19. I’m not scared of dinner with you #3
“And for the record, if I thought you were the kinda person who ruins things or brings bad luck, I wouldn’t have brought you anywhere near my daughter.”
She sits with that for a moment, then she smiles softly again. The string lights hum faintly overhead, and someone laughs across the room. A fork scrapes against a plate. And Penny’s foot drifts slowly up and down the inside of my ankle.
When we eventually step back out into the night, it’s with the kind of buzz that lingers after good food and better company.
The air’s cool, and Maplewood town square is quieter. Penny walks beside me, her shoulder brushing mine every few steps, and I reach out to take her hand.
We’re halfway down the street when the town clock starts. The first chime cuts through the quiet, echoing across the square. It’s loud enough to turn the heads of the few people left out, but most just keep walking, used to it.
Penny pauses mid-step, looking up toward the tower.
“No way,” she says, a smile pulling at her mouth. “You brought me out specifically so the clock could strike midnight, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I deadpan. “I spent all week planning it.”
“Thought so.” She laughs, but it fades into a softer sound as she shifts her weight.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, but these”—she lifts one foot slightly, wincing just enough that I catch it—“were a tactical error.”
I glance down at the heels. “Took you this long to realize?”
“I was committed to the fit,” she says. “There’s a difference.”
She steps out of one heel, then the other, balancing herself with a hand on my arm. The relief shows immediately in the way her shoulders drop.
“Better?”
“So much.”
She takes a few steps barefoot, slow under the cool pavement as she gathers both shoes in one hand. But as she swings them lightly at her side, one slips loose. It hits the pavement with a sharp little sound and skids a few inches ahead of us.
She stops. “Woops.”
I bend to pick it up, my thumb brushing over the heel before straightening. Delicate little thing. Looks breakable as hell.
“You want this back?” I ask.
“Thought I might leave it,” she says lightly. “See if some mysterious stranger picks it up and tracks me down.”
I take the other shoe from her hand and tuck both heels into one of mine before she can protest, then slide my other arm beneath her knees.
“I’ll save him the trip.”
Her eyes crinkle with amusement, but then blow wide when I lift her clean off the pavement. It’s easy. She’s already leaning into me before her feet leave the ground. Her arms come up around my neck, fingers curling at the back of my shirt as she steadies herself.
“Evan,” she says with surprise, her breath catching on the edge of a laugh.
“You said they hurt.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I got you, Pen.”
“Wow,” she murmurs. “You’ve really leaned into the whole Prince thing, huh?”
“Don’t start.”
She smiles against my shoulder. “It’s very heroic of you.”
“Occupational hazard,” I mutter.
“Mm. Carrying me home after midnight. Next, you’ll be talking to woodland animals.”
“I’ll put you down.”
Her chuckle skates across my neck. “No you won’t.”
She shifts slightly to get comfortable, her head tipping closer to mine. The movement presses her thigh more firmly into my hand, and I can feel her breath warm where it ghosts across my jaw.
“Careful,” I say quietly. “You keep moving like that, we’re not making it back home.”
She huffs a soft laugh. “Charming.”
We walk like that through the quiet streets, the last of the clock’s echo fading behind us. Her fingers trace idly along the back of my neck, but she’s quiet.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” she whispers.
My grip adjusts under her thighs, pulling her a fraction closer. Her body shifts so easily against mine, and it settles somewhere deep inside. That feeling.
The one I haven’t felt in years. But this time, I’m not running through worst case scenarios or mapping out how to make this work. It just is.
Her head dips to rest lightly against my shoulder again, and this time, I turn my head just enough to press my mouth briefly to her temple.
When we arrive home, I push the door open with my shoulder, step inside, and kick it shut behind us. The sound echoes louder than it usually does, but tonight it doesn’t matter.
I don’t put her down straight away, and she doesn’t ask me to. I just stand there in the entryway with her still in my arms, the space between us narrowed down to breath and heat and the slow rise and fall of her chest against mine.
Then she shifts just enough to look at me, and something changes.
My hand slides from under her legs to her hip as I lower her to her feet, but I don’t step back. Don’t give her space to reset. And her hands stay resting on against my shoulders, so I know she doesn’t want that either.
My other hand comes up, fingers brushing along her jaw, tipping her face up slightly as she exhales.
“Evan—”
I back her up a step without breaking eye contact. Then another. Her spine meets the wall with a soft thud, and I lean in, close enough that she can feel the warmth of my breath on her skin.
“Lights stay on,” I murmur.
And then I kiss her.