Chapter 2 #2
She turned fully then, brows raised. “You brought backup cake?”
“Always come prepared,” he murmured.
From the living room, Betsy fanned herself with the TV remote. “Ain’t no shame in a man fightin’ for what he wants.”
Baron didn’t take his eyes off Penny. “Exactly.”
Penny’s gaze softened. Her hand brushed against his as she moved the vase to the table, the touch electric.
And in that moment—standing barefoot in her kitchen, with soup on the stove and Betsy smiling like a benevolent goddess—Penny realized something bone-deep and terrifying:
Baron wasn’t just here for lunch.
He was here for her.
And the scariest part?
She wanted to let him stay.
Not just for the meal. Not just for the afternoon.
But for everything after.
* * *
The afternoon sunlight slanted through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the honeyed wood floors of the house, where laughter and the faint clink of glasses stirred the stillness.
Penny stood in front of the hallway mirror, breath shallow, fingertips gliding down the fabric of her sage green wrap dress.
It hugged her curves in all the right—and terrifying—places, pooling just above her knees like it had been made for soft confessions and even softer regrets.
She turned left. Then right. Sighed.
“Okay. This is fine. Tu vas très bien,” she muttered, bracing both palms on the edge of the hallway table.
“Mommy!”
Matilda’s high voice rang out from the living room. Penny turned to find her daughter cross-legged on the couch, eyes shining like polished onyxes, clutching her stuffed rabbit like a royal scepter.
“You look like a fancy princess.”
Penny chuckled, trying not to let her nerves show. “Oh yeah? What kind of princess?”
Matilda beamed. “The kind who goes on dates and fights crime in heels!”
“Ah, une princesse badass,” Penny teased. “Got it.”
From the kitchen came Esther’s voice, dry and melodic: “As long as she’s home by midnight or else she turns into a pumpkin with Sallie Mae debt.”
“Ma!” Penny groaned.
Esther stepped into view, wooden spoon in one hand, head wrap twisted high like a crown, and her “Spicy Women Raise Strong Daughters” apron tied tight at the waist.
“Je dis juste la vérité,” Esther said, eyes dancing. “You look incredible, but don’t lose your mind just ’cause the man’s got shoulders like a statue and a jawline carved by the Lord Himself.”
Matilda gasped. “He does look like a statue!”
Penny covered her face. “Y’all are too much.”
Esther waved her spoon like a wand. “And you’re glowing. GLOWING, chère. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Penny turned back to the mirror, dragging in a deep breath. Her curls had cooperated for once, swept to one side in a cascade of defiance and elegance. Her makeup was light but sculpted—cheekbones lifted, lips soft and glossy. She looked…dangerous. And it scared the hell out of her.
Because Baron Jones wasn’t just anyone.
He was deliberate. Wickedly smart. More intense than a hurricane held in check by prayer. And tonight, he was taking her out on their first real date.
She was about to spiral when a knock echoed through the house—firm, even.
Right. On. Time.
Three sets of eyes turned to the front door.
“C’est lui!” Matilda squealed, launching off the couch with the grace of a sugar-powered ballerina.
“Act like you’ve got some home training!” Esther called.
Penny pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach and opened the door.
And there he was.
Baron stood like he owned the dusk, tall in dark jeans and a navy blazer, white shirt open at the collar, golden hair tousled like a romance novel cover sprung to life.
In one hand, he held a white pastry box with gold trim.
In the other—a bouquet of deep red ranunculus and soft white lisianthus tied with a silk ribbon.
“Bonsoir,” he said, voice so warm it wrapped around her like velvet.
Penny stared for a beat, blinking. “You clean up nice.”
Baron tilted his head, eyes raking over her with unabashed reverence. “You look like heartbreak in heels.”
Penny’s mouth parted. Words abandoned her.
“Dr. Jones!” Matilda squealed.
He knelt smoothly, grinning. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle Matilda. I brought you something.”
He opened the box just enough for her to peek. Her gasp was theatrical. “Loukoumades?!”
“You remembered,” Penny said, her voice softening to something unguarded.
Baron stood and handed her the bouquet. “I remember everything.”
Her heart fluttered against her ribs. She inhaled the blooms—honeyed, summer-warm, and laced with something unfamiliar. Dangerous in the best way.
Esther appeared in the doorway, arms folded, grin as smug as a woman watching her matchmaking unfold.
“Well, now,” she drawled. “If that box doesn’t have a little baklava in it for me, I’m calling the cops.”
Baron lifted the box like a gift offering. “Extra honey, extra noix. Just for you, Madame Esther.”
“Ooooh,” Esther crooned, taking it like it was gold. “Bon gar?on. You can teach a man manners.”
Matilda twirled into the house, already planning her pastry arrangement.
“Want to come in for a minute?” Penny asked, stepping aside.
Baron followed, eyes scanning the cozy chaos—art on the fridge, toys under the couch, the scent of simmering epis clinging to the air. He smiled.
“I like it here,” he said.
“It’s… chez nous,” Penny replied.
Esther passed by with her plate of sweets, tapping Baron’s arm. “Make sure she eats. And no funny business until the third date. Minimum.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She’s been through the fire,” Esther added, her tone dipping into steel. “Don’t come into this house unless you plan to stay.”
“I don’t do temporary.”
Esther stared at him, nodded once, then disappeared.
Matilda reappeared with one perfect loukoumade. “I saved this for you, Mommy.”
Penny knelt, kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Merci, bébé. You’re the sweetest.”
Esther clapped. “Allez! Go. Enjoy yourselves. Me and Tilly are about to have a spa night, storytime, and paint our toes.”
“You sure?” Penny asked.
Esther rolled her eyes. “I raised you, didn’t I?”
Baron opened the door. His hand was warm, steady on her lower back as she stepped outside.
“Bye Mommy! Bye Dr. Jones!” Matilda called. “Don’t forget to bring back a story!”
Baron glanced over his shoulder, grin crooked. “She’s getting a happy ending, I promise.”
Esther’s voice chased them: “She better not be getting that kind of happy ending!”
Penny groaned. “Maman, vraiment?!”
The door shut behind them to the sound of cackling.
Baron glanced sideways as they approached his car. “Your family’s… vibrant.”
“They’re a handful,” Penny said.
He smiled. “They’re perfect.”
Penny looked up, cheeks flushed, eyes soft. “So are you.”
* * *
The restaurant buzzed with quiet conversation, the clink of silverware, and the sultry pulse of a jazz trio playing from a shadowed corner. Candlelight flickered between the wine glasses, dancing in gold across the tablecloth, but it was nothing compared to the glow on Penny’s skin.
Baron sat across from her, transfixed. Her sage green dress clung to her curves like sin—like it had been custom stitched by temptation itself.
The neckline dipped just enough to drive a man mad, but it wasn’t the dress that undid him.
It was her smile. It was the way she leaned in, elbows resting on the table, as if this moment was hers to savor.
Her laugh wasn’t just warm—it was infectious, rich, and real, turning heads from nearby tables.
She looked like a dream. But more than that—she looked like herself. Relaxed. Open. Soft in a way that made Baron feel like he’d won something he didn’t know he’d been fighting for.
And he couldn’t stop staring.
“You’re staring,” she teased, brow arched with amusement.
Baron leaned back, the corner of his mouth tugging up with that low-simmer charm he wore like second skin. “Can you blame me?”
Penny rolled her eyes, but the heat that climbed her neck told him exactly how much she liked it. She ducked her head, biting her lip.