19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Pinterest, Penis Power + Payback
Aspen
HollyDates has become a staple in my life just as much as it is a pillar of this town.
There are other coffee shops and bakeries scattered around, of course, but each serves its own unique purpose for the locals.
This morning, the air in HollyDates smells like powdered sugar and overpriced espresso—the scent of my temporary escape.
I’m huddled at a corner table with Tatum and Holly, dissecting the absolute disaster that is my life while the rest of the “Stand-Ins” are otherwise occupied.
Because, yes, Holly and I are officially part of their crew now.
Eslin is at work, and Marlow has been noticeably absent lately, likely at home elevating her swollen ankles and wisely avoiding the Vegas drama that keeps finding its way back into her life.
Apparently, when Marlow accidentally ended up married on SightUnseen, they all banded together to form a union of stand-in best friends, and the name just stuck.
Since my life is currently a pile of smoldering ash, Eslin did me a kindness and invited me into the fold.
Holly was essentially grandfathered in. Not just because she’s a staple, but because she makes the best espresso martinis in the city and doesn't judge us if we need one well before happy hour.
“Let me get this straight,” Holly says, leaning forward with a skeptical frown. “You’ve had a proposal from one man and a surprise wedding to another in less than a year. And they’re both professional athletes, they're both fine, and they’re best friends?”
I let out a long, weary sigh. “Yeah. That pretty much sums up the dumpster fire, thanks.”
“Some girls have all the luck,” Holly mutters, wiping a stray crumb off the table.
“Luck? Did you forget the part where he basically treated me like a legal leper? The man didn’t want to be married to me, Holly.”
Tatum scoffs, rolling her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn't see her own brain. “But he specifically requested that you sponge-bathe him? Girl, please. That man is playing chess while you’re out here playing hopscotch.”
I frown, crossing my arms tight over my chest. “Whatever he’s doing, it’s not going to work. I am a professional. This is business.”
“Ha!” Tatum belts out.
I frown. “What?”
She sucks her teeth with a rhythmic tsk.
“I saw the way you looked at that man in Vegas, and I’m the one who held your hand for three hours the day you left mediation.
Whatever he’s doing is absolutely going to work.
He’s going to look at you with those ‘fuck me’ eyes, and you’re going to fold like a lawn chair at a family reunion. ”
“I think you’re underestimating my willpower,” I insist.
“And I think you’re underestimating penis power,” Holly interjects. She stands up to greet a customer who just walked in, leaving Tatum and me howling with laughter.
Tatum’s expression turns uncharacteristically serious. “I am sorry for tricking you into this, Pen. I know it was a low blow.”
I wave her off, the anger having simmered down into a dull, manageable ache. “Look, I was pissed. But you were right. I am one of the few who can handle him.”
For the brief time Luca and I were together, I was the only person in this city who could dismantle those pompous, high-gloss walls of his.
In that tiny, stolen window of time, we were actually learning the rhythm of a partnership.
We championed each other. We called each other on our shit. We were becoming us.
Shit. I really do not need to be reminiscing about our “partnership” right now. Not while I'm trying to convince my best friends, and myself, that I can keep my hands to myself during a sponge bath.
“Where were we?” Holly asks, bouncing back to the table.
“Penis power,” Tatum says, perfectly deadpan, sending us into another fit of giggles.
Holly taps away at her phone for a second before flipping it around to show me the screen. “Yeah, I just pulled up a ‘Sir Chidubem’ appreciation thread. Did you know there are entire Pinterest boards dedicated to his thighs? There is no way you’re resisting all that yummy goodness.”
“Wanna bet?” I challenge.
“Actually, yes,” Holly says, her eyes gleaming. “Five hundred dollars says you won’t last a week without those professional boundaries crumbling.”
I raise a hand. “Uh, broke new business owner over here. With the way insurance companies seem to treat bills as optional, can we wager something that doesn't involve me selling a kidney?”
“Fine. If you don’t last at least two weeks without having sex with your soon-to-be-ex-husband, you have to work at HollyDates for free during the Fourth of July weekend.”
“Oh, hell no!” I recoil. “I’ve been here on the Fourth. It’s a war zone!”
Holly just folds her arms, wearing a look of pure, unshakeable confidence.
“Fine,” I groan, caving under the pressure. “But only for four hours.”
“Six hours,” Holly counters. “And I’ll let you keep the tips.”
“Deal.”
“And if I do last two weeks?” I ask, raising a brow.
“We’ll just keep adding money to the pot because I know this man is not going to go down without a fight,” Eslin says.
“Have you seen the ass on our girl? His dick isn’t going down at all while she’s there,” Holly jokes, making us all howl.
“You women are ridiculous!” I yell.
I check my watch, realizing the time. “I’ve got to get going. My actual favorite client awaits, and there are no Pinterest boards dedicated to her quads.”
“Well, it was good catching up!” Holly says, heading back to the counter.
“And I guess I should get back to the grind,” Tatum adds. “These boys are driving me crazy with their locker room drama.”
I hug them both goodbye and head to my van. I need the busy, bossy energy of Ms. Lilly Rose to reset my brain before I step into the lion's den on Monday.
***
I pull up to the quiet, rose-lined driveway of Ms. Lilly’s estate. The transition is exactly what I need—a shift from the frantic energy of espresso martinis and “penis power” to the calming scent of lavender and home.
Ms. Lilly may be up in age, but she wears her years of elegance and sharp wit like a veil.
When I first approached her with my business plan, she didn't offer the skepticism I’ve come to expect from my family.
Not even in this economy. Instead, she handed over some of the best advice I’ve ever received.
Including the suggestion to build a non-profit arm so I could serve the community while maximizing my tax breaks.
She’s so much more than her name and her wealth.
She is my mentor during a time when genuine help and support are hard to come by in the business community.
When I walk up to her front door, I see her waiting for me in the sunroom with her sleeve already rolled up, ready for her assessment. I scan the room to make sure she has her walker nearby. Thankfully, she does.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were actually excited to see me, Ms. Lilly!”
She just smiles, her rich, dark skin practically glowing in the sunlight. “I am always excited to see you, Penny.”
I shake my head, setting my bag down. “Please don’t make me regret telling you my family nickname.”
“I won’t,” she insists, her eyes twinkling. “I just love the way it sounds. I haven’t called anyone Penny since Janet Jackson on Good Times.”
“That is exactly why my daddy started calling me that,” I laugh, adjusting the blood pressure cuff. “He’s had a lifelong crush on Janet Jackson, but it all started with Penny.”
I focus on the steady thump-thump of her pulse against my fingertips, doing my absolute best to push the image of Luca’s face out of my brain.
“Blood pressure is looking perfect, Lilly,” I say, noting the numbers. “Are you getting around okay these days?”
She looks over at her walker. “Yes, me and Wendy the Walker, are literally joined at the hip these days.”
I smile. “Good. And how’s the diet? Are you actually eating those greens I suggested, or are you still sneaking those lemon shortbread cookies from Nanny Shirley’s?”
She swats at me with her free hand. “How about both? A woman my age deserves a little sweetness in her life. In more ways than one. Now, what’s going on with you? You’ve got that look in your eye that says your head is somewhere else entirely.”
I sigh, folding my stethoscope into my bag.
I’m just going to tell her. I need to practice the words anyway, and God knows I’m not ready for the real thing yet.
My mom and I have been at odds ever since I stopped following the “sensible” routes in life she mapped out for me, and I know my daddy won't be able to shield me from her wrath once this news hits.
It’s safe to assume my parents are going to have a collective heart attack when they find out their logical, level-headed daughter got accidentally hitched in a Vegas chapel. Without their permission or their presence. Ms. Lilly is the perfect dry run for the fallout.
“I actually have a new client,” I start, picking at a loose thread on my bag. “His name is Luca Chidubem. He’s soon-to-be captain for the Atlanta Strikers soccer team or club or whatever. And he was recently injured.”
Ms. Lilly just nods. She’s noticeably confused.
“And he needs a nurse. So he hired me.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem so troubling! Girl, you’re sitting here looking like someone died, and you mean to tell me you get to spend all that time with a professional athlete?” She lowers her head and her voice conspiratorially. “Please tell me you’re going to tap that?”
I let out a nervous, breathless laugh. “Funny you should say that. Because…”
I can do this. I can say the words. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
“He’s...well, he’s my husband. Sort of.”
Ms. Lilly’s eyebrows shoot toward the silver hairline of her lace front. “Sort of? Darling, marriage is like a penis. It’s either in or it’s out. There is no 'sort of.' This is the man you met in Vegas?”