15. Convenient, given your profession
Chapter fifteen
Convenient, given your profession
Evan
This couch isn’t built for good sleep.
My back knows it before my eyes even crack open. My shoulders are stiff, one leg’s half tangled in the blanket. The room is still dim, early light just starting to press at the edges of the curtains.
I don’t move straight away, instead listening to the hum of the fridge and Gus shifting at the edge of the couch. He must have climbed up sometime after Penny left. After I’d had another freezing cold shower and collapsed back here with my thoughts.
This is usually the part where I overthink. Where my brain starts replaying everything, and I get ahead of it by drawing lines and putting distance in place before anything can shift too far.
But the second-guessing doesn’t come. There’s no spike of panic or instinct to build a wall, not with Penny.
My only thoughts are the memory of her in my lap, grinding against my cock and whimpering in my ear when I told her to come for me. The feel of her soft skin under my palms, and the way she told me she wouldn’t run. The look in her eyes when I told her that this wasn’t nothing.
I sit up slowly, resting my elbows on my knees, then decide on another shower. Something to wake myself up this time—I have some time to kill anyway, now that Beck’s enforced a late start.
When I’m out of the shower and dressed, the house has shifted. Music from their kitchen dance party carries down the hallway, and Elle’s voice cuts through at full volume.
“And then if you cut the crusts off like THIS because it makes it more ear-a-dynamic—”
Penny’s responding laugh is bright. “Where’d you learn that word?”
“Uncle Ghost told me.”
“Ah, because obviously we want a sandwich to fly…”
The floor is cool under my feet as I move down the hall, and I stop just in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning my shoulder against the frame.
Penny’s barefoot on the tiles, hair loose down her back, my fire department hoodie swallowing her frame. It hangs long enough to brush her thighs, and my eyes linger there for a moment, realising it’s the same hoodie I’d tossed on the dining chair last night.
Thief.
She’s moving without thinking, swaying faintly to the music as she butters toast and packs Elle’s lunchbox with the kind of unnecessary detail that’s become routine.
Penguin-shaped sandwiches are lined up neatly, and fruit is threaded onto skewers. There’s a folded note with a doodle ready to be tucked carefully into the corner pocket. Gus thumps his tail against the cabinet, hoping one of the two of them will feel sorry for him and sneak him a snack.
Elle is half kneeling on a chair at the counter, narrating every memory she’s ever had.
“And then you put the blueberries on the top because that’s where the eyes go and Daddy always forgets the eyes—”
“I do not forget the eyes,” I say from the doorway.
Both of them turn. Elle beams, and Penny blinks once, then smiles and tries to stifle it by pressing her lips together.
“Morning,” she says lightly.
“Are you critiquing my penguin pancake technique already?” I ask.
“She’s been taking notes,” Penny replies, sealing the lunchbox. “Apparently you’re weak on facial symmetry.”
“That was one time,” I mutter.
“It was three times!” Elle corrects.
Penny reaches for the coffee pot, pouring some into a mug and handing it to me.
“It’s hot,” she says, as our fingers brush.
“I like it hot.”
She glances up with an amused look. “Convenient, given your profession.
I’m not talking about fire, and she knows it. Her eyes hold mine and only move when Elle slides off the chair.
“Penny, can I have my hair in the bunches today?”
“Of course you can,” she replies.
Elle makes a noise of excitement, then barrels into her side, hugging her around the waist, and Penny responds by wrapping an arm around her automatically. She holds her own coffee in her other hand gently, out of harm’s way.
It’s seamless. The way Penny fits here, the way she adjusts to my kid without even thinking.
Elle skitters off to get dressed, and Penny turns back to the counter to finish packing her lunch. She tugs the sleeves of my hoodie up absently with her teeth, then goes back to slicing strawberries.
I try not to watch her.
I fail.
“Coffee’s strong,” she says casually, clearly aware I’m watching. “Thought you might need it after your late night.”
“I’m fine.”
Her mouth curves slightly. “Mhm.”
That sound does something low and warm in my gut, and I step around the kitchen island and close in behind her. She turns as I do, and I take the knife from her hand, setting it down on the counter.
“Did you sleep?”
“Enough,” she murmurs, her eyes flicking over my face. “Did you?”
“Not really. Too many thoughts running through my mind.”
“Callout thoughts?”
“No.”
Her breath shifts, and I lift my hand, brushing my thumb lightly along her jaw.
“You,” I say quietly, eyes locked on hers. “Moaning-in-my-ear thoughts.”
She bites her lip, and as my hand coasts around to cup the back of her neck, her eyes flutter closed.
“I meant what I said,” I murmur, leaning in. “I don’t blur lines for the hell of it.”
“I know.” She nods, leaning into my palm. “And I told you, I’m not gonna run. I’m just… I want you to be sure.”
“You think I’m not sure?”
Her breath shifts. “I think you don’t like losing control.”
I hum. “That so?”
She nods once, and I let my thumb drag down the side of her throat, feeling the way she swallows beneath it. Her palms land on my chest, lightly trailing up the front of my T-shirt without thinking, and I lean in, just enough for my lips to brush the spot under her ear.
“I’m sure,” I murmur against her skin.
She exhales softly, breath tickling the side of my cheek. “Evan…”
Her hands tighten against my shirt, and her hips shift forward a fraction, before she can stop herself. I let my lips brush the lobe of her ear, and when I pull back, her eyes are blown wide.
“Mhm,” I add. “Very fucking sure.”
“Penny!” Elle yells from down the hallway, and we both jump. “I only found one hair clip but it’s the wrong sparkly!”
Penny laughs under her breath, forehead dropping briefly to my chest.
“You’re trouble,” she mutters.
“Mm.”
She nudges me with her hip. “Move.”
The corner of my mouth curves as she brushes past me, letting her fingers drag lightly along my stomach as she goes.
Elle calls out again. “Pennyyyyy!”
“Coming!” She glances over her shoulder at me and smirks, but I take a sip of coffee and lean back against the counter instead, not taking the bait.
Elle is still yapping about sandwiches and hair clips down the hallway while Penny laughs and talks brightly, helping her find the right sparkly. Gus whines, circling my legs, hopeful for some crumbs.
And I’m standing in my kitchen, listening to a woman who could complicate my life beyond repair, and make it feel full again.
***
Elle insists on carrying her own backpack and then hands it to me halfway down the driveway.
“It’s heavier today,” I tell her, weighing it in my hand.
“I put three rocks in it,” she replies. “For ’mergencies.”
My brow furrows as I look down at her. “For what emergencies?”
“In case of wolves.”
Penny laughs beside me, and Elle darts ahead, hopping along the edge of the sidewalk like it’s a balance beam.
I open my mouth—
“Careful, bug!” Penny calls. “Walk on your side, please!”
“Okay!”
I glance down at Penny as Elle corrects course immediately. She doesn’t even realize she did it. Penny keeps her eyes on Elle, smiling lightly, and her shoulder brushes mine as we fall into step.
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to walk Elle to school, and due to the later start, I jumped at the chance. Especially as it meant more time with Penny, too.
“On Sunday,” Elle starts, bouncing back toward us, “we need chocolate chips for the penguins because penguins deserve treats.”
“Fair,” Penny agrees, grinning as Elle skips ahead again.
“She also thinks broccoli deserves treats,” I add.
“That’s optimistic of her.”
“You’re encouraging this.” I glance at her. “And I’m outnumbered.”
She tilts her face toward me. “You seem to be coping.”
My eyes lock on hers. “I’ll manage.”
There’s the faintest color in her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away until Elle stops dead in front of us and spins around.
“Daddy, can we take Penny to the lake this weekend too?”
Her question catches me off guard, because the lake has always been ours. Mine and Elle’s place after hard weeks and long shifts and custody meetings that left both of us wrung out. Somewhere quiet enough to breathe again.
Somewhere safe.
I look at her, then at Penny. “If Penny wants to, sure.”
“Penny do you want to?” Elle grabs her hand. “It’s our special spot, and we skim stones and make wishes and Daddy always loses at skimming.”
“I do not lose.”
“You do!”
Penny glances at me before turning back to Elle. “I’d love to. Sounds fun.”
Elle lets out a noise that shouldn’t be possible before eight a.m. and bolts ahead again.
“You sure?” I ask quietly as we walk.
“Yeah.”
Our hands brush when the pavement narrows and instinct says pull back—but I don’t. My hand finds the small of her back, and I guide her ahead to the safer side.
Elle skids to a stop at the school gate and turns around, backpack bouncing against her spine. “Don’t forget the big blanket! The thick one! And bring the new thermos for the hot chocolate because that other one made it yuck.”
“That was one time,” I call back.
“It tasted like soup—oh!”
She darts back to hug Penny first, then throws her arms around my waist and squeezes tight. Then she’s gone, swallowed into the noise of the courtyard, and we stand there a for a moment, watching her go.
“She’s very clear on your picnic shortcomings,” Penny says.
“I’ve kept her alive for five years.”
“She sounds unconvinced.”
I glance at her. “You taking her side already?”
“I always take the side of the small and loud.”
A laugh rumbles through me, but she keeps her eyes on the school door until the kids have all filed inside.
“That lake,” she says lightly. “It’s special, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “There’s a spot on the far side, been going there ever since Elle was little.”
Penny glances at me. “You take her there a lot?”
“Whenever things got loud.” I shrug slightly. “After bad shifts or custody bullshit—days where she missed her mom and I didn’t know how to fix it. Sometimes we’d just sit there for an hour, throwing rocks into the water and not saying much.”
“Sounds like an important place,” she says quietly.
I look ahead toward the school instead of at her.
“Yeah,” I admit after a second. “It is.”
There’s a pause, and she exhales slowly.
“Well then,” she says. “Guess I’ll bring better hot chocolate.”
I smirk, and we start walking back toward the house, slower now without Elle tugging us forward.
Our hands brush again as we walk side by side, but neither of us pulls away.