Chapter 2
TWO
january
DOMINIC
It’s a bit embarrassing to be staying with my aunt and helping out at her romance bookstore. Not that I don’t love Aunt Gloria— she’s my godmother and one of the most interesting people I know— but the fact that I’m here and not there, surviving and not thriving… it’s messing with my head.
I could rant for hours about Midwest winters.
The temperature has yet to rise above freezing this month, and we've been hit with a few unexpected inches of snow in the past few days.
I yearn for the familiar freeze of the Kentucky winters that I've grown used to over the years.
Having only ever spent summers here, the term “polar vortex” was foreign to me until now, and I wish I could go back to not knowing it existed.
I’ve been here for two weeks and working at the bookstore for one. I’m sure Aunt Gloria had mentioned that Pen was working here at some point, but I honestly forgot until I came barreling out of the storage room last week.
It’s been a long ass time, but I never forgot about Penelope Elizabeth Adams. Or, as I had affectionately nicknamed her when we were kids, Pea.
She was always a bright, positive force of nature.
She constantly tried to put a smile on my face, no matter what was going on in my life.
But that was a long time ago, she hasn’t been Pea to me in fifteen years.
As a child, all the big and important events seemed to occur during the summer for me.
It all started when we first went to visit Aunt Gloria; I suppose it was my mother's way of taking a break from my father, although they never called it that.
My mom and I would spend a few weeks with her sister while "Daddy had to work," as she put it.
But I didn't really care who came along; all I knew was that I was only seven years old and missing out on valuable summer playtime with my friends back home.
It was at that first summer barbeque at Aunt Gloria’s house where I met Penelope. Never one to be shy, Pen squealed in excitement when we were introduced.
“Oh my goodness! We’re like, the same age!” She was jumping around, as if the excitement were ready to simply burst from her skin. “Wait, I have to know, which Pevensie throne would you occupy?”
Was she even speaking English? I remember glancing at my mom with a “help me” look, but she waved us off. “Go have fun, kids!” And her, Aunt Gloria, and Pen’s mom disappeared into the backyard with drinks in hand.
“Did you hear me?” Penelope had asked again, stepping closer and closer into my personal space.
“I don’t know what that is,” I mumbled.
“Stop it! Are you telling me you haven’t read The Chronicles of Narnia? Come on, you can’t be serious?!”
Penelope prodded at me the entire party, following me around everywhere, describing the world and plot of this book series she was apparently obsessed with. I couldn’t escape her— she even waited outside the bathroom door when I had to go, talking louder so I could hear her while I took a piss.
After several hours, when Pen’s mom came to collect her to leave, she said, “Will you be at the next barbeque?”
Her mom had patted Pea on the head, saying, “Of course he will. They’re in town for a few weeks.”
One week later, Pen strolled right up to me at the weekend barbeque and handed me a well-read copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. “Here,” she’d said, shoving the book into my hands. “I need you to read this.”
I was kind of afraid to tell her that I wasn’t that great at reading yet, so I simply nodded.
She looked at me expectantly, so I reluctantly took a seat in a lawn chair and started reading.
She sat down on the ground next to me, occasionally glancing over at the book to see where I was at and commenting on what was coming up next.
It was a little annoying, but, if I’m being honest, it was nice not to feel so alone.
And she didn’t mock me for my slow reading pace either.
That summer, I tore through the first few books in that series.
It shocked my mom, who had never seen me show interest in anything other than video games, and it pleased the shit out of Aunt Gloria, whose love for books was deep.
By the following summer, I had caught up with the books and, all pretenses aside, delved deep into debates and discussions about the series with Penelope.
It’s funny looking back on that time now, considering how impactful that series was to my adolescence.
I clung to it like a lifeline when my parents divorced the following year and again when my dad died a few years after that.
I never had a chance to properly thank Penelope for introducing me, not only to those books, but to the world of reading in general.
But something happened in the fifteen years since I last saw her.
She looks different. Of course she does.
Thirteen-year-old Pea was gangly and awkward, with a mouth full of braces and frizzy hair.
Now? She’s a woman who has learned how to tame her hair, has a stunningly straight, white smile, and curves.
God damn, does she have mouth-watering curves.
Her energy is the same— vibrant and positive to the point of being annoying.
Passionate about so many things, but especially books.
It’s like she always knew what she wanted to do in her life, and she’s fucking doing it.
Pen doesn’t see her job as simply “assistant manager of a bookstore.” No, she sees her job as a guardian at the crossroads of endless worlds, guiding others to the stories that will change their lives.
Penelope is doing what she does best— connecting people with the words that awaken their dreams and keep the magic of imagination alive.
Or something like that. And despite all these changes, she still possesses that intense and passionate spirit that takes my breath away.
Every time I work with her, I get a sense of déjà vu.
“Okay, but have you read this?” Pen plops a book with a raven on its cover down on the counter in front of me. “It’s about love, loyalty, sacrifice—”
“And a mysterious society? Yeah, I’ve read it.”
Wide eyes reflect genuine shock at my response. “Oh please. Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I glance around the store, hoping someone will walk in so they can distract Pen from this never-ending game of “have you read.” But, alas, I’m not that lucky.
The store has been beyond slow this month, to the point where I tried to argue that Aunt Gloria didn’t need me here at all. Not that she listened.
“So which one are you?”
“Excuse me?”
Pen sighs dramatically and leans over the counter. It takes all of my willpower to not look at the generous cleavage she’s propping up beneath her v-neck sweater. It’s only been a week and the number of times I’ve thought of those curves outside of work—
“Everyone who reads this series is loyal to one of the guys,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Okay. Let me guess, you like that French guy?”
Pen blushes at my accurate assessment. “So you have read the books! Spot on,” she says, nodding. “To be fair, it’s mostly because of the audiobook. The narrators were—”
Twinkling bells alert us to incoming customers. A group of teenage girls enter, each holding some sort of iced coffee drink. Seriously, in the winter? I’m endlessly chilled to my bones and they’re willingly consuming a freezing beverage. Their giggling and whispering instantly annoys me.
“Go ask them if they’ve read it,” I mumble to Pen.
Truth be told, I need her out of my space.
The longer she trains her attention on me, the closer she physically gets, and I only have so much power over the growing attraction I have to her.
I don’t want or need that distraction, so I’m relieved when she grabs the raven book from the counter and goes over to talk to the girls.
In a matter of minutes, Penelope has the group laughing and following her around the store as she excitedly points out her favorites.
Favorite book boyfriend, favorite “why choose,” favorite whatever…
I can't help but watch her, completely in her element with that stunning smile on her face. She stirs up emotions in me that I'd rather not feel, especially since I just ended a long-term relationship. I guess Penelope has always stuck in my mind, albeit, it’s been a long time since we’ve interacted, and now we work together.
These kinds of feelings just don't belong here.
She glances my way, catching me staring.
My heart leaps into my throat and I immediately look down, pretending to busy myself with paperwork at the register.
I feed some receipt paper through the register and tear off a few inches.
Pen in hand, I glance back up at Penelope, watching her excitement infect the group around her.
She’s so beautiful, but I know she doesn’t see what I see.
Putting the pen to the paper, I scribble some words to distract.
By the time the group brings their books to the register a short time later, it looks like Penelope has outdone herself.
Each of the girls purchases at least three books and all of them— all four of them— giggle and blush and stammer their way through their transactions.
Sometimes I lament working in a romance-specific bookshop.
When it’s back to just Pen and me, she leans against the counter, thankfully not across so I don’t have to pretend not to stare at her chest again.
“Those girls were obsessed with you,” Pen remarks. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and I want to know why, but it’s not my place to ask. That’s too personal.
“They were teenagers.” I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Do you think their parents know they’re reading smut?”
“Not my place.” Penelope laughs, holding up her hands in mock defense. “They were really pretty though, weren’t they?”
Annoyance flares through me. “Didn’t I just say they were teenagers?”
“They’re all in college.” Pen shrugs, as if that makes it any better. “You really didn’t notice?”
Growling, I bite my lip to keep my anger in check. No, Pen, I didn’t notice if they were attractive or not. I never notice any other woman in this store except for you. But of course, I can’t say that.
“I really don’t care.”
Pen tilts her head at me. “How long are you helping Gloria out?”
“Why do you need to know?”
She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s just a question. Didn’t realize I was annoying you today. Oh wait, everyone annoys you every single day.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” My hands form fists in my pockets and I sigh. “Only for a few months.” In all honesty, I have no idea how long I’m staying here in Prairie Ridge. It’s not like I have a place to stay or even a job to go back to in Kentucky. But why does it matter?
“Great. At least you won’t have to suffer in my presence for too long.” Penelope sniffs and I catch a glimpse of her glassy eyes before she spins around, walking toward the back. “I’ll be in the storage room, running inventory. Let Gloria know when she relieves you from your shift.”
Well, I fucked that up. I may not be the most likeable guy and my attitude has gotten me into problems in the past, but I don’t want to be that guy around Penelope.
It’s just that every time she looks at me, I feel like she can see right through my defensive facade.
And I'm terrified of what she might find there.
Besides, I’m working on getting my shit together.
When I’m not working at the bookstore, I’m tinkering with some cocktail recipes at Aunt Gloria’s.
She’s constantly having friends over and they’re the perfect audience for me to test out some new ideas.
I haven’t had the motivation to create since my breakup, but after a few days in Prairie Ridge, I was setting up a bar area in her living room and ordering all the necessary tools.
I can't help but wonder how long I'll stay in Prairie Ridge, but maybe it's for the best that Penelope thinks I'm an asshole.
I think keeping our interactions strictly professional is the safest option for both of us.
But as I slam my fist on the counter in frustration, I realize that, deep down, that's not what I want either.
Everything feels so uncertain and confusing, and I have no idea what I want or where I'm headed anymore.
At the end of my shift, I sneak into the break room to slip the note I wrote on the receipt paper into Pen’s locker. I’m sure she’ll know it’s from me, but I don’t really care. I need her to know.
You don’t need a Frenchman or fiction’s art,
Your passion’s the fire, the butterflies, the spark.