19. I’m not scared of dinner with you #2
“Because we could just order in,” I suggest. “Or I could just have you for dinner.”
Her laugh is louder this time, and her palms land on my chest. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to wine and dine me.”
“Mm.” My mouth moves to her neck. “And then the rest.”
She pushes lightly with a snort. “Make a wish and it might come true.”
I grin against her skin, letting my hands linger at her waist for another second before forcing myself to step back.
“Dangerous thing to say to a man already reconsidering reservations.”
Her cheeks are faintly pink, and it immediately makes me want to find out just how hard I can make her blush. But she bites her lip and smooths her hands over her dress again, and I recompose myself enough to grab my keys and wallet from the counter.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Depends.” She glances up at me beneath her lashes. “Are you planning to behave in public?”
“Not a chance.”
That earns me another laugh as I open the front door and guide her through first. When we step outside and walk down the path, I keep my hand at the small of her back and don’t even think about moving it.
“You’re very handsy tonight,” she murmurs as we reach the sidewalk.
“Can you blame me? I’m on a date… with my girlfriend.”
She huffs a quiet laugh, but something softer crosses her face before she leans closer into my side. And that’s the part I savor the most.
***
The restaurant’s warm when we step inside, the air carrying the smell of garlic and something sweet baking in the back. String lights are woven through the beams overhead, soft enough that everything feels a little blurred around the edges.
They tuck us into a corner booth, close enough that our knees knock the second we sit down. She doesn’t move hers away, and I don’t either.
I watch as she traces the edge of the menu with her fingertip, chewing lightly on her bottom lip in concentration. It’s distracting as hell.
“What?” she says without looking up.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
“I like to know what I’m committing to.”
“It’s pasta, not a mortgage.”
She glances up with a smile. “You’d be surprised how seriously I take carbs.”
“Oh, I remember. You took about forty-five minutes to order a pastry at Flora’s that first morning.”
Her eyes sparkle as I share that memory, then she looks back down. When the waitress comes over, Penny hesitates between two dishes.
I watch her, amused. “Get the mushroom tagliatelle.”
Her brows lift. “Bossy.”
“Do you trust me?”
“With food?” she asks, her expression shifting.
“With anything.”
There’s a pause as her eyes hold mine before dropping back to the menu in front of her, then she closes it and hands it to the waitress. “Alright. I’ll trust the firefighter.”
After the waitress leaves, my knee presses into hers a little more firmly, and I reach out to stroke my thumb lightly over the inside of her wrist.
“You can trust me, Pen,” I say back just as quietly. “Promise.”
Promise.
She nods, and the conversation flows easier after that. She tells me about a teacher she had once, who insisted everyone in class write letters to their future selves. She gestures when she talks, hands moving through the air as if she’s shaping the story into life.
I find myself watching the way her fingers curl, the way her eyes light up when she’s animated.
“You’re staring again,” she says eventually.
“I know.”
She laughs, pink heat creeping into her cheeks. “What’s so interesting?”
“You.”
Her smile falters just slightly at that, but her foot hooks around my ankle and stays there. I let my hand slide along the table again and thread my fingers through hers, stroking gently.
“This feels dangerous,” she says.
“Dinner?”
“This. You. The way this is so easy.”
I tilt my head. “Explain.”
She shrugs lightly, but her fingers stay tucked against mine.
“It’s kinda scary how simple this all feels,” she says. “And how easily I might get used to it.”
An old reflex kicks in for half a second, the urge to make a joke and deflect. Or to remind her that easy things don’t always stay easy. But I let it pass.
“Easy doesn’t mean fragile, though,” I tell her instead.
She searches my face. “You’re not scared?”
I lean forward slightly, closing the space between us. “I’ve been in burning buildings. I’m not scared of dinner with you.”
“Show off.” Her mouth curves slowly, watching me carefully. “You’re not scared of much.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah? What scares you?”
“Time.” I hold her gaze and swallow once. “Wasting time.”
Her brow furrows. “How so?”
I lean back against the booth, thumb still stroking over the inside of her wrist.
“In my job, when things go bad, they go bad fast.” The restaurant noise hums softly around us.
“You learn pretty quickly how much can happen in thirty seconds, a minute. Five… There are moments where you’re standing outside a scene knowing somebody’s inside, and every second matters.
” I shrug once. “Sometimes you make it in time, sometimes you don’t. ”
Her fingers flex faintly against mine.
“And with Elle…” I exhale through my nose. “Kids grow up while you’re at work. One day, they’re obsessed with penguins, and the next, they don’t need you to tuck them in anymore.”
She smiles softly at that.
“But yeah,” I admit. “I think wasting time scares me more than most things.”
Penny sits with that for a moment, eyes dropping briefly to our joined hands.
“Yeah,” she says lightly. “Leaving before things go bad saves everyone a lot of time and trouble, too.”
The comment catches me off guard, and I frown.
“What?”
She blinks like she doesn’t even realize she's said anything odd.
“I just mean some things are better in small doses.” A shrug. “Like glitter… or me. It can be unlucky to hold on for too long.”
Absolutely fucking not.
Her words hit me hard, because all I can think about is Penny standing barefoot in my kitchen every morning, twirling my daughter while she belly laughs. Penny asleep against my shoulder on the couch. Penny sitting between my legs at the lake while the world fell quiet for a minute.
I don’t want any part of Penny in small doses.
My hand tightens around hers before I can stop it. “Penny.”
“What?” she asks, smiling faintly like I’m being dramatic.
“Who told you that?”
Her expression flickers for half a second, and she laughs softly under her breath then looks down at the table.
“My stepmother used to say I wasn’t really lucky…” Her gaze stays fixed on the table now. “That bad luck followed me around.”
“That’s bullshit,” I spit, and her eyes flick back up to mine, startled slightly by the force of it. “She just buried that idea so deep in your head, you think it’s true.”
She looks away again.
“My mom died, then my dad. Then the company…” Her voice softens further. “Buildings failed, people got hurt. My relationship imploded.” She huffs a small laugh. “My stepmother said I was the common denominator.”
The common denominator.
Jesus Christ.
The guilt in her voice twists inside me, because I recognize it like for like. She thinks she should’ve been able to hold everything upright with her bare hands.
“She sounds like an asshole.”
“She wasn’t wrong all the time.” Penny traces the condensation on her water glass. “I mean… things do tend to go bad around me eventually.”
A sharp irritation moves low through me, because it’s obvious she’s heard this shit so often, she doesn’t even hear how cruel it sounds anymore.
“Penny, listen to me carefully.” I wait until blue eyes meet mine. “You’re not a curse because terrible things happened to you. Your mother’s death wasn’t your fault, and neither was your dad’s. Or the company falling apart, or your cheating ex being a piece of shit.”
My grip tightens around her hand before I even realize I’m doing it.
“You’re not responsible for all that just because somebody spent years convincing you that you are.”
The restaurant noise hums around us, but her eyes stay on mine.
“And if something matters?” I lean forward again, holding her gaze. “You don’t avoid it because you’re scared it could hurt someday.”
Her breath catches softly, and for the first time since this conversation started, she doesn’t immediately try to deflect it away.
“You really believe that?”
“Yeah, Pen, I really do.” My thumb strokes once over her knuckles. “And you know what firefighters do when something matters?”
“What?”
“We run toward it. Even if it’s dangerous, even when we’re scared. If it matters, it’s worth the risk.”
Here eyes bounce between mine.