Chapter 8
EIGHT
april
DOMINIC
Within a few weeks, I’ve marathoned through four audiobooks. Penelope never gave me further recommendations, but she didn’t need to; I simply searched online for more romance books with the same narrator and kept on listening.
I’m not a fool— I’ve never seen Pen as flustered as she was in the back room that day. And while it was fun playing with her, there was more truth behind that stunt than I’m ready to admit. She’s not the only one holding back on how she’s feeling.
Penelope was always on my mind, even after years of being apart.
I never expected to see her again, but as my life in Kentucky fell apart and I found myself living with Aunt Gloria…
well, here we are. And now she's constantly on my mind, whether she's physically at the store or not.
I want her to be mine, but I can't shake off this feeling that I'm not in a good place right now and I don't know how long I'll be staying. Plus, if she had her eye on a loser like that Andrew guy then I don’t think I’m what she’s looking for.
I continually make mental lists in my head— reasons to stay in Prairie Ridge and reasons to go.
No matter how many reasons populate the “leave” list, all it takes is a moment thinking of Pen, being in her presence, and the “stay” list becomes unbeatable.
But it wouldn't be fair to get involved just to leave in a few months. My indecision and, let’s face it, the fact that I’m just not a good enough man for her are holding me back from pursuing anything with Pen.
And yet… I’m incapable of leaving her alone. The thrill I get from making her blush, hearing her stammer or the way her breath catches is indescribable. I’m not willing to give that up.
Add to all that the fact that at least if I’m here I can keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s being treated right by the next idiot she sets her sights on.
“What are you listening to now, lover boy?” Grace smirks at me as slips on her coat, umbrella in hand. The weather has been unpredictable lately, varying between sleet and cold sheets of rain. Another reason on my “leave” list— the fucking unpredictable weather in the Midwest.
“Ha. Ha.” My laugh is forced and empty. My gaze flicks to where Pen is busy clearing a corner of the store for some display.
She arrived an hour ago, energized to put this spontaneous display together tonight.
I missed many of the details since she was speaking so quickly— bags of supplies rustling as she headed to the back room.
“If you must know, I just finished a shifter romance that had a bit of a darker edge to it.”
“Ooooh boy, you are really diving deep into audio, huh?” Grace laughs. “I could never get into audio. I prefer hearing the voices in my head.”
“Ah, that explains a lot.”
“Huh?”
Clearly missing my attempt at humor, I wave her off. “Nevermind. Have a good night, Grace.”
She gives me a puzzled look, still unable to grasp the joke about voices in her head, and heads out the front door with a wave to Pen.
The store has been quiet, but given the weather outside, I’m not surprised. No one wants to be out in the freezing cold rain. I look over at Pen again, unable to contain the flurry of anticipation simmering in my gut at being alone with her to close tonight.
“Do you need any help?”
Penelope shifts the display table further into the corner, then steps back, arms crossed and her head tilted slightly. She’s so engrossed in whatever vision she’s having for this display, she clearly didn’t hear me. Abandoning my post at the register, I walk over and stop just behind her.
Her dark-blonde hair is wavy today; I’m overcome with an inexplicable urge to reach out and run my hand through her tresses. Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and repeat, “Do you need any help?”
Pen jumps, her hand clutching her chest as she whirls around to face me. “Were you trying to give me a heart attack?!”
“That’s the second time I asked,” I point out, unable to resist smirking at her. “You’re entranced by this… whatever display you stormed in here excited about.”
She puts her hands on her hips. Today she’s sporting her self-proclaimed “comfy, casual, cool” look: a hoodie, leggings, and boots. It’s a look that I both love and hate– love because she looks so comfortable in her own skin, but hate because it hides her incredible curves.
“The display is supposed to be themed ‘Love Is In Bloom.’” Pen returns her contemplative gaze to the table.
“So once again, I must ask… do you need any help?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She sits down on the nearby couch with a huff.
“This is going to sound stupid, but I had an amazing dream about this display. It was so perfect and clear in my subconscious. I was so excited to get here and get started on it but now…” Pen trails off, gesturing vaguely towards the clearly unfinished display and putting her face in her hands.
Resisting the urge to sit down next to her and wrap her in my arms (because I am absolutely, definitely not that kind of guy), I stand stiffly with my hands still in my pockets. “Well, you don’t sound stupid.” As if she ever could. “But, uh, I think you’re overthinking this, Pea.”
Pen looks up at me with a dazed expression. “I don’t think you get it. Gloria hasn’t said anything directly to me, but I run the numbers too.” She bites her lip before admitting, “We aren’t doing great. Financially, I mean.”
Damn. I sort of had the feeling, given that a romance bookstore is a niche concept in and of itself. Is that why Aunt Gloria mentioned me taking over the store? Why would she want to give me something financially wrecked? As if I’m not mentally and emotionally wrecked enough on my own.
“You really care about this place, huh?” It’s something to say, but it’s still an obvious-as-hell statement.
“Yeah, I do. I know I don’t own the place, but… this is like my home.” Her voice wavers and I worry for a moment that she’s about to cry. It’s not that emotions make me uncomfortable, but when Pen is upset like this, I’ll do anything to snap her out of this mood.
“So you wanted to make a display for the corner window?” Pen nods, her eyes glassy.
It’s a brilliant idea— a corner window display will target people walking down busy Main Street, as well as the slightly less busy 3rd Street.
It might actually be the busiest intersection in all of Prairie Ridge, if we’re talking foot traffic.
Taking my hands out of my pockets, I clap them together, making Pen jump.
“Then let’s make the best damn display ever. ”
“Really?” Pen sniffs, though she hasn’t allowed any tears to fall. “You’ll help me with this?”
“I know I can be a sarcastic, cranky asshole most of the time.” Pen rolls her eyes but a hint of a smile crosses her face. “But if it matters that much to you, Pea, then it matters to me,” I say, holding out my hand to her.
She eyes my hand for a moment before reaching for it, allowing me to help her up from the couch. For a moment, we stand close to each other, toe to toe, far closer than casual co-workers who happen to be friends.
Pen licks her lips. “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but where should we begin?”
Narrowing my brows in confusion, I ask, “I thought you had a dream? Some concept of a plan?”
She giggles– the most adorable fucking sound, not that I’d ever admit it out loud. “I did. I do. Until I got here and realized it’s harder to make shit happen in reality than it is in my dreams.”
We’re still standing far too close; my hands itch to touch her, to hold her. So, naturally, I take a big step back. “Let’s start with a sketch of your dream, hm? And then we can take the creative journey to reality together.”
And for the next few hours, Pen and I sketch out the display, evaluate the craft supplies she brought, as well as random things hidden in cabinets in the break room we can repurpose, and pick out our favorite books to stack on the table.
The hours fly by as we lose track of time, completely absorbed in our conversation and creating the perfect display.
Pen's vision comes to life before my eyes: a pale-blue tablecloth with papier-maché "flowers" scattered across it, and a large puffy cloud hanging above, with iridescent "raindrops" dangling from it. It’s impossible not to be in awe of her creativity and attention to detail.
“Can you lock up the drawer?” Pen asks, giving the display a hard look.
“Sure. Then are we out of here?”
She glances at her watch and yelps. “Shit, yes. I’m sorry! There’s just one last thing I want to do…”
Shaking my head, I busy myself with pulling the register and taking it to the back room to lock it up in the safe. When I return to the store floor, Pen is standing on top of the old, shaky ladder we found in the back, reaching up toward the puffy cloud above the display.
“Pen!” I can’t help but shout in alarm, which causes her to gasp, losing her balance.
It’s like time stands still as she teeters but it’s the stillness that gives me time to race across the floor. Pen slips off the ladder, falling sideways, right into my arms. My heart races as I look down at her, her eyes are closed tight, clearly bracing herself for impact.
“Are you okay?” I breathe. Pen nods, not opening her eyes or moving a muscle. She’s stiff in my arms, and yet so, so soft. “I’m going to help you stand now. Are you ready?”
“Mhmm,” she squeaks as I help her upright.
“Breathe, Pen. I’ve got you.” With my hands still wrapped around her, I go to rub her comfortingly, but freeze as I realize her hoodie and tank top have ridden up on her left side. My right hand touches Pen’s bare skin, and this realization hits her at the same time, her eyes popping open.
“Oh,” she whispers, staring up at me, her hands fisting the sides of my shirt. “You caught me.”
“Yeah, of course I did.”