16. Say goodnight to me again
Chapter sixteen
Say goodnight to me again
Penny
By Friday afternoon, the kitchen smells like garlic and butter and something faintly sweet from the cherry tomatoes blistering in the pan. I’ve got pasta water rolling behind me, and steam fogging the kitchen window just enough to blur the view of the street.
The late light comes in sideways this time of day, softer than it was an hour ago, catching the specks of grated cheese I never quite wiped off the counter earlier.
“Can I stir?” Elle asks, already reaching.
“You can stir if you don’t redecorate the floor,” I tell her, sliding the wooden spoon into her hand.
She stands on the little stool by the stove, her face serious and shoulders squared.
Gus lies stretched across the doorway as if he’s decided this is where the action is.
The house feels full and there’s no hesitancy anymore, or pause where I check myself before reaching into a cabinet like I’m intruding.
I know where things are, and I know how the tea towels get folded. I know Elle won’t eat the cherry tomatoes unless I cut them in half first and cook them for long enough that they basically caramelize.
That’s the part that gets me.
I don’t trust myself not to get in the way eventually, to ruin something. Or push too far without realizing until it’s already shifted. I don’t trust that when the cracks appear, I won’t make them worse because I’ve seen how quickly things turn.
With my mom, then my dad. With everything that came after.
Except this doesn’t feel like something I’m passing through. Elle doesn’t feel temporary to me. She’s my best friend. And Evan…
“Smells good,” Elle announces, leaning over the pan to peer in.
“Thank you,” I say, nudging her back with my hip. “Don’t inhale the steam, though. That’s how you lose your eyebrows.”
Her gasp is immediate. “You can lose eyebrows?”
“Yup,” I confirm solemnly.
She studies me for a second to see if I’m joking, then laughs when she decides I am.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and I wipe my hands to grab it, while Elle wanders off to the living room. She wanted to play dress-ups this afternoon after school, so I dug out my silver heels to let her dress up in, too.
Frankie Monroe has added you to Badge Bunnies
Frankie: Welcome, slut.
Remi: Ignore her. Hi.
Me: I’m sorry, what is this?
Frankie: It’s our group chat
Frankie: For us. No firefighters allowed
I stare at the name again.
Me: Badge Bunnies???
Remi: She changed it from my previous suggestion
Frankie: It’s iconic and you know it.
Me: I refuse to be referred to as a bunny
Frankie: You’re absolutely a bunny
Remi: You’re definitely a bunny
Me: I hate both of you
Frankie: Be that as it may… Girls night tonight. Don’t argue.
Remi: 8pm, Neverland. The badges finish at 7. We’ve earned it.
A small smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it, and there’s another buzz before I’ve even typed back.
Frankie: And wear something cute!
Me: You twisted my arm. So long as Gwen’s recovered from her trial-trauma
Remi: She’ll be fine. Heels mandatory, FYI
Me: Heels? Why
Frankie: Because we wanna know what Evan thinks when he sees you in them
Me: what?
Remi: He’s being weird and we have a theory
I stare at that last message for a second too long. Weird. That’s definitely one word for it.
Me: I am not your guinea pig in heels
Frankie: No, you’re right.
Frankie: You’re our bunny in heels
Remi: Your carriage awaits at 8, bb!
I snort under my breath. Suspicious, that’s what they are. Suspicious in the way women get when they suspect something but haven’t quite said it out loud yet. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
Elle’s in the living room when I glance over, parading carefully across the rug in my silver heels and a princess crown.
“Look, Penny, they make me taller than you!”
“That is factually incorrect,” I reply as I move toward her.
She wobbles as soon as she turns, and my hands come down automatically to settle at her waist.
“Small steps,” I murmur.
Her fingers curl into my shoulders, and I steady her without thinking. The warm weight of her leans into me, and for a split second, an old memory brushes against the edges of the moment.
My mom crouched in front of me, her hands at my hips. The way she’d laugh when I’d wobble and try to stride ahead anyway. It’s not as vivid as it used to be, but the feeling is still there. The gentle, familiar tug. I let it sit in me for a moment and smile softly.
Elle takes another careful step and beams at me.
“You’re amazing,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says, completely serious.
I laugh and press a quick kiss to her hair before guiding her back toward the couch to swap the heels for socks and turn on an episode of Science with Dahlia.
When I return to the stove, my phone buzzes again, and my stomach reacts to his name before the rest of me catches up, which feels deeply unhelpful.
Evan: You guys eating at home?
I lean against the counter, thumbs hovering. It’s such a normal question, but none of this feels normal.
Me: Yep. Just cooking. Your child has been aggressively supervising my spaghetti bolognese.
There’s a pause, and I picture him wherever he is—maybe wiping down the truck, maybe halfway through equipment checks. Maybe he’s just back from a call with all the station noise around him.
Evan: Good luck with that. Don’t let her boss you around
Me: Too late, I’ve lost control of the household
A beat passes, then three dots appear, and my mouth tips at the corner despite myself.
Evan: Only took you about two months
Me: In my defense she’s extremely persuasive
Evan: She learned from you
I snort softly under my breath.
Me: Wow. So this is how it is now? I slave over your stove and get accused of corruption
Evan: You let her put extra chocolate chips in pancakes the other day, Pen
Warmth curls low in my stomach at the nickname, and my mouth curves immediately.
Me: Yeah well, she’s thriving
Evan: And unionizing
Evan: All going well we’ll be out at 7, should be home on time
Home.
Me: Good. We’re eating soon so she’s not feral by bedtime
Evan: Appreciate it
I turn to place my phone back, but it buzzes again in my hand.
Evan: You good?
The question is simple, but it doesn’t feel casual, and I hesitate for just a breath.
Because yes. I am good.
But I’m also highly aware of how thin the line feels right now. Of the lines we’ve already crossed, and how easy it would be for something to tip from contained into complicated.
I don’t want him to blur something and regret it later, and I don’t want to be the woman who makes things messy for him or for Elle. Still, he’s told me he doesn’t blur lines for just anyone, and somehow, I’ve made him bend that rule.
The kiss on the couch happened a couple nights ago now, and we haven’t really touched each other again. Not properly, at least.
We’ve flirted, he’s cupped my face or brushed his hand against mine. There’ve been lingering looks, and his hand on the small of my back. My skin smelled like his cologne after he passed his hoodie to me when I got cold yesterday morning.
But there’s been no time for more. No space or privacy to finish whatever started that night. All it took was a couple of late nights and early starts at the station, and suddenly it’s been days, and we still haven’t spoken properly about it.
Me: Yeah. All good here
Me: Frankie and Remi want to kidnap me at 8pm
There’s a pause, and the typing bubble jumps around on the screen for longer than I think it should when I finally receive his reply.
Evan: That’s great, you should go
My shoulders loosen a fraction. Of course he’d say that. He wants me to have a life here, to feel like I belong. To have fun and friends that aren’t only orbiting his shifts and his daughter.
It shouldn’t mean anything. That is a normal thing to want for someone.
But it does anyway.
Me: I will
Evan: See you soon, Pen
I stare at the screen for a second too long, then lock it and set it face down. The kitchen feels the same as it did five minutes ago, filled with garlic and steam, and now Dr. Dahlia’s voice, drifting in from the living room.
Except underneath it, there’s a new awareness. Of the way I notice him and the way my stomach will dip when he walks back through that door at seven.
Of how reckless and careful I want to be.
Careful not to rush or assume. Careful not to build something he might decide he shouldn’t have started.
Reckless, because I want him to anyway.
“Is Daddy home soon?” Elle calls.
“Soon,” I call back.
Soon.
***
The front door opens just after seven, with the familiar scrape of it catching slightly before it shuts. Elle’s head pops up from the couch, my heels dangling off her toes.
“Daddy!”
He steps inside with that end-of-shift heaviness he never complains about, boots thudding once on the mat before he toes them off. His hair’s flattened slightly from the cap he’s had on, and he runs his fingers through it lightly.
“Hey, bug,” he says, tossing his cap onto the table on the way through.
He spots me over her head a second later. It’s subtle, the way his gaze pauses, then travels down my body and up again.
“Smells good in here,” he adds, bending to kiss Elle’s head before she runs back into the living room.
“Saved you some,” I say, nodding toward the stove. “It’s still warm.”
He steps into the kitchen, close enough that I catch the faint trace of smoke and clean station soap clinging to him. His hand brushes mine when he reaches for a plate, and neither of us comments on it.
Elle patters in toward him, her flannel penguin pajamas wrinkled, and my silver heels clacking loudly against the floor.
“Look!” she announces proudly, pointing to her feet.
He looks down, then up, then back down again.
“You’re about six inches taller than you were this morning,” he says dryly.
“I know.” She beams. “Penny let me.”
His eyes flick to me at that, because Elle’s still in my heels, but I am very much not in penguin pajamas.