Chapter 22 Penny
22
PENNY
“I’ll be okay,” I said softly, pulling Aspen into a hug goodbye. She and Ellie were calling it a night—one shot of tequila proving to be one too many.
Boone stood nearby, waiting to play chauffeur. His signature smirk firmly in place as he leaned against the edge of the bar, watching Aspen cling to me like she might never let go. Her arms were locked around me with a grip so tight it nearly cut off my circulation. Ellie, tucked under her brother’s arm, was practically asleep on her feet, her eyes fluttering shut.
“Are you sure you want to stay here with him?” Aspen asked, her voice low and pointed as she peered around my shoulder to shoot Mac a sharp glare.
Mac stood a few feet away with his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed.
I laughed, stepping back from her suffocating hug and placing my hands on her arms, grounding her. “Yes,” I said, drawing the word out slowly, my head tilting with confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Aspen’s eyes widened. She swallowed hard, blinking like I’d just caught her in a lie. “No reason,” she rushed out, waving her hand dismissively. “Nope. None at all.”
Something about the way she said it knotted suspicion low in my stomach, but before I could press, she slipped from my grasp like water through fingers.
“I’ll see you later,” she said. “Text me when you get home. I probably won’t answer, but do it anyway.” She giggled, flicking her gaze toward Boone with that smile that only he seemed to inspire.
One more tight hug, and then she was gone with Boone trailing behind, his arm lazily slung around Ellie as they made their way to the exit.
“You better behave!” I called after them, cupping my hands around my mouth to project over the soft hum of music still playing through the speakers.
“No promises!” Boone hollered back, tossing a wink over his shoulder before the door swung shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.
The bar was quiet now. The last of our friends had cleared out, leaving only Mac and me, the silence between us thick with possibility.
Mac moved then, rounding the bar with slow, easy steps. He tossed me a sideways glance, cigarette dangling between his fingers, the ember glowing faintly. His smirk curved just slightly as he twisted the lock on the door and turned the deadbolt.
I let out a long breath and made my way back to the barstool, dropping onto it with a soft sigh and resting my head against the cool surface of the bar top. I was exhausted, my body aching for bed, but I wasn’t ready to leave.
“If you wanna go home,” Mac said, his voice quieter now, stripped of bravado, “I can walk you before I clean up.”
I lifted my head and looked at him. His eyes met mine without flinching, like he really meant it. Like he’d walk me all the way back right now if I simply asked. Yet, there was a crackle in the air, one that told me even though he’d do it for me, he wished I wouldn’t say yes.
I shook my head.
“I’m okay,” I whispered. “I want to stay.”
Mac’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly, the faintest sign of relief softening his features. He brought the cigarette to his lips, took a slow drag, and exhaled with a satisfied grin.
“Good,” he said, voice low, like the idea of me staying meant more than he would admit.
I smirked, leaning back on the barstool, crossing my arms in a lazy sort of challenge. “So… what’s step one of closing up shop?”
“Well,” Mac said, flicking ash into the tray, “I usually deal with the money first.”
“Can I help with something?”
He paused. Then, with a shrug, he gestured with a tilt of his head—yeah, sure, why not.
He crooked a finger, beckoning me around the bar, and turned on his heel like he already knew I’d follow. And I did. Like a moth to the flame, or a kid chasing after candy. The pull toward him was almost embarrassing in its intensity.
“I can have you wipe down the bar top,” Mac said, glancing over his shoulder as he walked backward down the hallway that led to the supply closet. “That okay?”
I nodded, trailing him into the narrow corridor where the air smelled faintly of lemons and dust. A red bucket sat on the floor beside a water spout. Mac crouched, filling it with warm water, then poured in a splash of cleaner. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him, arms folded across my chest, quietly soaking him in.
He stood to his full height and turned toward me, holding out the bucket. As I reached for it, our hands brushed—barely, just skin grazing skin—but it lit something in me like a match catching fire.
The breath stilled in my lungs.
Instinctively, my head snapped up, and I caught him looking at me. The hallway light was dim, but it was enough. Enough to see the way his expression shifted, just slightly. Enough to make my pulse trip over itself.
For a heartbeat, I saw the Mac I’d fallen for—unfiltered, present, maybe even a little bit regretful.
There was a painful, longing kind of ache. The kind that whispered if only.
If only things hadn’t changed.
If only the secret hadn’t shattered the illusion.
If only we could go back to the before.
I wanted to fall into him. I wanted to press my face against his chest and inhale that scent of cigarettes, citrus, and the faintest hint of cologne he probably didn’t even know lingered on him. I wanted to let him be that safe place again.
Instead, I swallowed hard and turned, walking away before I gave in. I needed air. I needed distance. I needed control.
I marched back to the bar, setting the bucket down with more force than necessary. Water sloshed over the rim, droplets scattering across the surface. I stared down at them like they held the answers, but all they did was blur everything more.
What the hell was I doing?
Was this worth it?
Was forcing Mac to earn his way back into my life really going to give me the clarity I was chasing?
Or was I just clinging to a game I didn’t know how to end?
I groaned under my breath and plunged my hand into the warm bucket, pulling out a yellow rag. I wrung it out, even though my hands shook, even though my eyes were starting to sting.
I started at the far end of the bar—away from him, away from the ache, away from that damn office in the back.
The same office where we—
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, scrubbing a little harder than necessary.
I wiped in wide circles, stretching my arm as far as it would go to the side of the bar. My fingertips just barely grazed the edge, but it wasn’t enough. I rocked up onto my tiptoes, determined to get every inch, my body curving over the wood.
Then I felt it—that heavy, magnetic presence behind me.
A warm chest pressed into my back, solid and familiar, sending a jolt through my spine. My breath hitched as a tattooed hand settled over mine, guiding my movements to the spot I couldn’t quite reach.
My heart kicked into overdrive, pounding in my ears so loud it drowned out everything else. The heat of him, the way his body curved to mine—it was too much and not enough all at once.
“You looked like you were struggling,” Mac murmured, his voice brushing along the shell of my ear, low and rough and entirely too intimate.
We leaned forward together, over the bar top, his front molded to my back in a way that made every inch of me hum. I swallowed hard, desperate for composure, for air, for space.
“I was,” I admitted softly as we straightened. My body still tingled from the contact, the fit of him against me too perfect, like we were puzzle pieces that had once been whole.
I turned then, slowly, until I was facing him head-on. Mac watched me with that boyish expression—dimples showing, eyes like warm whiskey, lips too full for their own good. There was something soft in his gaze, something reverent which disarmed all my armor.
His hand lifted, thumb brushing along my cheek. My skin burned in its wake.
My body turned to lead, rooted in place by the weight of memory, desire, and every unsaid word between us.
But, I ducked beneath his arm, grabbing the bucket with a deep exhale. My pulse was still racing as I retreated to the opposite end of the bar.
Mac hadn’t moved. He stayed where I left him, posture slightly slumped, his focus lingering on the door like he was trying to talk himself out of something.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” I called, glancing over my shoulder at him.
At the sound of my voice, he snapped out of it. His eyes found mine again.
Mac tilted his head, thought for a beat, then lifted a finger in realization.
“Ahhh,” he exhaled, grinning. “You don’t forget about the popcorn.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “That’s one thing I don’t mess around with.”
“Oh, I know, Penelope.” He laughed, warm and nostalgic. “Whenever you were having a rough day, I made sure I was fully stocked.”
A laugh slipped from my lips before I could stop it, soft and unguarded. I loved that he remembered.
“That,” he added with a smirk, “and a good orgasm always helped.”
A wide grin pulled at my lips as I stood. “Two of my favorite things,” I said.
Mac left, leaving to make one of my favorite things come true because the second was completely off the table.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and turned back to the bar. My rag moved in slow strokes this time, my thoughts trying and failing to focus solely on the task at hand.
“All right!” I shouted, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Open wide!”
Mac stood a few feet away, knees bent slightly, mouth wide open. I grinned, holding up a piece of popcorn between my fingers before tossing it in his direction.
The piece arced just a little to the left, and Mac shifted, moving with it like he’d been training for this moment his whole life. It landed square in his mouth.
He stood up straight with a victorious cheer, both hands raised like he’d just won gold.
I squealed, laughing as I jumped up and down. “That was so good! Even though my throw was absolutely awful.”
“You’re lucky I’m agile,” he said, chuckling as he reached into his bowl for another piece. “Okay, Penelope. The trick is to follow it with your eyes. Don’t look away. Stay under it.”
I gave him a determined nod, planting my feet wide and bracing like I was about to catch a winning touchdown.
“On the count of three,” he said, his gaze locked with mine. “One… two… three.”
He tossed it, and I tracked it through the air, shuffling a little to the right. I opened my mouth just in time, and the popcorn landed perfectly on my tongue.
I gasped, stunned for half a second, before snapping my eyes to his. “Finally!”
Mac clapped like I’d just nailed the shot of the century. “I knew you had it in you.”
I rolled my eyes and tapped my phone where it sat on the table beside me, the lock screen lighting up. Time had flown. Mac and I had cleaned the bar over an hour ago, but somehow we’d fallen into this silly, mindless game just like old times.
“Oh geez,” I muttered. “It’s late. I should get home. I need my beauty rest.”
Mac grinned, leaning his hip against the bar. “Can’t imagine you could get any more beautiful.”
I smiled, cheeks warming. “Charmer.”
“I’ll walk you.”
Normally, I would’ve insisted he didn’t need to, but this time I didn’t, maybe because the idea of walking home alone sounded… heavy. Lonely. And maybe because part of me just wasn’t ready to let go of tonight yet.
I reached for my popcorn bowl, but Mac stopped me with a gentle touch to my wrist.
“Leave it,” he said, already stepping beside me. “I’ll take care of it when I get back.”
“You sure?” I asked, my hand hovering.
“Yeah.” He gave me a small smile. “Come on, Trouble. Let’s get you home.”
The nickname hit like a sucker punch.
I froze. My heart dropped to my feet. The air shifted—charged and bittersweet. Mac must’ve felt it too, because he stilled, like he hadn’t meant for it to slip out.
It was a name that once meant so much.
“I’m sorr—”
“Don’t,” I cut in gently. “Don’t worry about it.”
Silence stretched between us, but we moved together toward the front door without another word.
Mac locked up behind us, the sound of the deadbolt loud in the quiet night. I couldn’t take the weight of it, so I cleared my throat.
“I had fun tonight,” I said, trying to sound casual. Like my heart wasn’t still thudding from one word—Trouble.
He turned toward me, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Me too.”
The stars were out, twinkling like a thousand secrets overhead. The air was cool for May, a soft breeze sweeping across the pavement. I wrapped my arms around myself as we walked in sync toward my apartment.
“You can come over whenever you want,” Mac said quietly.
I looked up at him, uncertain. That felt like a door creaking open. Was I ready to walk through it?
“Is this your subtle way of trying to get in my pants, Mac Ridley?” I teased, raising a brow and flashing him a flirtatious smile.
He matched it, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Even though I wouldn’t exactly be against that… I like spending time with you outside of sex.”
I looked away, down at the sidewalk, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. A shiver rolled up my spine, stealing into my bones.
Without a word, Mac slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. His warmth spread through me, anchoring me to something that felt so achingly familiar.
“I like spending time with you, too,” I said, my voice softer than his, like the words might crack if I said them too loud.
Mac’s arm tightened around me just a little as we continued down the quiet sidewalk. “We could always work on your popcorn-catching skills,” he teased.
I tilted my head toward him, letting it rest lightly against his shoulder. Just a little. Just enough to feel him there. “It did take me an embarrassing number of tries to catch that last one.”
“At least fifteen,” he said, all smug.
I groaned. “Okay, okay. We don’t have to assign an actual number.”
He chuckled, and I felt the sound more than heard it—the low rumble vibrating through his chest and into me. It made me smile.
When we reached my apartment building, I reluctantly stepped away from his warmth. The night air hit me immediately, cool and sharp in comparison. But the chill was short-lived when I saw the look in his eyes—that playful, daring glint that made my pulse skip and my cheeks flare up.
He took a small step forward, closing the space between us, and I knew it. He was going to kiss me.
My heart squeezed, emotions tangling inside me. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that. Not yet.
Mac must’ve sensed it—something in my eyes or the way I shifted—and he stopped. Leaning back just enough, he gave me space without making it awkward. I felt both disappointment and relief rush through me at once.
“Good night, Penelope,” he said, his voice low, warm. His hands tucked back into the front pockets of his jeans like he needed to keep them there to stop himself from reaching for me again.
“Good night,” I whispered.
He nodded toward the door. “Go on. I’m not leaving until I see you safely inside.”
Rolling my eyes, I tried to hide the smile pulling at my lips. “Yes, Daddy,” I quipped, shooting him a teasing glance as I turned on my heel.
Behind me, I swore I heard a low groan, but I didn’t stop to gloat. The front door clicked open, and I stepped into the quiet vestibule. The lights of Petal Pusher were dark, the streetlamps casting a soft golden glow over everything inside.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I turned and looked through the glass. Mac was still there, hands in his pockets, watching.
I lifted my hand in a wave, and he returned it with a small smile.
Then, finally, we turned and went our separate ways.
For tonight.