe it’s the post-tornado camaraderie. Maybe it’s the way Penny’s laughter carries down the hall from the break room.

I’m reviewing charts when a coffee cup appears under my nose.

Black, two sugars.

Penny’s standing there, her scrubs rumpled, her hair in that messy twist she does when she’s been up since 5:00. She doesn’t say anything, just nudges the cup closer.

I take it, our fingers brushing. “You remembered.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Behind her, Amy Patel pretends to be engrossed in a blood pressure cuff.

Later, I catch Penny in the supply closet, reaching for a box of gloves on the top shelf. She huffs, stretching—just not quite tall enough.

“Need a hand?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

She glares. “I’ve got it.”

“Clearly.”

She kicks my shin. I laugh, stepping behind her to grab the box. My chest brushes her back, just for a second. She stills.

The closet is too small, too warm.

“Here,” I murmur, handing it over.

She turns, the box pressed between us like a shield. “Thanks.”

Neither of us moves.

Then—

“Dr. Hogan?” A nurse pokes her head in. “Room 4’s ready for—oh.”

She blinks at us. “Oh, sorry.”

Penny bolts like a spooked deer.

I’m halfway through a sandwich when my phone buzzes.

Penny: Ground Rule #6: No almost-kissing where coworkers can see.

I grin.

Me: Define “almost.”

Penny: Richard.

Me: Fine. But only if you admit you liked it.

She doesn’t reply.

But ten minutes later, she walks past my office and—without breaking stride—flips me off.

I chuckle into my coffee.

Yeah. She liked it.

The following morning’s easy rhythm shatters when Darlene’s voice crackles over the intercom: “Dr. Hogan, you’ve got a… visitor.”

Something in her tone makes my pen freeze mid-signature.

Then I hear it—the sharp click-click of designer heels on linoleum, the rustle of expensive fabric, and a voice that curls through the clinic like spoiled champagne.

“There you are.”

Every muscle in my body locks.

Rebecca stands in the doorway of my office, one manicured hand resting on the frame. Her blonde hair is upswept into a perfect twist, her cream colored pantsuit untouched by the Tennessee heat. She looks like she’s stepped out of a Manhattan boardroom and into the wrong life.

My life.

“Surprise,” she purrs.

Behind her, half the clinic staff have stopped mid-task to stare. Penny’s at the nurses’ station, her spine rigid, a chart clutched too tightly in her hands.

I force myself to stand. “Rebecca.”

She sweeps forward, her perfume—something floral and aggressively expensive—filling the space between us.

“You didn’t return my calls.” A pout. “Or my texts. Or my lawyer’s—”

“Not here.” I step around her, shutting the door with a firm click. The second it closes, her mask drops.

“What the hell, Richard?” She flicks a disdainful glance around my tiny office. “You gave up a Park Avenue practice for this?”

I lean against the desk, arms crossed. “It’s temporary. What do you want?”

“You left things unfinished.”

She steps closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Andrew thinks it’s pathetic—you running home to your little redneck slut of a girlfriend like some—”

“Get out.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Out of my office. Out of this clinic.” I yank the door open. “And if you ever call Penny that again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Rebecca’s laugh is all teeth. “Ruin the pristine reputation you’re building here?”

She raises her voice, just enough to carry. “The one where no one knows how you really left New York?”

The hallway goes dead silent.

Penny’s staring at us, her face unreadable.

Rebecca smiles, adjusting her cufflinks. “We’ll talk later. Darling.”

And with that, she saunters out—leaving the scent of her perfume and the weight of every unspoken threat hanging in the air.

The automatic doors of the clinic hiss shut behind me as I step into the humid evening air.

My shoulders are tight from a day spent ruminating over Rebecca’s unexpected reappearance in my life. I can only guess at what she has up her sleeve. And I’m not sure I’m prepared to deal with it.

Then I hear it—Rebecca’s polished voice, sharp as a scalpel.

"—really think he’ll stay this time?"

My head snaps up.

There, near Penny’s car, Rebecca has her cornered against the driver’s side door. Penny’s arms are crossed, her expression icy, but Rebecca leans in closer, undeterred.

"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.

Rebecca blinks. "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 mouth falls 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.

Rebecca stands there like she's making a red-carpet appearance, one manicured hand resting on the doorframe.

She's wearing a white linen dress that probably costs more than my truck, oversized sunglasses perched on her head. And beside her—

My coffee cup hits the saucer with a sharp clink.

Andrew fucking Keller.

My former best friend. My former surgical partner.

The man who sat across from me at poker nights for seven years, then testified against me in the malpractice suit that nearly ended my career, where he insinuated that my surgical methods resulted in a bad outcome.

The truth of the matter was that his own cousin, the anesthesiologist, administered the patient’s anesthesia improperly, almost killing the boy.

Now standing in front of me, he's got his arm slung around Rebecca's waist like he's marking his territory, his smirk widening when he spots me.

"Well, well," he says, loud enough for the entire diner to hear. "If it isn't Mount Juliet's newest celebrity."

Rebecca's laugh is all saccharine poison as they make their way toward the counter, pausing deliberately at each table to greet people like they're running for mayor.

I can practically see the gossip spreading in their wake—whispers darting from the Johnson twins at Table 3 to old Mrs. Waverly standing by the pie case.

Darlene, bless her, slams a coffee pot down hard enough to make them both jump. "Y'all want a menu or you just here to put on a show?"

Rebecca's smile doesn't waver. "Just catching up with old friends, darlin’."

I watch as they take the booth directly in the center of the diner—Rebecca carefully arranging herself like she's posing for a magazine spread, Andrew stretching his arm across the back of the seat like he owns the place.

Then the performance begins.

"Oh, Andrew," she says, voice pitched just a little too loud. "Remember that medical conference in Miami? The one Richard missed our third anniversary for?"

Andrew chuckles, swirling his orange juice like it's scotch. "How could I forget? You were devastated."

A hush falls over the surrounding tables. Mrs. Waverly's fork freezes halfway to her mouth.

Rebecca sighs dramatically, leaning forward. "Turns out, he wasn't alone in his hotel room like he claimed."

The gasp from the Johnson twins is audible.

My fingers tighten around my coffee cup. Across the diner, I see Mandy from the flower shop pull out her phone—probably texting half the town already.

Andrew shakes his head, all faux disappointment. "Some people never change."

A chair screeches at the counter.

Penny's older brother, Jesse, stands slowly, his broad shoulders blocking out the "Daily Specials" board behind him.

His sleeves are rolled up to show off forearms that could crush walnuts, and his expression could curdle milk.

The diner falls silent as he crosses the room in three strides, looming over my table like an approaching storm.

"You cheating on my sister, Hogan? I already warned you once." His voice carries to every corner of the diner.

I stand, keeping my voice low. "Jesse, don't do this here."

"Oh, I'll do it wherever I damn well please." He plants both hands on my table, making the silverware jump. "You got some explaining to do."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rebecca watching with barely concealed glee, her mimosa poised delicately in one hand. Andrew's smirking like he's won the lottery.

"It's bullshit, Jesse," I say, keeping my voice steady. "You know that. Rebecca is just trying to stir things up."

"Is she?" His knuckles whiten against the Formica. "Because seems to me, where there's smoke—"

"Jesus Christ." The voice comes from behind him.

Every head turns.

The diner door slams open hard enough to make the bell jangle violently.

Penny stands there, flushed and breathing hard like she ran the entire way here. Her workout clothes are damp with sweat, her hair escaping from its messy ponytail. She must have come straight from her morning run.

Jesse turns. "Pen—"

"Shut up, Jesse." She strides forward, shouldering past him without breaking stride.

She plants herself between me and Rebecca's table, arms crossed. "Let me guess," she says, voice dripping with disdain. "You're here to 'warn' me about Richard? How noble."

Rebecca's smirk doesn't waver. "Just thought you should know who you're dealing with."

The entire diner is riveted. Even the cook has come out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Oh, I know exactly who I'm dealing with." Penny's smile is razor-sharp. "A woman so desperate to be relevant, she's recycling fake scandals."

Andrew scoffs. "Fake?"

"Then prove it." Penny uncrosses her arms to gesture broadly. "Go on. Prove it. Show one text. One email. One piece of evidence that Richard was ever unfaithful."

Silence stretches.

Rebecca's perfectly manicured fingers tap against her mimosa glass. Andrew shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"That's what I thought." Penny turns to Jesse. "You really fell for this?"

Jesse shifts his weight, scowling. "I was just—"

"Being an idiot. Again." She punches Jesse in the shoulder, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the door. "We're leaving."

The diner erupts in whispers as we pass. I catch snippets—

"—always knew that city girl was trouble...""—Penny Morgan ain't nobody's fool...""—bet they're lying through their teeth..."

Rebecca's voice cuts through the noise as we reach the door. "This isn't over."

Penny doesn't even turn around. "Yeah, it is. I told you that before but you evidently have a serious ’listening’ problem. I’d see a doctor about that if I were you."

Outside in the parking lot, the summer heat hits like a wall. Penny rounds on me the second the door closes behind us.

"You could've defended yourself," she says, her breath still coming fast.

I run a hand through my hair. "Would it have mattered?"

I nod toward the diner windows, where Rebecca is already backpedaling, claiming she "misspoke" to a skeptical-looking Mrs. Waverly.

Penny exhales sharply, her anger fading into exhaustion. She looks down at our still-joined hands like she's just noticing them.

"No," she admits. "But I mattered."

I squeeze her fingers. "You always do."

Behind us, the diner door bangs open. Jesse stomps out, his face thunderous.

"Penny—"

"Not now, Jess."

"But—"

"I said not now." Her voice leaves no room for argument.

Jesse glares at me for a long moment before throwing up his hands. "Fine. But we're talking about this later."

As he storms off, Penny sighs and leans against my truck. "I need pancakes."

"After that performance?" I grin. "I'll buy you the whole damn diner."

She laughs, the sound warming me more than the Tennessee sun ever could. "Ground Rule #8: No buying me restaurants until at least month two."

I open the passenger door for her. "Noted."

As we drive off, I catch one last glimpse of Rebecca through the diner window—her perfect facade finally cracking as the entire town turns their backs on her performance.

And for the first time since she arrived, I breathe a little easier.