Penny's POV
The entire morning had been consumed with practicing my speech to Bernie. Theoretically, this should be uncomplicated. Express gratitude for his thoughtful presents. Keep the vinyl record. Give back the necklace. Clean, direct, zero complications.
Then why did my palms grow clammy every time I touched that small navy velvet case?
The afternoon arrived before I finally summoned the nerve to approach his office. The door stood partially ajar, revealing Bernie absorbed in paperwork, a wayward lock of dark hair brushing his forehead exactly like it had during our Saturday morning at the farmers market.
I knocked softly against the doorframe.
"Enter," he responded without lifting his head.
"Bernie?" My voice wavered slightly. "Could we speak briefly?"
His attention shifted upward, and that authentic smile spread across his features, the one that consistently sent butterflies dancing through my chest.
"Absolutely, Penny. Please, sit down."
