Chapter 23
Monty
Midway through the baking contest, Quinn decided that a food fight sounded like a good idea.
And to be totally honest, it wasn’t a terrible one.
It had us all in fits of laughter—even Henry came out of his shell and hit Quinn square in the face with leftover pumpkin pie filling from the pie that he and Tally had just finished putting together, which is when we called time-out and everyone took their desserts home to bake.
I suggested Penny come back to my place for a late dinner so we could talk and I could shower. While she can borrow my clothes, I definitely couldn’t fit in hers.
As soon as we got here, I grabbed Penny a pair of my sweats.
Then, while I put our crisp in the kitchen to bake later, she went upstairs to change and now she looks beyond adorable in a pair of my oversized black sweats.
She’s had to roll them up like four times because they’re so long on her. But I’m still covered in pie.
“You sure you’ll be okay down here for a few minutes by yourself?” I ask.
Penny doesn’t turn around, her focus entirely on my father’s personal library.
I chuckle. “I guess so.”
She spins on her heel at the sound of my voice, a bewitching blush on her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“Just making sure you’re okay to stay here while I shower.”
She nods absently, her eyes returning to the books. “Do you mind if I light a fire?”
“If you know how to.” I glance at the fireplace set between the dark wooden shelves and nod. “I can do it if not.”
“My dad taught me.”
“Okay. Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”
I rush out of the room before I do something stupid like push her up against the bookshelves and ask her to kiss me again. Fuck, I want to do more than kiss her. Even though it’s a bad idea.
All sense goes out the window when I am around Penny. Hell, even when I’m not around her she’s all I think about.
I have no idea how to navigate what is happening between us, no idea how to make sure Penny doesn’t get hurt. I just know we need to talk about it before anything else happens.
I should be writing. I’ve only got the first act done and I spent the week reading instead of writing.
I’d like to say it’s because I know it will help with the book, but the truth is, I read every word and thought of Penny.
Wondered what she liked. What words would bring about that pretty flush to her cheeks.
What dirty talk would elicit those sweet moans I’ve become addicted to.
Still, for me, nothing has really changed. I’ve always wanted Penny and I still don’t believe love lasts. Though I can’t fix that for myself, I can be what Penny says she needs: A man she can practice on. A man who can help her figure out what she wants in a future relationship.
My jaw tightens at the thought of her with someone else, but I brush it away. For now, she’s mine. Or at least for pretend.
I take the stairs two at a time and rush through my shower.
After I’ve toweled off, I pull on a pair of gray sweats and an old Semisonic shirt, and head for the door.
I pause, glancing at the box of condoms I picked up last week at the convenience store.
I’m still not sure why. Fingers tapping on the wall, I shake my head. I don’t need them.
Before I make it to the top of the steps, I turn back around, rush into my bedroom, and rip the top off the box. Condoms explode everywhere but I don’t take a second to clean them up. I just grab one, stuff it into my pocket, and rush back down the stairs.
I’m hitting the bottom step when my phone rings. It’s my mother. Knowing I can’t put her off, I push any thoughts of the condom in my pocket, and the woman in my library, from my mind. At least for the moment.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Oh my God! Jasper is her fiancé’s stepfather!” My mother’s squeal has me pulling the phone back.
I laugh. “I take it you’ve read the next few chapters.”
“More like devoured. When’s my next installment coming?”
“Spoken like a romance junkie,” I tease, feeling myself relax. It feels good to hear her so excited about my writing. Hell, it’s exhilarating to have anyone interested in what I’m writing, even if it’s my mom.
“I’m serious, Jake. This is different from anything you’ve ever delivered before. I can feel the tension between them. And the yearning? Oh my God.”
Her accent makes it come out more like gawd and I chuckle. God I miss her.
“The 1920s setting, the mafia, the time travel. It’s”—she pauses—“Jake, I have chills. This is the book, baby. I’m telling you, whatever you’re doing. Don’t stop.”
My jaw flexes. “I’ll try my best, Ma.”
“Good. And while you’re at it, mark your calendar because I’m coming to visit the second weekend in October.”
“You are?”
“Yup. I called Gail today, who confirmed there’s a cottage available for me to stay in. Though I’m hoping it doesn’t get too cool at night because apparently there’s no heat.”
Fuck. I drop my head back and sigh. I hate not being able to offer her a room here.
Anger hits me like a sucker punch at the thought. I used to be able to go months without thinking about how my family fell apart, how it tore my life in two. But not in Hope Harbor. Here, the reminder seems to follow me everywhere.
“Okay, Ma,” I say now, attempting to regain a sense of calm. “Send the flight info over and I’ll make sure to pick you up.”
“Will do. I love you, Monty.”
I tell her I love her too before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. I don’t move straightaway, my gaze drawn toward the front door.
“Everything okay?” I hear my father ask.
I turn toward the kitchen and see him setting a cup down in the sink.
“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you up to?”
He’s wearing a dark button-down shirt, which he has tucked into a pair of jeans. His hair is styled back in a wave.
“Heading to dinner with a friend.”
Like a date? I almost ask. I also almost tell him that Mom is coming to visit. “Enjoy,” I say instead.
“Vovo left dinner warming in the oven.” My dad shakes his head as a smile plays on his lips. “She also told me to tell you she’s reading about pirates tonight so please don’t bother her unless the house is burning down.”
I laugh. “Okay.”
My father grabs my shoulder as he passes, squeezing it tight. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Penny’s here.”
His face lights up. “Tell her I said hi.”
Then he heads for the door and disappears for the night. A dull ache forms in my chest as I watch him walk away, but rather than stew over something I can’t change, I rush toward the woman who almost makes me forget about all the hurt I’ve seen love cause.
Even from the hallway, I can feel the heat from the fire radiating inside the library, and the sound of wood crackling. At the hint of the nostalgic scent, tension releases from my body.
But nothing settles me quite as much as the sight of Penny curled up on the small sofa in front of the fire, a book in hand, a gentle smile on her lips. Her hair glows redder than usual, illuminated by the light of the fire, and her cheeks flush my favorite shade of crimson.
“Good book?” I murmur, not wanting to scare her.
Penny’s eyes follow to the end of whatever she’s reading before she looks at me, placing her hand gently between the pages.
“Ah, not a page creaser, then?” I say. “Noted.”
“Never.” She looks serious. “You don’t ruin beautiful books. They’re our friends.”
Fuck, she’s adorable.
Not even sixty seconds ago I was on the verge of spiraling. And, if she wasn’t here, I’d probably have spent the whole night stewing on the past. Reliving things I have no business reliving.
But I’m laughing, walking toward her, itching to touch her.
“Did you see my father has a first edition of The Great Gatsby?”
Penny’s jaw drops. “No freaking way.”
I hold out a hand to help her up. When she sets her soft palm in mine, warmth floods my veins.
I pull her out of the couch, wrapping an arm around her as I guide her to the shelf that houses my father’s most prized possessions.
“Can I touch it?” she whispers.
We both study the books in front of us and I love that this passion is something we get to share with each other.
I’ll never compute how she almost married someone who didn’t understand her reverence for the written word; it makes me crazy to imagine her with someone who could ever make her feel like her interest in love stories is foolish.
For hundreds of years, scholars have studied what it means to fall in love. Poets have tried to capture its essence, authors have attempted to evoke its feeling. To chalk it up to nothing but a silly hobby is just ridiculous.
I pick up the ornate book and pass it to her, captivated by the way she handles it with such care.
“It’s beautiful.” Penny sighs as she stares at it in wonder.
The soft light of the fire illuminates the perfect angles of her face and the gold of her eyes. A stray hair curls against her cheek, and I reach out to touch it.
“You’re beautiful,” I rasp. Those copper eyes find mine. “Tell me to stop.”
Penny shakes her head. “What if I don’t want you to?”
“What do you want?” My breath sounds shaky.
She chews on the inside of her lip nervously but I wait for her to speak. I can’t push her, can’t take anything more than I already have. If she wants this, if she wants me, she has to ask for it.
“Well, we’re clearly both attracted to each other,” she whispers.
I nod.
“And neither of us are seeing anyone else?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
She carefully sets the book on the shelf before turning her focus back to me. “Well, all your dirty talking this week had me realizing something.”
I frown. “Did I take it too far?”
“No, it’s not that.” She shakes her head quickly. “I know what I like to read. But I don’t have a lot of experience of what happens in the books outside of their pages.”
I try to keep my expression neutral as I fight the possessive feeling growing inside me. It’s not as if I have tons of experience—hell, the last week or so has been quite the awakening for me, too—but I want to give Penny Darling everything she needs.