Chapter 2
MITCH
“I don’t think I’m asking for too much, am I?”
Duke cocks his head and gives me a quizzical look. His tail whips back and forth in an excited blur. Then he thunks down on his haunches and raises his paw expectantly.
“I didn’t ask if you wanted a treat,” I tell him. “I asked for your opinion about Penny.”
His ears perk up at the magic word. He hops up and trots over to the kitchen closet, where I keep his treats, then turns to look back at me with a hopeful expression.
Shaking my head, I cross the kitchen and open the closet door.
As I open a new box of dog biscuits, I continue my one-sided conversation.
“We’ve been dating for six months. At least, I thought we were dating.
But apparently, in Penny’s mind, we were just…
What? Hanging out? Two friends having dinner every week? ”
I set the treats in a line on the floor, too distracted by my own thoughts to make him perform tricks for them like I usually do.
He has no complaints about it, scarfing them up like a four-legged vacuum cleaner.
Once he’s decided the floor doesn’t have a molecule of dog biscuit left on it, he looks back up at me and tilts his head.
“No more,” I say. “You’ve already had dinner and treats. You’re good for the night.”
Duke casts me a doubtful look. Clearly, he doesn’t agree.
As I head back into the living room, Duke following close behind, I let out a frustrated sigh.
Six months of dates that I thought meant something.
Six months of spinning hopeful plans for the future.
Six months of believing Penny wanted more, eventually.
I flop down on the couch and sigh again.
Duke hops up beside me and rests his head on my leg. Absently, I scratch between his ears while I replay the conversation at the restaurant.
Everything had been going so well up until then.
We chatted about work, about the new program Penny’s spearheading at the library and how excited she is about it, and how the new receptionist I hired at the practice is working out.
We talked about Wing Fest, which is coming up at the end of the month, making guesses for which restaurant would end up winning first place.
I showed her videos of Duke playing with the toy she bought him last week, a purple octopus that he sleeps with every night.
Then I brought up the idea of Penny moving in, and it all went to shit from there.
We’re not really together, she said.
I’m not sure if I’m ready for more.
Two years of friendship. Six months of seeing each other every week. Of holding hands and kissing and more recently, peeling off her clothes and touching her everywhere. Of texting nearly every day, sharing updates about our days and sending funny videos to each other.
And after all that, she still doesn’t see a future with me.
She didn’t come out and say it, but her silence made it just as clear.
Penny isn’t interested in the same things I am. Or, at least, she’s not interested in them with me.
It’s ironic, really. All through my twenties, and even into my early thirties, commitment was the last thing I thought I wanted.
Being single was easier. Less pressure. I could concentrate on work, on my shifts at Station 4, fixing up my house, and hanging out with my friends.
There were women, of course, but nothing serious—just mutually agreed upon no-strings hookups.
And isn’t that ironic?
With another heavy sigh, I reach for the remote and flick on the TV. I scroll through the options, rejecting each one almost as quickly as I see it.
A stand-up special? Nope. Not in the mood for laughing.
A docuseries about cold crimes from the eighties?
No thanks. Too depressing. An action movie that just hit streaming last week?
Penny and I had talked about ordering pizza and watching it together, and now it doesn’t feel right watching it alone.
“Shit,” I say out loud to myself. “Let it go.”
Duke jolts from his half-doze and lifts his head from my leg. He looks around, decides there’s nothing of concern going on, and settles back down again.
I finally pick a show about the history of baseball, hopeful it’ll either be interesting enough to take my mind off things with Penny or be boring enough to put me to sleep.
But it’s neither.
Instead of focusing on baseball, I keep seeing Penny’s face in front of me—her big blue eyes almost pleading when she asked if we could keep things the same as they were, her teeth digging into her full lower lip and her delicate brows pulling into an unhappy V as we talked.
And I’d bet anything she was twisting her hands together beneath the table like she does whenever she gets nervous.
“Shit,” I mutter. “She was scared. And I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to realize.”
Shit.
She was scared. Because of me.
My heart rolls over with a heavy thunk.
My gut twists.
I know what Penny went through with her ex.
After she broke up with him for lying and cheating on her, he forced his way into her apartment and held her and three friends at gunpoint while demanding she find the drugs he’d allegedly hidden there.
Thankfully, no one was hurt, but it was incredibly frightening for all four women.
And Penny blamed herself for it, no matter how many times everyone reassured her it wasn’t her fault.
“It’s why she doesn’t date,” my good friend Cash’s wife, Ari, explained to me.
It was before Penny and I started dating—or not dating, depending on who you ask—and we were all at a fundraiser for the first responders of Sleepy Hollow.
Ari busted me watching Penny from across the room and came over to talk.
“She’s had bad luck with men,” Ari told me, “and after what Mark did, Penny’s afraid she’ll end up with the wrong guy and get hurt again. Or one of us will. Which is silly. The right man is out there for her. One who won’t hurt her.”
That’s when I decided I was going to prove to Penny that I was the right man. And a few months later, I finally convinced her to go on a date with me, promising we could take things as slow as she wanted.
And what did I do?
I pushed her.
I asked her to move in with me.
Shit, I should have known it would freak her out.
But it just seemed like such a great solution. Penny’s going to be out of an apartment, I have the space, we like each other…
No. I don’t just like her. I’m in love with her.
And that’s why I pushed. Because I don’t want this half-relationship, where I see Penny once a week and the rest of the time I’m basically single.
I want to see her all the time. I want her to meet my family.
I want to have her move in because she wants to and not out of convenience.
But did I think about what Penny wants? What Penny needs? Did I think about the pressure I was putting on her by basically setting an ultimatum?
Yes, I want a real relationship with her. But if the choice is what we have now or nothing?
Is there any question?
“Shit,” I mutter again. “I’m an idiot.”
Duke squints at me. Judging from his expression, I think he agrees.
Moving him off my lap, I get up from the couch and shut the TV off. “I’m heading out,” I tell Duke. “I need to see Penny.”
I could call her to apologize. But I don’t want to. I want to see her. Hold her hands as I tell her how sorry I am, assuming she’ll let me.
As I head towards the front door, I brush at the dog fur on my gray pants while debating whether or not to take the time to change before leaving. But that would take minutes I’d rather not waste, especially if I want to be sure to get there before Penny goes to sleep.
Instead, I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror beside the door, assessing.
Blue button down, still relatively wrinkle free. Dark brown hair slightly messy, but no different than usual. I bare my teeth at the mirror, relieved not to find any bits of food stuck in them. So, basically, the same as I looked when I saw Penny before.
Just as I’m about to leave, I have a split-second thought.
The sun catcher.
Penny collects them, and every window in her apartment has at least one. I’ve bought her a few, but the newest one is special. I found a local artisan who makes custom sun catchers, and I hired her to make one with a library theme, thinking that Penny would love it.
I’d been imagining giving it to Penny when she moved in here, but since it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen, maybe I should give it to her now. Not that I think a sun catcher will make her forgive me, but hey, it couldn’t hurt, could it?
So I run into the bedroom, grab the gift bag that’s been sitting on my dresser for the last week, and jog back to the door. Just before I open the door, I call over my shoulder, “Be good, Duke. I’ll be home soon. Wish me luck!”
He doesn’t respond. But I’ll take his silence as implicit approval.
By the time I get back on the road, it’s almost nine-thirty.
Not late, but in Sleepy Hollow, it gets quiet early.
The roads of my residential neighborhood are empty, with everyone home for the evening.
TVs flicker behind some windows, while others are dark.
As I wind my way towards Penny’s apartment, I come across a couple people walking their dogs, their reflective leashes glowing in my headlights and their flashlights bouncing along the road.
Maybe I should call Penny before showing up, I muse. Then again, what if she tells me not to come over? If I’m at her door, hopefully, she’ll be more willing to let me in.
As I’m debating, my phone buzzes.
Penny’s name appears on the dashboard.
My heart leaps.
Then it plummets.
Is she calling because she changed her mind? Or is she calling to tell me she never wants to see me again?
With trepidation, I tap the screen to answer her call. “Penny? Are you okay?”
She hesitates. “Not really.”
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I pushed you too much. I shouldn’t have.”
“No. You didn’t.” She stops. Hesitates again. “Well, you did push. But… you had every right to.”
I’m so intent on what Penny’s saying, I almost run a stop sign, slamming on the brakes so hard the tires squeal a little. “Shit,” I mutter while scanning the road, hoping not to see flashing red lights rushing up behind me.
“Mitch?” Her voice dips with worry. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I accelerate through the intersection, then add, “I didn’t have the right, Pen. I told you I was okay with taking things slowly. And then I turned around and pushed you to move in with me. I should have known—”
“You were right,” she interrupts. “It’s been six months. It’s not fair to keep making you wait.”
Fear clutches at me. “I’ll wait. For however long you need me to.”
“But, Mitch. The things you want. They’re not unreasonable. Going to a wedding with you? Taking a trip together? Those are normal things couples do.”
Feeling a bit like I’m walking a tightrope, I say, “That might be true. But if it’s not what you want, that’s okay, too.”
Penny sighs. “That’s not it. I just convinced myself it was safer to stay single. It sounds crazy, but I got this idea in my head that if we were a real couple, things would go wrong. Like I was jinxed or something.”
“Pen. You’re not jinxed. You had some bad luck—”
“I know. Like I said, it doesn’t make sense. But after you brought me home, I just kept thinking about it. I kept thinking about you. How I know you’d never hurt me. How it’s crazy to keep clinging to some years-old vow I made to myself when I have someone so great—” Her voice cracks.
“Penny.”
My foot presses down on the gas instinctively. Hearing her upset, knowing she might be on the verge of tears… I’m less than five minutes out. But it still feels far too long.
She sniffles. “I don’t want to lose you, Mitch.”
“You won’t.” I force myself to slow as I take a right turn. “I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Do you think—” Penny sniffs again. “Do you think I could come over? I know it’s late, but I’d really like to talk in person.”
My spirits lift. “I’m actually on my way over right now. I wanted to come apologize, and I thought… Well, I just wanted to see you.”
Her tone brightens. “You’re coming over now?”
“Is that okay?”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll go downstairs to unlock the bottom door so you can come right up.”
“You don’t have to, Pen. It’s not as safe that way. I can wait for you to come down.”
“It’s fine.” Soft footsteps tap across the floor. “No one’s going to break in. I’ll just—”
Her voice cuts off as she gasps in pain.
“Penny? What happened?”
She lets out a shaky breath. “My hand. I burned it.”
“What? How?”
“The doorknob. I went to open it, and the metal… it burned my hand.”
Alarm surges through me. “The doorknob? To the stairwell?”
“Yes…” Footsteps hurry across the floor again. “Mitch. Why is my… Oh. Crap.”
“What?”
“Mitch.” Her voice wobbles. “I just looked out the living room window. There… there are flames coming from the apartment below me.”
Horrified, I ask, “There are flames? Coming from the second floor?”
A few seconds pass before Penny replies, “Yes. I can see them if I stick my head out the window. There… there are a lot, Mitch. What… Oh, God.”
My heart stumbles. Stops. “Penny. Get away from the window.”
Penny whimpers. “The house is on fire. That’s why I burned my hand. The fire is right outside my door. What do I do?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My years of experience as a firefighter paint a dismal picture. An old house like that could be completely engulfed in minutes. And Penny’s on the third floor, easily twenty feet from the ground if she jumps. Which would be dangerous at best and deadly at worst. But if she stays inside…
Ah, shit.
Panic threatens to take over.
It’s hard to hear anything above the frantic pounding of my heart.
Forcing a calm I don’t feel, I say, “Okay. You need to call 911. And get into the bathroom. Close the door. Wet a towel and wedge it at the bottom, so smoke can’t get in. And I’m on my way. I’ll be there in—” I punch the gas. “Two minutes.”
“Mitch. You can’t get in here. It’s too dangerous.”
“Penny. Just do what I say. Please.”
“Okay.” Her voice is thick with tears. “I’m going.”
“Hang up,” I tell her, though it’s the last thing I want her to do. “Call 911.”
“Mitch.” A broken sob escapes. “I’m sorry we argued. I’m sorry I made you wait. You’re not like Mark. Not even a little. I—”
“Please, Pen. Call 911. I’m almost there.”
From a few streets over, I can see the glow of flames and billows of smoke.
“Okay.” She pauses before adding in a tiny voice, “But please, Mitch, don’t risk coming inside. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m coming for you,” I reply firmly. “That’s a promise.”