Chapter 1
PENNY
“I forgot to ask, has anyone farted in your face yet this week?”
As soon as my question’s out, Mitch’s smile stretches into a wide grin. Chuckling, he replies, “As a matter of fact, yes. Just this morning.” He sets his fork on his dessert plate and leans forward as he adds, “It was a bad one, too. Probably an eight out of ten on the toxicity scale.”
“An eight out of ten?” I widen my eyes in mock amazement. “That does sound pretty bad.”
It’s not that I’m endlessly amused by people farting. I’m thirty-three-years-old, after all, not thirteen. But I discovered early on that it’s a question guaranteed to make Mitch laugh, which is why I ask it so often.
Mitch laughing is one of my favorite things.
His entire face lights up with it, taking years from his features. His eyes lighten from chocolate brown to sparkling amber. His already-deep voice somehow dips even further, setting off flutters of excitement in my belly.
And his smile? It’s impossible to resist. No matter how bad my day might have been, no matter what I’ve been worrying about, his smile makes everything better.
So at least once a week, I regress to a teenager and ask Mitch if one of his patients at his chiropractic practice farted on him, which happens far more often than I would have imagined.
A few months ago, when I voiced my surprise, he explained, “It’s natural, when I’m doing some of the adjustments, that some trapped air might be released. It startled me the first couple times it happened, but now I’m used to it.”
Suffice it to say, if I ever need chiropractic work, I won’t be going to Mitch. If I let a stinky fart rip in the face of my friend slash sort-of-boyfriend I’d fling myself off the nearest cliff out of sheer humiliation.
“It was pretty traumatic,” Mitch agrees solemnly. Then he reaches across the table and takes my hand, his much larger fingers wrapping around mine.
The laughter in his eyes shifts to something softer. More affectionate.
“The only thing that got me through,” he continues, “was the thought of seeing you tonight.”
My heart jumps.
My breath catches.
I’ve seen that look in his eyes more and more often over the past month. It’s a look that clearly says he wants more than what we have right now.
When we went on our first date six months ago after more than a year of dancing around it, I told Mitch I wanted to keep things casual. “Dates are fine,” I told him, “but I’m not looking for anything long-term right now. I’m just not ready.”
Six months ago, he readily agreed. “Of course,” he assured me. “We’ll take things as slow as you want.”
Maybe it was naive of me to think he’d be okay keeping things casual indefinitely. But then I’d remember how reluctant my previous boyfriends were to commit, and I just assumed Mitch would be the same way.
But I should have known better than to lump Mitch in with the losers I dated in the past. Guys like Davis, Glenn and Mark—cheater, liar, and drug-addicted cheater, respectively—were nothing like Mitch.
My exes ranged from bad to terrible. But Mitch is the complete opposite.
He’s kind. Funny. Polite. He owns his own home.
He has a great job. He’s a volunteer firefighter, for Pete’s sake.
And he treats me better than any other man I’ve dated—always insisting on paying, picking me up and dropping me off every time, helping me with little repairs around my house, and even buying me little gifts just because.
So I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he would want the things my exes didn’t.
Actual labels for each other, like boyfriend and girlfriend.
Going on trips together. Being his plus one at weddings.
Talking about the future in terms of months and years instead of days or weeks.
None of those things are bad, exactly. I’m just not sure they’re for me.
“Farting patients aside,” Mitch continues, “I really have been looking forward to seeing you all day.” He pauses. “I always do, Pen. Whenever we have a date planned. And the days between.”
My heart gives another nervous hop. “I always look forward to seeing you, too.”
It’s the truth. Whenever I know I’m going to see Mitch, whether it’s for our weekly date or trivia at the Hop-less Horseman with our friends, I wake up in the morning filled with a fizzy sort of anticipation.
I spend extra time on my makeup and my hair.
I spend far too long sorting through outfits to find one I think Mitch will like.
And I invariably spend most of the day thinking about him—wondering what he’ll wear, what he’ll say, how many times he’ll laugh, and if we’ll end the night with a kiss or something more intimate.
No, we haven’t had sex yet. We’ve progressed to some pretty intense makeout sessions, but it’s always stopped just short, which I’m both relieved and disappointed about.
I know it would muddle our relationship even further, and holding off is probably the best idea.
But when I’m kissing Mitch, when his hands are all over me, when I can feel his erection prodding my belly or between my thighs, and my body is begging for more, I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind and just do it.
And later, when I’m home alone with only the little toy stashed in my nightstand to satisfy me, I’m left wondering if I made the right choice by stopping.
I’m also left wondering if Mitch will get tired of waiting and look for another woman instead. A woman who won’t drag her feet about sex and commitment. A woman who would be thrilled to date a man like him and would do anything to keep him.
In those worried, fearful moments, I wonder if I’m making a terrible mistake.
But then I flash back to that horrible night in my apartment two years ago.
I remember the fear in Ari, Thea, and Shea’s eyes as my crappy ex, Mark, held us at gunpoint.
And I think about the vow I made to myself in the days after, that I’d never let myself get close enough to a man to let him hurt me or my friends again.
Do you really think Mitch would hurt you? the logical voice in my head whispers. He’s not like that. And you know it.
“Do you?” Mitch asks. His normally-confident veneer slips. Vulnerability flickers in his eyes as he adds, “That actually reminds me about something I wanted to ask.”
Shoving my conflicted thoughts aside to deal with later, I lace my fingers between his and ask, “What is it?”
With his free hand, he brushes a lock of unruly hair away from his forehead. “Well, I know you said your landlord—”
“Can I get you two anything else?” Our server’s chipper voice interrupts him mid-sentence, and we both jolt before turning towards her.
“An aperitif?” she continues, “or maybe an espresso?”
Mitch glances at me, and I give him a tiny shake of my head. He looks back at our server and says, “I think we’re all good. But thank you.”
“Okay,” she chirps. “I’ll just leave your check here. But there’s no rush. Take as long as you want.”
Once she’s gone, Mitch reaches into his pocket for his wallet, then pulls out a credit card and slides it into the check holder. Just like every time we go out, I make a grab for my purse while saying, “I can take care of it this time. I don’t mind.”
He moves the check holder out of my reach. With a smile, he replies, “Absolutely not, Pen. I asked you out. That means I pay.”
“Well,” I protest, “you didn’t really ask me out. We both decided to go out tonight.”
“I’m the one who brought up coming to Horse and Ghost,” Mitch retorts. “When we were leaving trivia. So I think I asked you out.”
“But I’m the one who suggested going out on Thursday night. So you could say I asked you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mitch turns my hand over and runs his thumb across my palm. “Maybe it’s old fashioned, but my dad always told me the man pays on a date. So, I’d like to keep doing that, as long as you don’t mind.”
His touch sets off prickles of electricity across my skin. Desire shoots straight to my core, and I squeeze my thighs against each other to ease the ache it leaves behind. “I don’t mind,” I reply. “I just don’t want you to think I expect it. Since…”
His brow creases. “Since what?”
Since we’re not officially together, is what I almost say. But I swallow it back, not wanting to ruin the moment. Instead, I cast about for a vague answer, finally coming up with, “Since you always pay. I wouldn’t mind sometimes. If you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t,” he answers firmly. His thumb glides up to my wrist, lightly stroking. “Anyway. Back to my question.”
“Okay?”
“Your landlord. Is he still planning on selling the building?”
Sighing, I nod. “Yeah. He stopped by the other day to let me know he accepted an offer.”
“What about the new owner?” Mitch asks. “Are they going to keep it as a rental? Will you have to move?”
A weight settles in my stomach. I’ve known it was coming, ever since my landlord announced his plans to sell the Victorian I’ve been living in for the last two years.
And as much as I don’t want to leave the cozy third-floor apartment I’ve turned into my own, I can understand Mr. Nilsson wanting to move to Colorado to be closer to his family.
“It looks like the new owner has plans to completely renovate the building,” I reply. “I get first dibs on my apartment once the renovations are done, but the rent is going to be almost double what I’m paying now.”
Mitch frowns. “So you don’t think you’ll stay?”
“No. I wish I could, but on my salary, it’s just not doable.
” While I love my job as a library assistant at the Sleepy Hollow Library, my salary is pretty low.
Normally, I don’t mind—I don’t travel often and my tastes are far from extravagant—but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t bummed about losing my apartment.
Mitch stares at me for a few seconds. His expression goes pensive. “I’m sorry you’re going to have to move, Pen. I know you love that place.”
“It’s okay.” I force a little smile. “I’m sure I’ll find something else just as good.”