Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
DECLAN
This wasn’t a date.
Didn’t matter that Penelope and I had left the apartment together.
Didn’t matter that I’d walked by her side the entire way toward our destination.
Didn’t matter that she kept glancing up at me like I’d done something suspicious just by showing up.
Didn’t even matter that she managed to look both hot and adorable at the same time with her little puff-topped hat, colorful scarf, and buttoned-up jacket that made me wonder what she wore underneath.
This wasn’t a date.
It was a festival. And we had booth assignments. And if I kept looking at her like I wanted to wrap that scarf around my fist and use it to haul her mouth to mine?
That was no one else’s fucking business.
She took a sip from the to-go cup of tea I’d grabbed for her and gave me a long, unimpressed once-over, somehow looking down her nose at me from nearly a foot and a half below. “I should’ve known you’d be grumpy about the Harvest Festival.”
Actually, I was grumpy about the fact that my face wasn’t buried in her pussy right now. I hadn’t tasted her in too long, and it was messing with my mind.
“I’m not.”
“Right, so that scowl is solely for me, then? You’re going to scare away all the kids if you don’t knock it off.”
“I’ll just send them over to you. You can tell them I’m one of the dragons from the book you read at story time on Tuesday.”
Penelope’s lips parted as she shot her gaze to me, something I couldn’t quite decipher in her eyes. Before I could get a good read on it, she turned away from me, glancing toward the onslaught of people we were about to walk into. “You don’t actually scare kids, Declan. Adults, maybe.”
Her words did something ugly and unfamiliar to my chest. Tightened it. Twisted it. Like she’d reached in and pressed on something I didn’t let people touch. Ever.
She didn’t even look at me when she said it, which only made it worse. It wasn’t a tease. It wasn’t flirtation. It was just Penelope, observing me like she always did—with that quiet, infuriating honesty of hers.
And she didn’t say things she didn’t mean. Especially to me.
My jaw tightened as we stepped off the curb and into the crowd. “Kids don’t know any better.”
“I don’t think you give them enough credit. Kids are more intuitive than adults.” She glanced up at me, her eyes soft. “They know who’s safe.”
Safe.
The word scraped down my spine, settling something heavy and jagged in my gut. I wasn’t safe—had never been. I was a bad habit. A rule-breaker. A troublemaker. A temporary arrangement.
An experiment with a thirty-day expiration date stamped on it.
But the way she’d said it—like it was a fact in the same way two plus two equaled four—made something in me want to reflect the description.
Made something in me want to earn it.
“Safe’s not something I’ve ever been accused of being before.”
She shrugged, her shoulder brushing against my arm at the movement. “Maybe I’m just the only one who’s gotten close enough to see the real picture.”
Before I could steel my reaction, my shoulders tightened, my spine going rigid. I didn’t like that look. Didn’t like the way her gaze lingered on me a little too long. People only looked that close when they were starting to expect something. And expectation was a dangerous fucking thing.
I had firsthand knowledge of what happened when a man let people believe he was something he couldn’t keep being.
“I’m not built that way, Penelope,” I said, low and sharp. “Don’t let yourself believe I am.”
I didn’t allow myself to look at her. Didn’t want to see how those words landed. Because the truth was tangled just beneath them like barbed wire. I’d rather she think I was just a grump who was distant at best and an asshole at worst.
It was a hell of a lot better than her waking up one day, realizing I was never built to stay. It wasn’t in my DNA. My piece-of-shit father had proven that.
I’d said too much. Let her see too close. So I locked it down and reminded myself what this was between us. She’d asked for help—nothing more. And I was the selfish asshole who’d agreed to walk her through what she wanted to know.
This—us—was purely research. Just exploration. A fucking field study for her secret life.
The sooner I got that through my thick skull, the better.
I turned my gaze away from her and back to the shitstorm we were walking into.
Starlight Cove’s downtown had been transformed into a Pinterest board from hell.
Hay bales were stacked like barricades, kids sprinted between face-painting tents and apple-bobbing barrels, and the smell of fried dough and cider hung in the air as a hayride tractor driven by Mabel’s husband, George, chugged in the distance.
“Big crowd.” Penelope couldn’t tamp down the happiness in her voice at the sight of it all.
Where all I saw was a clusterfuck on Main Street, she saw a community celebration full of fun and laughter and enjoyment. She loved this kind of shit.
And I hated that I knew that.
I grunted in acknowledgment as I scanned the booths, the crush of people, the chaos in motion. And then there was my petite little librarian who was definitely going to be jostled in the fray.
A group of guys carrying cider flights from One Night Stan’s booth veered too close. They were all elbows and laughter and zero fucking awareness about anything other than themselves, shoving through the crowd with little regard to anyone else.
Before I could even rationalize it, I reached for Penelope, tugging her to my other side and out of their path. My hand landed at the small of her back, steady and sure, as I held her tucked against me.
“Watch it,” I barked at the group, sharp enough that the guy at the edge flinched. “Eyes up, man. Jesus Christ, you almost flattened her. And then we’d really have a fucking problem.”
They stared at me with wide eyes and muttered an apology before scurrying off. Smart choice.
Penelope looked up at me, her brows arched. “I take it back. You definitely scare adults.”
“They should watch where they’re going,” I muttered. “You’re, like, two feet tall. Could’ve taken you out in one hit.”
“Excuse you. I’m five feet tall.” She sniffed in indignation. “Plus a quarter of an inch.”
“Like I said, pocket-sized.”
We came up on the carved wooden sign for the bookmobile, and Penelope tipped her head back to meet my gaze. “Thanks for the escort. And the tea.”
I grunted in acknowledgment, diligently ignoring the sudden tightness in my chest. At what? The thought of leaving her?
What a fucking idiot.
The chaos of the festival carried on around us—squealing kids and laughter and too much damn noise. Across the street, Atlas was already yelling my name from One Night Stan’s booth, telling me to get my ass over there.
But I didn’t move. Not when Penelope was still leaning into my side, tucked under my arm like that space had been carved out specifically for her to fill.
For one stupid second, I let that feeling settle. Let myself imagine how easy it could be to fall into a rhythm with her. And then I shoved it down before it could grow roots and blossom into something that wasn’t good for either of us.
This thing going on between us wasn’t about lingering glances and the way she fit against me. It was about the fucking list.
I nodded toward the bookmobile. “You gonna be okay here?”
“I think I’ll survive. Unless Mabel corners me and tries to sell me those glow-in-the-dark nipple tassels again.”
I raised my brows. “You thinking about adding something to the Fucket List?”
Her laughter—something airy and bright she always gave freely to others but never to me—crashed into me like a fucking wrecking ball. She stepped away, walking backward toward the booth as she shook her head. “Nope.”
Before she could get far, I caught the end of her scarf and tugged her toward me until she stumbled into my chest with a soft noise of surprise. I wrapped an arm around her to steady her as she braced her hands against my stomach, my abs tightening under her touch.
I leaned down until my mouth was next to her ear and murmured, “Good, because I already picked something else to check off tonight.”
She blinked up at me. “What? Which one?”
“Guess you’ll find out later…” I let go of the scarf and walked toward the bar’s booth like I hadn’t just dropped a bomb I knew she’d stew on all damn day.
By midafternoon, I’d officially poured more cider than any man should in one lifetime, and I’d had enough peopling for an entire fucking month.
Kids screamed constantly, someone—probably Mabel—kept ringing a goddamn cowbell every time a raffle ticket was purchased, and the sugar-high chaos of it all was starting to wear me down.
But I couldn’t leave yet.
Someone had to make sure Lincoln didn’t pour hard cider for a toddler or flirt with the octogenarians. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with Penelope still working at the bookmobile and my irrational need to watch out for her.
The library’s booth was posted directly across from ours, and I’d spent the last several hours trying diligently not to clock Penelope’s every movement.
I failed.
I hadn’t gone more than a minute without glancing her way, because every laugh, every soft tilt of her head when she was listening to someone, every time she crouched to be eye level with a kid drew me to her.
Just like it did for everyone else in this town.
She was pure sunshine—all warmth and light—and there wasn’t a soul around who wouldn’t ache to be near that.
Penelope didn’t just stand behind that folding table and hand out recommendations. She leaned in. Remembered names. Touched forearms just to connect. Smiled like the person in front of her was the only one who mattered in that moment.
She was made for this shit. Made for the community. For the warmth. For the soft, open way people gravitated toward her like she was a goddamn lighthouse.
As her polar fucking opposite, I stood behind the makeshift bar and glared at anyone who got too close. To me…but especially to her.
Like the pompous pretty boy wearing a pair of hipster glasses and a too-tight flannel who strolled up and started talking to her. Probably asking for recommendations for books about fermenting your own kombucha.
I tightened my grip on the cider tap hard enough to make it squeak.
“Easy, bro.” Lincoln clapped a hand on my shoulder. “What did the poor tap do to you?”
“Nothing.” I eased off and passed the glass to the waiting customer.
“Right,” he said, drawing out the word. “Well, I, for one, think it’s sweet how worried you are about Mom.”
I blinked and dragged my gaze away from Penelope and the hipster to face my brother. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The old dude Mom’s been talking to for, like, fifteen minutes?
” He jerked his chin to the other side of the bookmobile’s booth, where a man with deep laugh lines around his eyes and salt-and-pepper hair was mid-conversation with Mom.
“I assumed that’s what caught your glare.
’Cause it definitely wouldn’t be the guy talking to Penelope…
since she’s just your roommate and all.”
“I’m not glaring.” I allowed myself another glance in her direction. The kombucha bastard was still talking. And smiling. And leaning far too fucking close to Penelope for someone who was just being friendly.
“You’re vibrating,” Atlas said.
“Fuck off. Both of you.”
“Maybe you should go check in on your roommate. Make sure that guy’s intentions are pure.” Lincoln’s tone was pure menace. “You could bare your teeth a little and do the silent, broody thing until the man pisses himself.”
“I’m not—”
“Protective?” Atlas cut in flatly. “Jealous? Territorial?”
“Delusional about how subtle you’re being with your roommate?” Lincoln added.
The emphasis he continually put on the word landed exactly how he’d intended—sharp and barbed and really fucking inconvenient. Because that was all she was supposed to be.
And yet…
I split a glare between them. “Are you two planning to work or just piss me off the rest of the afternoon?”
Lincoln clapped a hand against my back harder than necessary. “Why not both?”
Before I could snap back at the mouthy shit, a voice called out behind us.
“Are the Steele boys fighting in public again?” Rowan strolled up to the booth, sunglasses perched on her nose and her shit-stirring smile locked in.
Her three teenage sons surrounded her, dwarfing her between them—her tall and lanky hoodie-clad security detail.
She planted herself in front of the booth and pointed at me. “Let me guess—Declan’s mad someone dared to make eye contact with the hot librarian?”
Lincoln braced his arms on the bar and leaned forward, answering before I could. “Worse. The guy asked for a book rec.”
Crew gasped dramatically. “From the librarian? That bastard.”
“You want me to go rough him up?” Holden asked, his tone deadly serious. “I can still be tried as a juvenile.”
Knox studied the surroundings and then nodded. “I can sneak around back and distract him.”
“We can make it look like an accident,” Crew said. “Apple-bobbing fatality. Happens all the time.”
“Look at my sweet little murder cult.” Rowan grinned at her boys. “Makes a mother proud.”
“Can you three wait till I finish pouring this flight before the felony?” Lincoln asked. “I want a front-row seat to the mayhem.”
“I’m not hiding any bodies today,” Atlas barked and glowered at Rowan’s boys. “Go find Laurel. And don’t get her into any trouble.”
In unison, all three said, “Yes, Coach,” while Crew saluted him. Then they disappeared in the wave of bodies, on the hunt for Sutton’s teenage daughter.
“Pretty sure if anyone’s getting anyone in trouble, it’ll be Laurel dragging those three down with her,” I said.
Rowan waved that away. “Forget about that. Tell me more about this totally platonic roommate situation while you eye-fuck Pen from across the street like she’s every last one of your fantasies come to life.”
She was. And that scared the shit out of me.