Chapter 24 Penny
24
PENNY
“Penelope!”
My name floated up the staircase, sharp and familiar, just as everything in my arms began to slip. I huffed, trying to hold on to the wobbling stack of books and the trio of bags tangled around my shoulders. My lunchbox dug into my side, my purse strap slid down my arm, and the oversized work tote—my trusty, overstuffed companion—threatened to drag me off balance.
The books were heavier than I expected, so right now, I regret taking them off the library’s hands. We’d gotten new editions of a few well-loved titles, and the worn-out copies weren’t being checked out anymore. Normally, they’d be carted off to the recycling center, their pages pulped and forgotten. But that never sat right with me.
There was a Little Free Library on the edge of Faircloud Community Park. It wasn’t much, just a weathered wooden box with a glass front and a squeaky hinge. I figured it was the perfect spot for someone else to discover these old stories and give them a second life.
Still, by the time I made it to my front door, I was pretty sure my shoulder was going to give out.
Grunting, I twisted my head as far as I could. Down at the bottom of the stairs stood Sandy, hands on her hips, expression unreadable but determined.
Of course.
I hadn’t stopped into the shop after work, mostly because I was on the verge of toppling over, but clearly, she had something on her mind.
“Give me one second, Sandy!” I called, fumbling with the doorknob. “Let me just put this stuff down before I collapse!”
With a final burst of effort—and maybe a prayer—I managed to push open the door and stumble inside. The books nearly tumbled from my arms, but I caught them just in time and deposited them onto the dining table with a loud thunk, followed by a sigh as I let my bags slide to the floor in a heap.
Light footsteps pattered up the stairs, and within seconds, Sandy appeared in my doorway. Her signature puff of silver hair bounced with each step. She wore her floral apron tied in a perfect bow at her waist, a pair of faded blue capri pants, and her well-worn white sneakers that somehow always looked spotless.
Hands on my hips, I turned to her, still catching my breath.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked, huffing out a breath with exaggerated flair.
“Well, don’t you look lovely today!” she sang, her eyes twinkling as they swept over me.
I glanced down at my dress—Aztec-inspired patterns in bold reds and sun-kissed oranges, with cap sleeves that fluttered as I moved. It was one of my favorite pieces, especially paired with my brown mule heels. I smoothed a hand down the fabric instinctively, a shy smile tugging at my lips.
“Thank you,” I murmured, giving a little twirl that sent the hem swirling around my knees. “But I’m guessing you didn’t chase me up here just to compliment my outfit.”
Sandy laughed, stepping deeper into the apartment. “That Logan boy is still coming tomorrow to help with deliveries, right?”
I nodded, pulling out a dining chair and sinking into it gratefully. “As far as I know.”
Sandy pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, the crochet club ladies just sent over a last-minute request. They want to hand out free flowers to moms at the park tomorrow.” She paused. “Sweet, right?”
“It’s a lovely idea,” I said, smiling warmly.
“It is,” she agreed, but there was hesitation in her voice. “Thing is… between the regular orders, the walk-ins, and now this one, I don’t think you and I can handle it all ourselves.”
She glanced down at her sneakers, then up at me through her lashes, sheepish and hopeful.
“You need another set of hands?” I offered gently.
Her whole face lit up. “Oh, sweetheart, that would be wonderful. I didn’t want to burden you, but I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed.”
“You could’ve just asked,” I chuckled softly.
She waved a hand as if to say where’s the fun in that? And gave a dramatic shrug.
Fortunately for her, I already had someone in mind. Someone who loved flowers almost as much as I did—and who just so happened to be free this weekend.
As I opened my mouth to tell her, Sandy tilted her head slightly, eyes drifting past me. She squinted toward the dining table, then nodded approvingly.
“Well, aren’t those just the loveliest things?” she cooed, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
I turned to see what she was talking about—and froze.
The ceramic pitcher on the table now held a bouquet of fresh, vibrant roses. When I’d left for work that morning, the arrangement had looked tired, its leaves drooping, the petals starting to brown. But now? They looked brand new. Dew-kissed. Like they’d just been plucked from a garden an hour ago.
I spun back toward the doorway—but Sandy was already gone and the door was now shut.
Her retreating footsteps echoed softly down the stairs, followed moments later by the cheerful chime of the shop door below.
“This woman,” I muttered with a shake of my head, making my way toward the pitcher.
There was only one person who knew how to get into my apartment. One person who knew I rarely remembered to lock the door.
As I walked back to the table, I paused in front of the pitcher. The roses were flawless. Fresh, soft petals curled open just enough, their red edges deepening toward the center. My lips curved into a smile, and something light and fluttery stirred in my chest.
A dozen roses. Always the same amount. Always the same flower.
They were from Mac. I didn’t even have to question it.
Bending down, I rifled through my purse until I found my phone. His number wasn’t saved, but I knew exactly which one was his. Without a second thought, I hit the FaceTime icon.
It only rang twice before the familiar ding echoed, and his face filled the screen.
“What’s up, Penelope?” he asked casually. His phone was propped up somewhere on the bar. Behind him, the soft glow of the bottle wall cast light over the space.
“You know,” I said, making my way toward the kitchen, “it’s technically a crime to break into someone’s apartment, even if you’re just leaving flowers.”
“Is it really breaking in,” he replied, smirking, “if she leaves the door unlocked?”
I laughed, the sound bubbling up before I could stop it. “Touché. You got me there.”
I set the phone on the counter, still grinning, and opened the fridge. A cold wave rushed out and stopped me in my tracks.
It was full.
Apples. Iced tea. Pre-made salad kits. Even a few of my favorite chocolate bars, tucked neatly on the top shelf. None of this had been here this morning.
I turned slowly, narrowing my eyes at the screen.
Mac was leaning against the bar now, his arms braced on either side of the camera. Relaxed. Watching me.
“Did you do this too?” I asked, cocking my hip and pointing toward the fridge with a raised brow.
“Maybe,” he said, that maddening grin tugging at one side of his mouth. “Does it make it more of a crime if I opened your fridge after breaking in?”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through me. Turning back to the fridge, something else caught my attention—a white to-go container, carefully placed on the center shelf.
The logo gave it away instantly.
It was the only Italian place in town. Also, coincidentally, the only decent pizza, too.
“Mac…” I said slowly, pulling the container out and setting it on the counter. I angled the camera so he could see more than just my face now.
“If this is what I think it is…”
“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, his voice full of that low, teasing drawl.
I popped the lid.
Chicken Parmesan.
Golden-fried chicken, blanketed in marinara, smothered in cheese, and laid gently over a bed of angel hair pasta—my favorite. My cheeks lifted into a grin as a quiet oh my God slipped from my lips.
“How’d I do?” he asked, clearly pleased with himself as he watched me practically drool over the container in front of me.
“You did very well,” I said, already reaching for a plate.
As I dished the food and slid it into the microwave, he leaned in a little closer to the screen.
“So I guess you can’t really be mad about the whole breaking-and-entering thing, right?”
I shook my head, glancing over my shoulder with a smirk. “If this is what you do when you break in, I’ll leave the door wide open.”
“At least I didn’t throw glitter all over your stuff,” he said with a wink.
I narrowed my eyes. “I never confirmed or denied that it was me who did that.”
“Innocent until proven guilty,” he replied with a slow nod. Mac tilted his head just slightly, that dimple showing up again. “Still… I do wonder who else would draw a giant P on my dashboard.”
“Could’ve been Patrick,” I said with a shrug, biting back a grin.
Mac arched a brow. “I don’t know a Patrick.”
“Maybe it was an upside-down lowercase d,” I teased. “Ooo, Dudley!” I pointed at the camera, eyes wide with mock realization.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with one fluid flick of his lighter. The flame illuminated his features for a heartbeat—strong jaw, focused eyes—before he exhaled a slow stream of smoke into the air. He leaned forward to grab an ashtray, placing it beside him with practiced ease.
“Something tells me no,” he said, voice low and amused. “But it was still funny. Even if the guilty party refuses to come forward.”
To Mac’s credit, he’d taken it like a champ. Not that I would’ve cared if it pissed him off.
He started texting after that. Showing up more. Then there was that night at The Tequila Cowboy—when he pulled me over the bar like he couldn’t wait another second to get me alone to start the conversation.
I blinked, pulling myself out of the memory fog and looked up at the screen. “Thank you,” I said softly.
Mac nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. “No problem, Pen. Wasn’t a big deal.”
The microwave dinged, pulling me from the moment. I walked over, retrieved my food, and grabbed my phone before settling into my usual spot at the table. I propped Mac up against the napkin holder, and with an eager sigh, twirled a forkful of pasta and took a bite.
A satisfied groan escaped me. “This is so good,” I mumbled through a mouthful, covering my mouth with my hand. “They never mess this up.”
Mac chuckled, watching me like it was the best show in town. “Glad I get to see you enjoy it.”
I grinned and held a loaded fork toward the screen. “Want a bite?”
“You tease,” he muttered, lips twitching with amusement.
I wiggled the fork like bait. “You know you want it.”
Before he could respond, his attention flicked away from the screen. I could hear new voices and music growing louder in the background.
“Josie!” Mac called out, his voice carrying above the hum of chatter. “Can you take care of Mr. Skully, please?”
He grabbed the phone again and brought it close, lowering his voice to talk to his other bartender. “I’m on the phone. I’ll be out in a bit.”
I couldn’t hear her reply, but I could tell the bar was picking up. The familiar buzz of people, clinking glasses, and soft country music filled the space between us.
“You can go if you need to,” I said, swirling the pasta around my plate. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
“No way.” His voice was firm. “I’ve got your attention. I don’t wanna lose it.”
“My attention means more than the tips you’re missing out on?” I teased. “You must really be sorry.”
Mac moved down a dim hallway, the grainy lighting blurring out his face. He pushed open a door and stepped outside, taking a seat on the back steps. Crickets chirped in the background, the lit cigarette dangled from his lip.
“Tips don’t mean shit if I can’t spend them on you.”
I swallowed hard, trying to play it cool, but my heart stuttered. That simple confession short-circuited something inside me.
I didn’t know how he did it. He could tear down every defense I had with one quiet truth. The standard I was trying to set was being challenged, pushed until I gave in.
Mac was doing it on purpose, but whether he knew it or not, his sweet confessions and acts of service were taking my walls down faster than I’d imagined.
It wasn’t just about sex. We hadn’t even been together like that in almost two months. Still, he had this undeniable effect on me like he’d unlocked something buried—something soft and vulnerable and aching to be seen.
Mac didn’t just get under my skin; he was seared into my mind.
“Any plans for the night?” Mac asked, his voice easy, casual.
I shook my head, twirling my fork as I took another bite. “Nah. Might do some crocheting later.”
He leaned back slightly, lifting the cigarette to his lips before exhaling a soft cloud of smoke into the night air. “What about this weekend?”
I swallowed and reached for my water bottle. “Helping Sandy tomorrow. Mother’s Day prep, you know how it is. She came up here earlier, dropping not-so-subtle hints that she’s gonna need extra hands besides me, so… I’ll be tied up all day.”
Mac nodded, thoughtful. “Who’re you thinking to ask?”
The question sat in the space between us for a beat. Was he hoping I’d say him?
“Logan’s coming over to help with deliveries,” I said, trying to read his expression, “and I was thinking Ellie might be my second.”
Ellie’s parents were away for the weekend, so I was hoping she’d be free. Boone was off with Aspen, which ruled both of them out.
And honestly? I liked Ellie. We didn’t hang out alone often, but when we did, it was always a good time. She was spunky, a little sassy, and had the biggest heart. The kind of girl who’d give the shirt off her back and make you laugh while doing it. Plus, she had a thing for flowers—she knew her way around a bouquet better than most.
“Sounds like the dream team,” Mac said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“That reminds me—” I dabbed my lips with a napkin and pushed back my chair. “I should call her before it gets too late.”
Mac ground his cigarette into the pavement with the toe of his boot. “Right, you probably should.”
I hesitated, then looked at him—really looked. His hair was a little messy, his eyes soft but searching.
“Thank you again, Mac,” I said, my voice quieter, more tender than before.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave me a slow, thoughtful smile like he was savoring whatever this moment was.
“You’re welcome, Penny.”
He said my name—low, gentle, like a promise that would stick with me long after I ended the call. I waved at him, and he waved back as his eyes lingered on the screen.
I let out a heavy sigh and dropped my head back against the chair.
What a mess.
A mess of emotions. A mess of wanting to get in my car and drive to him right now. Of craving more time, more of him. But I knew myself. I knew the second I let him off the hook, the second I made this too easy, it would chip away at what I was trying to prove.
He needed to come to me. He needed to show me that I was worth the effort after he’d shown me the opposite.
Because no matter how badly I wanted to roll over like some damn golden retriever begging for affection…
Mac Ridley still had some groveling to do.