Chapter 20
Logan
With her feet tucked between my thighs, I gently stroke Penelope’s bare legs, seeking comfort through touch only she can provide. Not even an hour ago, she was coming undone in my arms, giving me those delicate, sexy whimpers I’m already craving more of.
“We’re here, sir,” Javier says as we pull up to a cluster of multi-colored row houses on either side of the Seaside strip.
My other hand alternates between massaging patterns up the slender column of her neck and twirling her dark, soft hair around my fingers.
Hard to tell if my anxiety results from meeting new people or this fragile glimmer of trust she’s offering me. But it’s clear this place means something to her, and more than anything, I don’t want to fuck this up.
“Relax,” she says, rubbing my wrist and stilling my busy fingers. Relief is instantaneous when she kisses the pad of my thumb. “They’re going to think you’re great.”
In the center of the building, between two adjoined homes—one white, the other naked brick—is the group home where Penelope volunteers. A small stoop precedes a plain, tan door, and the garbage can on the curb overflows with trash and debris.
Javier helps her out of the back seat, and the moment the door opens, she bolts for the trunk. She grabs as many grocery bags as she can carry, then bounds up the steps. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”
I shake my head at her childlike excitement, pausing to glance around Seaside Avenue.
The island’s dormant volcano, Mount Serenity, rises behind miles of waterfront homes beyond the strip, making for a breathtaking view. But it’s the beaches lining the backsides of the buildings where these homes are settled that gives the area real estate appeal.
Ida frequents this area to play cards with her friends or browse the few remaining antique stores. She says Seaside is a staple in Anchorage Harbor and was once a hotspot for locals. But for as beautiful as the scenery is, there’s no denying it needs a facelift.
The buildings are worn, rusty, and paint-chipped. The street needs repaving, a proper waste system needs to be put in place, and many surrounding businesses have been foreclosed on. Their vacant windows now plastered with Keerah Financial signs.
I briefly try to pinpoint which one my father has his sights set on when Javier says, “Sir, your bags.”
He hands me four paper sacks, filled to the brim with fresh foods, and then offers a parting bow.
“Javier, wait.”
Folding his arms behind his back, he turns. “Yes?”
“I wanted to say thank you for being there earlier.” I nod at the food. “And for doing this for me.”
“Respectfully, sir,” he says, grinning at Penelope, “I did it for her.”
I can’t help but be amused by the effect she has on others.
“I’ll call you once we’ve finished here,” I say.
“I’ll be waiting.” He rounds the front of the Escalade, stopping a moment to add, “Oh, and Mr. Anderson? You’re welcome.”
When I turn toward Pen, she’s smiling at the two of us, impatiently giddy to show me what’s beyond that threshold. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”
I take the steps one at a time, inhaling a burst of stale air when I walk through the entrance. My eyes adjust to the dim, flickering light of a wide hall leading to what appears to be an old sitting room. To the left is a split door, which opens to a kitchen, and straight ahead, through another opening, lies a cluttered living room.
“There you are. What took you so—” A middle-aged Topican woman halts in front of the hall.
Her face is round with the kind of worry lines earned with motherhood, and her long, salt and pepper hair is neatly plaited into two braids that hang down the front of her chest.
“Oh, hi!” The woman scrambles to gather misplaced toys and crayons off the floor. There’s a large, patched hole in the far wall, and tarps are balled up beneath it in disarray. “My goodness. You’ll have to excuse our mess. I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”
She straightens the corner of a stained rug with the tips of her toes, shooting an accusatory glare at Penelope.
I smile at the pair, elbowing each other like sisters. “No need to worry. I’m just dropping these off for Miss Vance.”
The woman’s brows fly to her hairline. “Miss Vance, is it?”
Pen laughs so comfortably, it warms the entire room. “Logan, this is Dorthea. She and her husband, Ricardo, run this place.”
A boisterous man rumbles from the kitchen window, which overlooks the sitting room, “For the record, pretty boy, I’m the husband.”
“Cállate, Ricardo,” Dorthea hisses, then to me, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s a pain in my ass on a good day.”
Ricardo winks. “And yet, she still loves me.”
Amused by their bantering, I nod. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“Dios mio, where are my manners?” Dorthea takes the bags from my arms. “Here, I’ll get these put away. Carrie was just about to take the kids for a walk on the beach. Maybe you can all go together.”
“Nellie!” Little bare feet slap the scuffed and tattered flooring as a young girl rushes up to us.
“Hey, bug.” The radiance of Penelope’s smile damn near knocks the breath out of me when she squats to wrap her arms around the child. She gestures to me over her shoulder. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Eek! Ohmygosh. You have a boyfriend?” The girl’s eyes widen dreamily as she cranes her head back to look up at me. “He’s so tall, Nellie. How do you kiss him?”
I cock a brow when she nibbles her lip. “Uh, well, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s…”
“A friend,” I finish for her, adoring that ever-present blush coloring her cheeks.
“Oh, awesome. I love you already.” The girl takes my hand, leading me past a thoroughly entertained Penelope, and into the main living space.
“Name’s Mable, by the way. I’m six years old, my favorite color is midnight purple unicorn, and I lost my first tooth yesterday. Stheee? It bled for like, two hundred hours or something.”
“Funny, that’s my favorite color, too,” I say, smirking at her tongue darting out of the gap in her front teeth.
Mable comes to an abrupt halt, and I narrowly avoid crashing into her.
Her big eyes flit from Penelope to me, then back again before she says, “Dibs.”
“Mable,” Pen scolds.
Next to a shadowed staircase, a group of ten or so children pop their heads up from the table they’re gathered around with Carrie. By the looks of them, I’d guess they’re anywhere from five to seventeen years of age.
“Check it out, you guys,” Mable singsongs while yanking me closer to them. “Nellie brought us a new friend.”
Sweat breaks across my skin as ten pairs of eyes size me up. Hell, I’d be less intimidated to confront her father than these guys. “It’s, uh… it’s an honor to meet you all.”
A copper-haired girl with unruly pigtails makes a pfft sound. “He talks funny.”
“Don’t be so uptight,” Penelope murmurs from behind me. Raising on her tiptoes, she places her chin on my shoulder, and says, “You can be whoever you want to be here. You’re safe.”
My body instantly relaxes.
Satisfied, she winks before sorting through the construction paper and glitter scattered across the table. “Whatcha working on?”
“Dream jars,” an older boy with thick-framed glasses and acne mumbles. He points at Penelope’s sister, sitting at the other end of the table. “It was Carrie’s idea.”
I’m half prepared for a vicious remark, but unlike the night we went to Azúcar—when she all but threatened the safety of my manhood—the searing hatred is gone. In its place is something closer to gratitude, and I find her acceptance of me oddly… moving.
“We were actually about to go gather sand and seashells for our jars,” she says, standing to push her chair in. She hooks her thumb toward the back door. “You guys wanna come?”
“Duh,” Mable answers for us. She spins, tugging on my shirt. “You’re going to make a dream jar with us, right, Loggie?”
The others watch me with guarded curiosity while they stand and collect their empty glasses. “Of course.”
“Yee! I’m gonna put a crab in mine cause they’re ‘apposed to be good luck.”
Carrie guides the others down the back hall to the door that leads outside while I slip my shoes off.
“Crabs are not good luck,” a pre-teen boy with a splotchy red birthmark covering his face snarks. “And if you put it in there, it’ll suffocate and die.”
Mable’s smile gradually falls into a pout. “You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
“Brantly,” Penelope says, gently spinning him toward the narrow hallway. “Be nice.”
Mable’s lip trembles, and she ducks her chin, embarrassed.
“Unfortunately, he’s right. We can’t put a real crab in your jar.” Her bright green eyes shimmer with unshed tears when crouch to her level.
She sniffles. “Because he’ll die?”
“Well, because he might get hungry and eat your dream.”
Her mouth twitches when I pinch her sides with pretend claws. “That would be bad.”
“It sure would.” The tin cap makes a ticking sound when I tap its center. “But I bet that me, you, and Nellie can find enough seashells to glue the shape of a crab right here on top.”
I’m rewarded with a dazzling smile, and when Mable wraps her arms around my neck, I find one just as brilliant, tugging at Penelope’s lips.
“Let’s go before they take all the good shells,” she says, taking the girl’s hand.
The sun heats my face when we step out of the house and down the steps leading to a beach. Hot sand slips between my toes, tickling my feet as we walk toward the navy-blue water.
Mable scampers ahead, giggling when she finds a rock that looks like a fairy house for her jar. The other kids follow behind us, collecting shells along the way before carefully arranging them around Mable’s find. Even Brantly joins in, his scowl having softened into something like contentment and innocent wonder that he appears to have outgrown far too early.
The smell of fried fish from distant street vendors mixes with the salty air. Waves crash beneath the dilapidated pier, Penelope’s laugh mingles with the kids’, and something wriggles inside my chest like an itch I can’t scratch.
To outsiders, this area is nothing more than a bag of bones Anchorage Harbor never parted with. But looking out at the sun glinting off an ocean that crashes against a white sand beach, I understand my father’s sudden interest in pushing business in this direction.
More than that, I’m excited about what our properties will bring to this place. What my properties will bring to it.
Seaside will be Summit Estates’ first grand adventure. Dad said it himself, once he gets an investor secured, I’ll finally be able to make my own business decisions.
Will you?A sliver of doubt pricks the back of my mind, settling in with the conversation I heard between him and Nathan Reid at the market.
I shut it down. He’s just playing it safe and keeping the finer details to himself. That doesn’t mean he’s going to take control of this development.
Pen drops to her knees beside her friends in the sand.
“So, what exactly is a dream jar?” I ask, picking up Mable’s glass, turning it this way and that.
Wrist-deep in a treasure trove of seashells buried by the tide, Mable shrugs. “I dunno. Miss Carrie told us, but I forgot.”
A raven-haired young woman, the eldest in the bunch, pipes up from her spot beside them, “We’re supposed to fill the jars with sand and shit, and then write our ‘biggest dream’ on a piece of paper and stick it inside.”
Sarcasm coats her tone as she picks through various shells. But as annoyed as she seems, she carefully places individual shells inside the fortress Mable has created for her faeries.
Mable’s nose crinkles when she peers up at me. “We gotta put shit in there?”
“Little ears, Tarra…” Pen says with a pointed look at the older girl.
“Don’t say shit, Mable,” she mutters.
Tarra’s a fragile thing, skinny enough that the bones in her shoulders strain her thin, pale skin, and despite my disposition, I can’t help but feel curious about her story—about all their stories.
“What’s your dream?” I ask, nodding at the glass beside her.
She’s cautious, flicking her hollow eyes to mine, and the nervous jitters forcing her back half an inch make my stomach clench.
I hate that I know the tells. What it feels like to be hurt by someone who’s supposed to love you, and how that dictates every reaction, every decision of who to trust.
“I… don’t have one.”
“A ‘course you do.” Mable snorts. “You wanna be a famous makeup artist. That’s why me, you, and Nellie have fancy makeup parties. How do you not ‘member that?”
“Will you shush,” Tarra hisses with a big sister tone. She bends her knees, winding her arms around them and resting her chin on top. “This whole thing is silly. We’re a bunch of orphans, doomed to be alone forever. Our dreams don’t matter.”
“Don’t be depressing,” Brantly grumbles, but I don’t miss the dejection on his face as he circles his finger in the sand.
“Whatever. You think this is just as dumb as I do.” To me, her sharp tongue lashes. “You’re old, and obviously well off. What’s your big dream?”
Penelope’s attention is on the hole she’s digging, but her movements are mindless, as if she’s secretly listening.
The kids blink at me as if waiting for some great philosophy, and I’m amused at their perception. Children think adults have it all figured out just because we have jobs, pay bills, and drive cars. But the truth is, oftentimes, we’re just as lost, lonely, and misunderstood as they are.
“Well, my father and I own a large business here on the island. I guess my dream would be seeing it continue to flourish, so when I take it over some day, I’ll be as successful as he is.”
The smile I offer doesn’t fit quite right. It stutters as if I’m forcing it, as if I’m forcing me.
“You’re taking over his company?” Penelope stops digging, turning those big brown eyes up at me, and the force of what our future could be hits me so hard, I almost stagger.
The two of us, together in this harbor, every summer, playing tag in the sand with kids in need of friends and guidance. We’d build castles that get washed away by the high tide and collect enough shells to decorate every inch of our house. They’d fall into all the cracks and crevices of our waterfront home—the one she always wanted, and I’d tell her I’m sick of stepping on them, when really, I’d never want to stop finding the little treasures that remind me of her.
“I mean, yeah. Some day,” I say eventually.
But suddenly, I’m not so sure.
She stares a second longer before gathering more shells. “That’s great. That’s really…”
Her unfinished thought hangs between us, her disappointment palpable.
I’m hesitant to tell her about my father’s plans for our project here. I don’t always agree with the choices he makes, but what am I supposed to do? Turn my back on him after everything he’s done for me? Risk him taking his fury out on not only me, but Penelope, too?
“What are you going to put in your jar, Nellie?” Mable asks.
Pen sits back, brushing sand off her lap while the breeze threads through her hair and the sun kisses her shoulders.
I’m not the only one enamored by the woman. The children in our half of the group give her their undivided attention, waiting patiently as she gathers her thoughts.
“I’ve been searching for myself for some time now. It’s confusing not knowing what you want when you’re my age, to not know where you belong.”
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Pen lifts her gaze to where her sister is walking on the beach, scavenging with the others for items to put in their jars. “Like you guys, I don’t have anywhere that truly feels like home. And it’s easy to put on a brave face, isn’t it? To go out into the world and be pretty, and smiley, and pretend to be something or someone you’re not, when all you really want is to find somewhere you fit in.”
“You belong here, with us,” Brantly says, matter-of-factly.
Her smile wobbles when Mable inches closer. “Yeah, you’ll always have us, Nellie.”
Tarra, Brantly, Mable, and the others crawl over, wrapping their arms around her, and I’m in awe of them—a misfit queen with her misfit children gathered at her waist.
Penelope looks at me, eyes shimmering as if she’s only just realizing it’s true. These kids, what she’s doing here… This is her purpose.
This affection they share is as foreign to me now as it was when I first fell in love with her. It’s why I was greedy with her friendship then, protecting it like a fragile link that was far too easily broken.
An unexplainable force crushes my chest like coal being pressurized.
All she ever wanted was this. And I’m such an asshole for telling her I didn’t want any part of tying myself down to someone because that was a damn lie.
Mable kisses Pen’s cheek before scurrying over to me.
“Shh, I gots a secret,” she whispers before holding a finger to her little lips. “Come on!”
Unable to deny her, I follow her tiny footsteps down the beach to where she says she saw a colony of faeries. I kneel with her, offering my jar as she gathers scoopfuls of sand and driftwood debris.
“Promise you won’t say a word?” she asks once it’s half-full.
“Cross my heart.” I draw an X across my sternum.
Mable beams at me. “I like you. You’re nice and pretty.”
I chuckle, knowing damn well I’ll be rubbing that in Declan’s face later. “You’re nice and pretty, too.”
When I stand, Penelope’s discovered us, and she’s nosily peeking at Mable’s secret spot.
“Oh, no.” Her eyes widen.
I turn in a rush. “Run! I’ll keep our cover.”
A squeal of laughter trails behind her as she takes off.
Pen arches a dark brow, curiosity teasing her full red lips. “What was that about?”
“I wish I could tell you, sunshine… but I swore an oath.”
She pushes my chest, and I take a page from her unfiltered book, telling her exactly what I’m thinking. “You really are so beautiful.”
“Quit it.” She’s smiling wide, and I am, too.
Goddamn, it feels so good.
“The job I offered you,” I say, nodding toward the group home. Much like the rest of Seaside, it needs major renovations. “Is this place the reason you accepted it?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if she’s afraid to admit the truth.
“Yes.”
Her hold on my heart tightens. “You could have asked me for help, Pen.”
With a simple shrug, she says, “I didn’t want to.”
“But I can give your friends the money they need to gut the place.”
“Logan…”
“I bet the kids sleep all mashed together upstairs, split between a couple of rooms, don’t they?” She folds her arms, neither confirming nor denying. “We could remodel the whole place. Imagine, the big kids in their own individual beds, and bunk beds for the little ones.”
“Logan, stop.”
But I can’t. This bleeding heart Dad despises so much? Well, it’s hemorrhaging.
“Tarra and Brantly are at that age where they should have their own space, and all of them should have food and clothes whenever they need.” She shakes her head when I say, “I can make that happen.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? Ricardo is a proud, stubborn man. If he won’t take a handout from me, he certainly isn’t going to take one from you.”
I meet her stubborn gaze. “That’s selfish, don’t you think?”
“Maybe to some, but I can’t fault him. He’s a provider, a father in every way that counts. He and Dorthea each work two jobs just to keep this place open, and I wish they didn’t have to, but what more can I do?”
She looks back at the house, mulling over what she says next. “I didn’t want to ask you for money because I’d rather earn it, and I won’t ask my dad for the same reason. Not to mention, how do you think he’s going to react to the fact that I’ve been lying to him for years? The man booked this whole father-daughter business conference thing for us—and I’ll be lying my way out of that, too–when I just want to tell him the truth.”
“That you’d rather spend your days making homeless kids happy for free than work for a multimillion-dollar corporation?”
“Bingo.”
“You don’t think he would understand?” I ask.
“No. He wants me to be just like him—chasing a dollar, investing, building a business from the ground up—but that’s not who I am. I don’t know how to be the successful businesswoman my parents have always wanted while still protecting and providing for my friends here.”
I’m afraid to move for fear that she’ll shut down, so I listen quietly as she vents.
“You said you wanted the ugly parts of me. Well, how about this? I throw myself into random projects, hop between jobs, and keep busy helping everyone else because if I’m not distracted, then I have to face the fact that I’m alone. That I’ve done this to myself. That I’m thirty years old, without a safety net, a stable career, or even a stable relationship. All things I pretend I’m okay with because it terrifies me not to be.”
Reaching for this kind, big-hearted woman, I draw her into my body, offering a space of refuge for her anxieties. She wraps her arms around my waist, and it wouldn’t matter if the universe imploded right at this very moment. This right here… This is where we’re meant to be. Together.
“What’s the worst that could happen if you just accepted yourself as you are, without all the outside pressure? Stopped trying to chameleon your way through life?”
She rubs her face into my shirt, pouting. “Catastrophe, probably.”
“No. The world needs selfless people like you.”
I need you.
We watch Mable and her friends chase each other in comfortable silence, but I refuse to accept no for an answer. I’ll talk to Ricardo myself if I have to. One way or another, I’m going to help.
“I may not have all the answers for you, but I promise to help you find them.” I press a kiss to her crown, tamping down the urge to tell her how much she means to me when she’s only just opened up. I’m scared she’ll run if I push too hard, and I won’t lose her again. “There’s no rulebook for when you’re supposed to have this shit figured out.”
Placing her chin against my chest, she gives me a half-hearted smirk. “I miss the days when I thought growing up meant eating dessert for dinner and staying up as late as you want. I legitimately thought that was the whole point.”
I hug her tighter. “I swore quicksand was going to be a much bigger problem when I grew up.”
“Right!” She finally snorts a laugh.
I freeze as her amusement fades, and she sweetly peppers kisses over my shirt.
She starts below my collarbones, pausing to give the thickest scars seconds more of her attention, and I close my eyes, marveling at the natural way we give and take.
All this time, I thought I quit harming myself because I grew out of it. I was a confused teen who needed release, and while that was true, I realize now it was something else entirely.
Without Penelope, there was no reason to resist my father. My only goal was to please him, follow in his footsteps, and do as he asked, because that’s all I knew. That’s what was safe.
No Penelope. No arguments. No burns.
I reached a level of contentment that I convinced myself was happiness, but that fighting urge floats to the surface. Now I’m questioning if I was really ever happy. Whose purpose am I living—mine, or my father’s?
Yanking me out of my thoughts, Pen holds her hand out, palm up. “These were the only blue and black ones I found,” she says timidly. “You know, cause you’re a boy.”
The freckles smattered across her cheeks and arms are darker now from absorbing the afternoon rays, and because I can’t resist, I kiss them. “Thank you.”
I drop the shells inside the jar with my bounty from Mable and screw the top shut.
“When you’re ready, you can write your dream down and place it in there, then give it a shake.” She rattles hers for emphasis. “Maybe, one day, it’ll come true.”
A powerful force draws us closer as I stroke the delicate curve of her jaw. I physically ache when she leans into my touch, giving me her trust despite our indifferences.
“I’ve only ever wanted one thing, Penelope.”
“And what’s that?” she says, barely above a whisper.
“You.”