Chapter 10
Monty
I can’t believe I almost kissed Penny Darling. I can’t believe I asked her to be my fake girlfriend. I can’t believe how badly I want her to say yes.
Somehow I’d managed to play it off like I was completely calm. Like I’d just been making a point. I know how to hit on a woman. I know how to leave a reader wanting. I could write fucking romance if I wanted to write romance.
Which I don’t, for the record.
But if I wanted to, I most certainly could.
Instead of proving that point to her, though, I have given myself something else to obsess over.
How to describe what it would have been like to kiss her.
How to put into words the way I felt with her pulse thrumming beneath my fingers.
How with just a brush of my lips against hers I’m hooked.
If she said yes to this fake dating thing, we’d have to kiss, right? Then I’d know exactly how she tastes.
Fuck.
I’m supposed to be writing a book, not fantasizing about the girl I’ve wanted to kiss since I was seventeen.
It turns out, however, that repeatedly clicking the top of a pen does not magically help ink to flow onto the page. Leaving my life in the city to seek out a change in scenery doesn’t seem to be doing anything for my creativity.
Maybe Penny is right. Maybe I don’t know how to write a fucking book.
As if she can hear my internal musings, my phone lights up with a call from my mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, honey, how’s it going?”
I push back from the table and stand, pacing the length of the kitchen. After having breakfast with Vovo, I stayed to work here. The view from this spot of our long lawn leading out to the harbor felt like the perfect calming space to write.
But it’s been two hours and all I have are some adjectives down on the page and a semblance of an outline for a story I can’t quite bring myself to start.
I blow out a breath. “I can’t write.”
“You can,” she replies quickly. “You’re just putting too much pressure on yourself. Remember, Jake, you need to experience some real life in addition to writing about it. Maybe the best thing for you is to go outside and live.”
I chuckle. “That’s your big agent advice?”
“That’s my mom advice. It’s not time for you to talk to your agent yet. You don’t even have a book to pitch.”
“Mom!”
We both laugh and the tension in my chest loosens a little.
“How is Hope Harbor? Have you been by Tally Darling’s new bakery? I heard it’s fabulous. Oh, and how’s Penny? What’s her bookstore like? I bet she could help you with plotting. That girl was always nose-deep in a book.”
“Mom, take a breath,” I tease. “I haven’t been by the bakery but I’ll make sure to check it out and let you know. As for the bookstore”—I smile—“it’s just as charming as you’d imagine. You’d love it.”
“Oh, I’m sure I would. And what about Penny? How is she?”
“She seems good,” I tell her. What I don’t tell her is how delicious she smells, or how soft her lips looked last night.
And I definitely don’t tell her how the only thing I’ve been able to think about is how much I wanted to kiss her.
I must have written that scene at least ten times in my head since dropping her off last night.
I can imagine every sensation—how her breath would have hitched right before our lips touched, how she’d have tasted of crisp apples with a hint of orange.
But what I don’t know is how she would have responded.
Would she have whimpered in surprise against my lips?
Would her tongue have tangled with mine?
Would she have fisted my shirt and tugged me closer?
Perhaps wrapped a hand around my neck and pulled at my hair?
“Well, please let her know I said hello,” my mother continues, dragging me from my thoughts.
“Will do,” I choke out in response.
“All right, honey. I’ve got to run. But take care and remember what I said. Go get some fresh air. Live a little.”
“Okay, Mom, I will.”
I hang up and am still smiling when I turn around to find my father standing in the entrance to the kitchen.
“Hey,” I say, feeling caught off guard.
“Was that your mother?” he asks, careful not to look me in the eyes.
“Yup. She was just checking in.”
My dad walks farther into the kitchen, reaches for the coffee, and pours himself a cup. “And how’s she doing?”
“She’s good,” I say slowly. It’s not easy between me and my father.
There are so many things I want to ask him but don’t know how; like why he keeps all our old family photographs hanging in the living room, or why my mother’s favorite tea is still stocked in the cabinet.
And, most importantly, why he so easily threw away their marriage.
But I’ve never had the balls to go there, so I change the subject. “Have you ever gone to the book club at Penny’s store?”
My father glances at me quickly before grabbing a spoon and stirring his coffee. “No. I try to avoid Babs and Rayna as much as possible.”
“Don’t ever do it,” I warn him as a memory of Rayna grabbing that cursed blue silicone toy pops into my head.
“Okay,” he replies with a half smile. “I’m going to take the boat out, if you want to join me?”
He finally lifts his eyes to mine, his expression more relaxed.
Almost hopeful. Probably because we’re no longer talking about my mother.
I still find it so strange how two people could spend over two decades together—build a life and a family together—and then just stop talking.
I’ll never understand love, and I’m done trying.
“I really have to get some writing done.”
My dad bobs his head, clearly disappointed but trying to hide it, and goes straight for the door. “All right, I’ll see you later, then.”
I consider calling after him and saying I’ll go. But then we’d be stuck on a boat for hours together and it would be just as uneasy as this conversation. God, why are relationships so difficult? Why can’t I even talk to my own father?
He’s barely gone sixty seconds when Vovo appears. “Amor, I forgot the chicken for dinner tonight. I’m going to run to the store quickly, though I have flowers being delivered. Can you listen for the door?”
“Want me to run to the store? I don’t mind.”
“No. A estadia.” Stay. “I go.”
I don’t argue. When she starts talking in Portuguese, she means serious business.
Besides, I should be writing. No matter what my mother says, the only way this book is ever going to get written is if I just start putting words on the page.
Even if the words are awful. Even if I rip them up later. At least they’ll exist.
But I do take my mother’s advice on one thing: I draw on my own experience to craft the first chapter—or rather on Penny’s, since I’m writing from the female perspective.
I find myself laughing as the story comes more easily—about a time-traveling woman slipping into a wedding dress in the present, only to find herself topless in a bootlegger’s bedroom in the 1920s—when I hear a familiar voice. “Ana?”
I blink and rub at my eyes; I’ve written ten full pages. My blood pulses and I feel a bolt of excitement I haven’t experienced in a very long time.
“Ana!”
Shit. I rush to the front door and swing it open.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to register that the person standing in front of me, holding a gorgeous bouquet of yellow sunflowers, isn’t a dream. She’s not from my memory, or my imagination. Nope, Penny Darling is very real.
I wonder if there’s a scientific explanation for why every time I set my eyes on Penny’s, that buzzing in my brain quiets. Maybe it’s the copper color. It hypnotizes me. I’m caught in her amber glow.
I also wonder if she’s thought about last night as much as me.
“Monty?” Her confused tone brings me back to the present.
And what a present it is. Smiling, I take her in.
From the red bandanna that is trying and dramatically failing to contain her thick bangs, to the long loose braid that hangs against her breastbone.
It brushes back and forth as she shifts, a spot where I’d like to run my fingers, and maybe my tongue.
Fuck, there I go again. What is wrong with me? “Sorry, I was in the writing zone.”
“Ah, I remember those days.” Penny’s face lights up. “I would have whole conversations with you about something I’d just read and you wouldn’t hear a single word. You’d be so far into your own writing world.”
“Sounds like I was a terrible friend.” I laugh as I hold open the door for her. “Why’d you stick around?”
Penny pulls her lip between her teeth as she pauses at the door. “There’s a serious underappreciation for dating in silence.”
My brows rise in question and she smacks a hand over her face. “Not that we were ever dating. I’m talking about friend dates. Friendly dating?” She shakes her head and groans as her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of red. “Please ignore what I just said.”
“Does that mean you’ve thought about my offer?”
Penny’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head dramatically. “I wasn’t— You didn’t— I’m sure you weren’t serious.”
I chuckle and press a hand to her back, steering her toward the kitchen. “Relax, Xuxuzinho, it’s just me.”
“Exactly,” she mutters.
Once we’re in the kitchen, I hold out a hand to take the flowers as Penny glances around the space. “Where is Vovo?”
“She just ran to the store.”
She frowns, handing over the bouquet before pulling her green T-shirt away from her chest. “Is it hot in here? Gosh, I can’t wait until the weather finally cools down.”
I shake my head with a chuckle. She’s adorably flustered, and I love it. It makes me feel better about how my own heart is racing being this close to her. “Would you like a drink? Maybe something cold?”
“I should go.” Penny glances back toward the door. “Like you said, you’re writing.”
I know I should be writing, but I don’t want her to leave, either.
“I was actually thinking about going to write down by the water,” I say before adding, “under the maple tree.”
I wonder if she remembers all the afternoons we spent beneath the old tree. All the bonfire nights when everyone else gathered around the flames while I slipped away to find Penny beneath the crescent moon, a book in her hand, wishing for just a few quiet minutes by her side.
There’s a serious underappreciation for dating in silence.
Is that what she meant?
I risk a glance at her now, watching as her golden eyes drift toward the backyard. “Oh yeah?”
“Would you maybe want to sit out there with me while I write?” I ask. “I know you used to like reading under the tree.”
Penny looks back at me, and I watch as her shoulders settle. “I have to get to the store.”
“Right. Of course.” Dumb idea. She’s got a real job and it’s not keeping me company. “Could we talk about last night before you go?”
Penny’s gaze drops and she kicks her boot against the floor.
“Is this about the photo of us in the town chat? It’s fine.
If we ignore them for long enough I’m sure something else will come up and they’ll move on.
Or I can just take Eli up on his offer and pretend to date him.
No need to get you involved in any more of my mess. ”
I don’t even know what she’s talking about but fuck if I want that to happen. I walk toward her until we’re toe to toe, then tap my boot against hers. When she lets out a quick breath, like she’s bracing herself to look up, something snaps inside me. I’m doing this all wrong.
With the gentlest touch I can manage, I press my finger to her chin and tip it up until those golden eyes meet mine.
I drop my finger and step back. “What’s in the town chat, Xuxuzinho?”
“You didn’t see it yet?”
“No, there were too many messages. I silenced it last night.”
She laughs but there’s no sound, just a huff of air. “Your first mistake. Or the smartest thing you’ve done since you got here.”
No, that’d be almost kissing you.
I should have done it. Should have pressed my lips to hers. I could do it now. Could answer all these questions swirling in my head, how she’d taste, how she’d react, what would happen next…if I’d take that leap.
I don’t, though. I just look at her for a beat. Penny is striking. Her molten eyes, contrasting so beautifully with her auburn hair, shine like jewels. Her expression always tells a story, every thought etched across her face. She’s always thinking, always dreaming.
Penny shifts and steps closer before she reaches into her jeans and pulls out her phone. Her elbow bumps against mine and she offers me a conciliatory smile before scrolling through her texts.
I try not to be nosy and look at the other names in her phone—try being the operative word—and I’m pleasantly surprised when I only see Tally, Mom, the town chat, and another chat with Rosie and Tally.
So no Eli…
“I’ve probably gotta scroll up a bit,” she says before darting a quick glance in my direction, then she’s biting on that lip again, her focus on the screen until she comes across a grainy photo of her and me almost kissing. “There it is.” She winces.
If I stare at the way Penny seems to be leaning into the kiss, submitting to it, I’ll be completely hard in Vovo’s kitchen. That is something we can’t have happen, so I blow out a breath and step back. I have to clear my throat. “You have to admit we look pretty convincing.”
Penny’s head snaps up, attention fully on me. She takes a step to the left and I take a step to the right until we’re staring at each other. Again. “So, you really meant it? About the fake dating?”
She tilts her chin and those copper eyes swirl in the light of the kitchen to a hypnotizing honey.
My lips fall open and I shake my head, unable to form a single word.
What even are words when they fail me like this?
They can’t explain this feeling that’s had me in a choke hold since last spring—the urge to reach out, pull her close, press my mouth to hers, and maybe lose ourselves behind my bedroom door.
And because I can’t say any of that—because I can’t admit that I need her in ways I can’t explain—I do the next dumbest thing.
“I can’t stop thinking about what you would have tasted like if we kissed.”