Chapter 18
Monty
Penny: Hi, any chance you’re available to stop by the store later this evening for your next lesson?
Penny: I’ll even give you your own books so you don’t have to steal your vovo’s
Me: Only if you promise to never mention my vovo’s reading proclivities to me again.
I’m still trying to shake the chill from my body after learning about that and it’s been hours.
Penny: Deal. Seven o’clock work? That’ll give me time to scarf down some dinner before you get here. Plus, it should be pretty quiet in the store.
Me: Or I can bring you dinner and cover the register in case anyone comes in. How does apple cider pork roast and mashed potatoes sound?
Penny: oh my god, I’m literally drooling right now.
I chuckle as I stare at her message, then shoot her a quick one back telling her I’ll see her at seven.
Six hours later, Crock-Pot in hand, I head to her bookstore.
As a bachelor, I learned that the Crock-Pot is my best friend.
I couldn’t afford to go out for dinner every day of the week in New York, and the great thing about a Crock-Pot is you can just throw in a bunch of ingredients, let it simmer for hours, and when you’re done, you have food for a week.
And it made the apartment smell delicious.
I always loved Crock-Pot days and though Vovo glared at me the entire time I prepared this meal in her kitchen—“that’s not cooking, amor”—I enjoyed preparing dinner for Penny today.
Could I have asked Vovo to make something? Sure. But I wanted to do this for Penny. I’m not even going to consider why.
The second I enter Bonfire and Bliss, my heart rate increases. It smells of a perfect autumn evening: like cinnamon and sugar mixed with a touch of fresh apple.
I spot the candle responsible for the scent near the register as I search around for Penny.
“Welcome to Bonfire and Bliss Books,” she hollers from somewhere in the back. “I’ll be right there!”
I set the Crock-Pot down on a counter and browse the shelves while I wait.
Every time I’ve visited the store, I’ve noticed a new detail: the golden-leaf design that decorates the burgundy shelves, or the navy crushed-velvet chairs for customers to curl up in, or the Edison-bulb chandelier that casts a warm glow over the entire space.
Today, I focus on the books she’s placed on a shelf labeled Owner’s Favorites.
There’s nothing quite as intimate as insight into what Penny Darling reads; it feels more personal than knowing the color of her panties, more telling than the words she gives me.
Knowing what books she escapes into is like being given a portal into her mind—one that will show me what makes her tick, or gets her off.
I rough a hand over the scruff of my jaw and growl.
I shouldn’t be thinking about getting my best friend off.
Still, I find myself picking up each individual novel and flipping through them.
There’s a rom-com by Julie Rose that I knew would be there.
A historical romance I’m unfamiliar with, and a book with a mask on the cover that surprises me.
When my eyes drop to the second row and I spot my name—on not just one, but six of the spines—I squeeze my fists into tight balls by my side.
Why does she have my books on her favorites shelf? I know for a fact that she thinks my books are a mess—she told me so. Plus, Penny strictly reads romance, and these books have none of that. Though a part of me glows from the inside at seeing my name in her store.
“Oh, hi.”
At the sound of Penny’s voice, I turn, unprepared for how damn good she looks. Pulling my hand up to my mouth, I graze my teeth along my fingers and bite down on my knuckles to stop myself from saying something I might regret. Like “Please, can I kiss you?”
Normally, Penny is in sweaters or baggy overalls. Normally, I can’t see the swell of her tits or the freckles that cascade down between her cleavage. Normally, she isn’t wearing a halter top that molds to her skin, coupled with a pair of tights that cling to her thighs.
Head tilted to the side, Penny frowns at me. “You okay?”
“You just— I— You—” I wave at her, unable to explain what she is doing to me.
The last fucking thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable.
Penny is my best friend in this town—and best friends don’t look at each other like they’re starving.
But fuck if I’m not ravenous for Penny Darling right now.
Her lips tip up in an amused smile. “You’re acting weird.”
I nod, working hard to swallow through my tight throat. “You look nice.”
“Thank you.” Penny’s face settles as she gestures to where she came from. “I was just in the back going through some books. Let me grab my sweater and then we can eat.”
I nod again—still unable to string a sentence together—as I watch her disappear behind the counter and then return with a sweater. Even with it on, I can still see that delicious cleavage, though it’s slightly easier to breathe when there aren’t miles of skin on display.
“I was just looking at your books.” I tilt my head to the shelf I was just perusing.
“Oh yeah? See anything you want to read?” she teases.
Clearing my throat, I turn my head to the far side of the store, debating whether I should ask why my books are on her favorites shelf. Though I’m not sure I can handle the answer right now. Not after my brain just malfunctioned so spectacularly.
“Is there a method to your madness?” I ask instead.
For the next ten minutes Penny gives me a tour of each shelf, explaining how she’s separated the books by trope rather than genre.
“Most stores will have all the dark romance in one section and the spicy small-town in another. But honestly, though I love reading all types of romance, I don’t love every trope.
” Her auburn hair bounces as she guides me through the store.
“Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true. If a book is written well, even my most hated trope can be redeemed. ”
“And what’s your most hated trope?” I ask, unable to hide the smile on my lips.
“Ugh.” She rolls her teeth over her bottom lip. “Surprise pregnancy at the end of a book when it’s used to bring a couple back together. I don’t mind pregnancy, in fact I love it—especially when it’s not his baby.”
I cough out a laugh. “What?”
“You know, when it’s another guy’s baby who she’s not with and the main character steps up for both of them.” Penny shivers. “That’s hot.”
“Got it. Okay, no pregnancy to save the couple but yes to other men.”
She lets out a throaty laugh. “That’s not what I said…” Her eyes drift to the Crock-Pot and she groans. “I’m sorry, I’m starving. I know I promised you another lesson, but can we eat and talk at the same time?”
I chuckle as I press my hand to her lower back, guiding her toward the food. “Of course.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re seated at a little golden bistro table, an apple cinnamon candle setting the table aglow, full plates in front of us.
Alongside my Crock-Pot, I brought some sparkling apple cider spiked with prosecco.
After handing her one of the plastic champagne flutes I grabbed at the market, I hold mine up to her. “To the best fake girlfriend around.”
She snorts, taps her glass against mine, and then hums after taking a sip. “God, this all looks so good. Make sure you tell Vovo I said thank you.”
I allow her to take the first bite—a mixture of the creamy garlic mashed potatoes and apple cider pork roast—and then listen for her pleased moan before replying.
“Oh God,” she says as she licks the corner of her lip and digs in for another bite. “That is fucking orgasmic.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I take a bite and am pleased at how my creation turned out. “But Vovo didn’t make this. I did.”
“What?” Penny doesn’t hide her shock. “Damn, Monty, this is incredible.”
Warmth rushes through me at her praise and I have to look away. Penny Darling is too beautiful right now and the sounds she’s making at my cooking…goddamn.
“I’m being serious,” she continues. “No man has ever cooked for me like this. That’s, like, book boyfriend stuff. You’re better at this whole romance thing than you give yourself credit for.”
“Your ex never cooked for you?” I hedge.
Fork in hand, she pauses, likely catching the grit in my tone.
“No.” She frowns. “He didn’t do much of anything for me.”
I turn my attention back to my food to avoid voicing what I’m really thinking. Like, Why the hell did you agree to marry him, then? And, What the fuck is wrong with this guy?
I know Penny is a sucker for love and determined to find her own happily ever after.
But what I don’t understand is how she didn’t recognize that someone who couldn’t even do the bare minimum wasn’t worth her time.
She grew up witnessing her father always going above and beyond for his wife.
How could she expect anything less for herself?
As if sensing my judgment, Penny moves to fill the silence.
“Dick only cared about what affected Dick. If his mom was coming to visit, he’d arrange for dinner—though most of the time, I’d take care of it.
” She rolls her eyes. “Lot of good that did me, that woman hated me regardless of how much effort I put into our relationship. I was never good enough for her son.”
My jaw aches from clenching it so hard.
“But the truth is…” She sighs. “I was never good enough for him—”
“The hell you weren’t,” I growl, unable to stop myself.
Penny takes a deep breath and shakes her head.
“I mean, from his point of view. I know I’m too good for him. Or at least that we weren’t good for each other.” She shrugs. “He hated this place. Hated my obsession with books. Believed I cared more about my stories than real life.”
I scowl. “But books are everything to you. Why would he even consider dating you if that bothered him?”
“He also hated fall.” She snorts as she takes another bite, her lips curling into a smile at the taste.
“But you love fall!” I exclaim, incredulous. “It’s like your entire personality.”