Chapter 6
SIX
march
DOMINIC
“Dominic, this cocktail is absolutely wonderful!”
one of my aunt’s friends, Margaret Peachwood, declares from where she’s sitting at the table, playing bridge with the ladies.
“The ladies” is how Aunt Gloria refers to herself, Margaret, and their two other friends, Eva and Jo. Seeing my aunt with her friends, enjoying a Saturday afternoon, makes me happy.
“Thanks, Mrs. Peachwood.”
“Oh please, call me Maggie, dear!”
I don’t consider my aunt to be old, but her friends are at least ten years older than her, and they’re certainly old. It doesn’t feel right to call Mrs. Peachwood by her first name, not when I remember the way she would swat my hand away from the dessert table at the barbeques growing up.
Aunt Gloria declares it’s time for a break before their next game begins. She wanders over to the bar spot I’ve unofficially set up for myself in her living room.
“Mags is right, Dom. This one is fabulous.” Aunt Gloria runs a hand over the bottles I’ve used: bourbon, crème de cassis, Campari. “What are you going to call it?”
“Penelope has been talking about starting a dark romance book club, so I was playing around with some ideas. This one I’m calling the Velvet Thorn.”
“Ohhh.” Aunt Gloria’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “You know, I’m so glad you’re still creating these things.” She raises her glass to me before taking a sip.
Shrugging, I move some of the bottles around just to give my hands something to do.
Aunt Gloria has always supported my interest in creating cocktails.
My mom tells me it’s a waste of time and talent, that I could be creating real art and sharing it with the world.
But there’s something about the science behind creating these drinks, the subtle touches and flair that transform simple elements into something beautiful.
If all I’ll ever be is a ”lousy bartender,” my mom’s words, at least I’m committed to something that makes me happy.
“There’s something I want to ask you about.” Aunt Gloria sets her glass down.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to say anything right away,” she begins, and I can feel my nerves twitch up, “but about the store… I want you to consider taking over it for me.”
What? My eyes snap to hers to confirm she’s not saying this with a smirk, not making a joke. She’s not smiling but her expression is sincere. “Aunt—”
“Just… think about it, okay? I’m not cut out for these Midwest winters anymore. And you… well, just think about it.” She reaches out, placing her hand on my cheek, a loving gesture that shakes me from my stunned silence.
My aunt turns and walks away with a determined stride, leaving me to process her unexpected request. Take over the bookstore? The store that she poured her heart and soul into creating?
Fifteen years ago my uncle passed away while commuting from work, when the gate arm at the railway crossing failed to lower and his car was struck by the passing train.
The wrongful death suit against the train company provided my aunt with enough funds to quit her mundane nine-to-five job and open Ever After, her dream bookstore.
Beyond being a fun and caring aunt, Gloria is brave and courageous as hell. Starting over in her sixties couldn’t have been easy, but she took the challenge and ran with it. Asking me to take over the store feels like a privilege and an honor that I don’t deserve.
My brain is going a million miles a minute and I need something— anything to just calm me down. Picking up the bottle of bourbon, I begin to make another drink. Calling over to the group, I ask, “Anyone need a refill before I head out?”
The snowflakes are thick and heavy as I trudge along, and I can't help but curse the seemingly endless winter.
When will this snow ever stop? As I walk, the sun begins to set, casting a cool orange glow on the horizon.
Unfortunately, the clouds carrying this cursed white substance above us block our view of it.
As I round the corner, Penelope’s house comes into view, a familiar shape half a block away.
I’ve only been here once before—after she vanished from Trivia Night, when I coaxed her address out of Aunt Gloria.
I told myself I just wanted to check on her, to be sure she made it home.
But the memory tugs at me now: Penelope framed in the glow of her front window, hair knotted into a hasty bun, drowning in soft pajamas.
The sight had lodged in my chest and hasn’t quite let go.
I probably should’ve driven here, given how cold it is with the snow, and the fact that the drink shaker in my hand is giving me frostbite. But I need some time to process the bomb Gloria just dropped on me. She did it so casually too. Why are people like that? It’s distressing.
Pen’s house is adorable. There’s no other way to describe it.
Somehow it's like a physical representation of her. She lives in a small bungalow with soft-yellow siding and white trim. Landscaping is sparse, but I don’t peg Pen for having a green thumb.
A small, one-car garage is attached to the side of the house, and I can see her in the big front window.
She’s perched in what must be a window-seat, with a pillow behind her back, her legs stretched out in front of her, and a sleepy dog sprawled over her legs. And of course, she’s reading a book.
The sight gives my heart a wistful tug. Pen doesn’t notice as I walk up her front path, step up on her front stoop, and ring her doorbell. Her dog gives a half-hearted “woowoowoo” before falling quiet.
“Oh! I wasn’t expecting you,” Penelope says as she opens the door. “Come in, it’s cold out.” She ushers me into the small entryway. When I say small, I mean so small that I have to duck slightly so I don’t knock into the light fixture hanging above us.
I take quick stock of her living room— the window seat, as I expected, a small sofa, coffee table, and dog bed fill the space.
Piles of books are everywhere— the floor, the end table, the coffee table— and yet not a bookshelf in sight.
The sleepy dog hasn’t moved from his space on the window seat; he’s lying on his back, paws in the air, looking at me upside down with a goofy grin on his face.
“Oh, that’s Carl.” Penelope laughs, stepping over to give the dog some belly rubs. In response, Carl’s tail goes thump thump thump against the window.
“He’s cute.”
My eyes land on Pen and, damn, it’s really hard not to blatantly stare at how beautiful she looks. She’s wearing pajama pants, an oversized sweatshirt, and her dark-blonde hair is twisted up in a bun on top of her head.
She’s so damn beautiful it hurts.
“You can take your shoes off,” Pen says, gesturing to the mat in the entryway.
Shaking my head, I say, “I’m not staying.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” She crosses her arms over her chest and bites her lip. “Why are you here?”
“Do you have a glass?”
Confused, Pen furrows her brow. “You walked all the way here to ask if I have a glass?”
Sighing, I hold up the drink mixer. “So I can pour this out?”
“Er, yeah. Sure.” She disappears down the long hall to the end, where I’m assuming the kitchen is. Cabinets open and close, there’s some shuffling, and then Pen shouts, “Do you need a specific glass or—”
“Any glass will do.”
Within a moment, Penelope’s striding back down the hall and I have a sudden urge to set down the drink mixer and take her into my arms. She looks so warm and soft.
I wonder if I wrapped my arms around her and buried my nose in that spot on her neck, what she would smell like?
If I sucked the skin there, what noises would she make?
“Dom?” Pen holds out the glass.
“Right, just hold it there.” I give the mixer a few solid shakes before slipping off the cap and pouring the drink into the glass she’s holding.
“Ooooh! This looks beautiful. Is that… are those glitter sparkles in there?” Pen’s eyes light up as she holds the glass up, seeing the edible glitter floating around in the drink.
With the drink mixer empty, I pop the cap back on and shove it inside the interior pocket of my jacket. “Yeah, I thought it would make it really…” I trail off, losing my focus as Penelope trains her admiring smile on me.
“Gorgeous. It’s gorgeous, Dom.”
For a beat, we stare at each other. Clearing my throat, I motion to the glass. “Try it.”
“Oh, yeah.” She lifts the glass to her lips and tilts it back, and I am captivated by her subtle movements— her delicate lips parting, eyes closing, eyelashes fluttering, and her throat bobbing as she swallows.
All of this alone makes my cock semi-hard, but then she goes and moans. “Mmmm, wow. That’s incredible.”
Penelope Elizabeth Adams, you kill me in the best possible way.
Jerking my chin in an appreciative thanks, I avoid her gaze as she takes another sip. “I was thinking of calling it the Velvet Thorn. If you, ya know, wanted a signature drink for your dark romance book club. Or whatever.”
“Oh!” Understanding in her expression, Penelope nods. “Oh, wow, Dom. That’s… this is… you didn’t have to do that. But thank you. Wow, it’s so good.”
Another beat and I turn toward the door, ready to leave before I say or do anything to make this more awkward than it already is. What was I thinking? Walking over here, in the cold and the snow, and asking her to drink this?
“Wait!” Pen’s hand on my arm pauses me, and I turn back toward her.
She’s close now, so close. She’s set her drink down on the coffee table and when I turn to face her, she puts both her hands on my arms. A telltale blush graces her cheeks and I know whatever she’s about to say will probably be totally random but so authentically Pen.
“Do you remember when you kissed me? That last summer?”
Just as I expected, completely unpredictable. My throat tightens as I force myself to agree with a small nod. Memories of that last summer flood my mind, and I push them away quickly. For a while, I thought it was the end for Penelope and me. It simply hurts too much to think about.
“That was my first kiss. Ever. Did you know that?” Her hands are still on my arms and I’m finding it difficult to not reach for her and pull her close.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice lower than usual.
“It’s been a long time,” she whispers, stepping a fraction closer, “but, from what I remember… this drink tastes like that to me. Like, the memory of that kiss. Is that crazy?”
My heart races as I gaze into her shimmering eyes, feeling the strong energy between us that has grown in recent weeks. Does she feel it too? I can't control my actions or my racing thoughts. "No. But maybe we should find out for sure," I say hoarsely, barely keeping up with my own words.
Pen licks her lips, giving the slightest nod— that’s all the permission I need.
Taking her face in my hands, I lean down and claim her mouth.
It’s soft, tentative at first, as I capture her top lip between my own.
Flicking my tongue along the seam of her lips, she gasps in delight.
With her mouth open, I take full advantage, slipping my tongue in, stroking along hers.
Her grip on my arms tightens as she moans into my mouth, and I'm grateful for her touch anchoring me to this moment.
This isn’t the shy, soft kiss of thirteen-year-olds. It’s sure, steady, and full of a pull I can’t ignore. The strength of it leaves me a little unsteady, but Pen’s hands anchor me. When we finally part, we’re both a little breathless, caught somewhere between surprise and certainty.
“It’s the same,” she whispers. Desire blazes in Penelope’s eyes, and I know, I know, I need to leave before I let this go too far. Damn Penelope and her random thoughts.
Dropping my hands from her face, I reach for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I grumble, forcing the mask back on. I’m the human equivalent of Kevin spilling chili all over the floor on The Office. Penelope is too good for me. Always has been, always will be.
I’m on the sidewalk before Pen shouts out from her stoop, “Dominic Miller! I got a question for you.”
Not pausing, I turn, walking backward. “What’s that?”
“Do you like me?”
"A little bit." Her smile grows wider and she tilts her head, waiting. “A lot.”
“Ditto.” Then, she gives me a small wave before slipping back into her house, shutting the door.
And with that, I begin my journey back home, my hands deep in my pockets as I trek through the rapidly falling snow. Strangely enough, despite the shitty weather, I feel warmer than when I arrived.