Chapter 9 Penny
Penny
NOW
Fia sighs deeply from her napping position on the sofa.
I plop down into the overstuffed chair next to the fireplace and tuck my legs under me, getting comfy.
This was Nan’s favorite chair—thick rolled arms, plaid fabric softened from years of wear, and ornate walnut feet.
I’m not a sentimental person, not like the other women in my family.
Both Fia and Nan had a tendency to hold on to things.
Every corner of this house has knick-knacks and mementos, a living time capsule of Nan’s life and all the grandchildren she raised.
But not me. When something is done, I cut the cord and move on.
This chair is the one thing I’d hold on to, though. Maybe I’ll take it back to my condo with me if…no, when I get Fia to move out.
I glance over at my sleeping sister and sigh. She opened up a bit more to me this afternoon after I convinced her to browse a few more stores down by the Riverwalk. We chatted about the baby and school, but she didn’t want to talk about Brett. Neither did I.
By the time we got home, we were both exhausted. Fia crashed, and I considered closing my eyes as well, but I had too much jittery energy running through me from the week’s events—and it was only Tuesday.
So I open my laptop and pull up a browser. There are no emails to send or brides to collect invoices from, and I don’t have a wedding to shoot until the weekend after Christmas. But there is one thing I need to figure out—something I’ve been putting off.
I need to know what it would take to sell this house. Fast.
To sell it, we all need to agree.
Danny has to sign, too, which means I have to talk to him. I can’t just send a lawyer to show up unannounced. I doubt my quick-tempered brother would take that well.
I glance at Fia with my fingers hovering above the keyboard. This is the only home she’s ever known. But if we don’t sell, she’s going to drown here—with the baby, school, and the endless repairs this place needs. We need to do this while the house is still worth something.
Convincing her won’t be easy…but that’s Tomorrow Penny’s problem.
Quickly, I type up an email to the attorney who handled the house deed and Nan’s will. I’ll have a much better grip on things once I understand how I can properly execute this whole ordeal.
I hit send just as Tank stirs at the base of the chair. I didn’t invite him to lie there, but he curled up anyway, like we’re besties.
I glance down at his gray and white face and his paws twitching in his sleep. He’s pretty damn cute, not that I ever plan to admit that out loud. I’ll just admire him from here. And take a picture of him to send to Audrey—she’s got a thing for misfit dogs.
In the silence, it dawns on me that I could google Jesse.
Just type in his name and see what comes up. Find out if what he’s told Fia about his business and life in California is actually true. That’s reasonable, right?
I start typing his name, my fingers stiff, my throat going tight like I’ve swallowed something too big. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of finding.
No, that’s a lie.
I know exactly what I don’t want to find. The same reason I never looked him up for ten years, because knowing he existed somewhere without me—that he kept going, living, becoming someone I didn’t know anymore—was unbearable.
I type his name in the search bar, but my finger hovers, hesitating.
What if he has a girlfriend?
The breath leaves my lungs like I’ve been punched. I slap my laptop lid shut so fast it makes Tank jump and bark. This is ridiculous…I am not doing this. I don’t care if he has a girlfriend. I have no right to care.
Fia stirs from the sofa, opening her eyes and reaching for her phone.
I study my nails, pretending to be relaxed, even though my heart’s racing way too fast for someone merely lounging in a chair.
“Shoot, I need to start dinner,” she says, stretching before shuffling into the kitchen.
“Cool, cool.” I swallow. “Need any help?”
She shakes her head, totally oblivious to how not chill I am right now. Fia pulls her hair back and grabs an apron—a habit she picked up from Nan.
“Nope, I got it,” she replies, propping her phone up with the recipe open.
I watch from the sofa, useless, while she waddles around the kitchen. I really wish Nan hadn’t torn down the wall between the kitchen and living room twenty years ago, turning this old Victorian into an open-concept space—because right now, all I want is to hide and be alone with my thoughts.
“I’m just happy to have someone to cook for besides myself,” Fia yaps mindlessly, as she pulls a bundle of vegetables from the fridge.
The pantry surprisingly isn’t empty, and there’s actual produce in the house. Bringing my own food only crowded the kitchen.
I don’t know when my sister suddenly became a real adult.
I stand, and Tank licks my hand as I set my laptop on the coffee table.
“Isn’t he the sweetest?” Fia asks.
“He seems very well trained,” I say, patting his head. His fur is silky smooth, eyes like little honey-colored marbles.
“Well, he should be—considering that’s what Jesse does.”
I freeze. “What…does he do exactly?”
Fia chuckles, already slicing an eggplant. “Wow, sis. You literally know nothing about him, do you?” She laughs again, like it’s so damn funny. “He’s a dog trainer.”
You have no idea how much I know about him.
How he kisses softly and slowly. How he runs his large hands up and down my back until it’s safe enough to sneak back to his own room.
How he used to call me princess to piss me off, until it became his pet name for me.
How he made me a playlist with songs that reminded him of me, of us, and how, for ten years, anytime one of those songs comes on, I have a knee-jerk reaction to turn it off as quickly as possible, like my sanity depends on it.
“I guess I don’t.” I play along. “So, that’s where he goes all day?”
“Yeah. He had a pretty successful business in Los Angeles, I guess.” She shrugs, reading the recipe.
“He works with dogs that’ve basically run out of chances,” Fia says, her tone light, like this isn’t about to knock the wind out of me.
“The ones people think are too far gone. His specialty is rehabbing them and getting them adoptable again.” She drops that in so casually, like she’s reciting a fun fact.
“I guess he was on some huge podcasts and had this crazy two-year waitlist. But now he works with rescues. Just look him up, he’s kind of a big deal.
” She chuckles. “He was even on the cover of that tattoo magazine last year. So crazy, right?”
My throat constricts, and I peel my eyes away, even though she’s not even looking at me. She’s too focused on preparing the meal, but I feel exposed regardless.
Because that’s exactly who the Jesse I knew would’ve grown up to be.
Helping the voiceless, helping those who are forgotten.
Even when he had nothing left to give, when he was the one who should’ve been angry at the world, he wasn’t.
I blink away the emotions clouding me and open my mouth to ask more, desperately hungry for a bit more detail about why he’s here, then, why not stay in LA?
Fia seems to be a well of random Jesse trivia, but she squeezes her legs together and whispers, “Shoot I gotta pee!” before scurrying off to the bathroom.
As the bathroom door clicks shut down the hallway, the back door swings open, and Tank jumps up, alert. His whole body starts to wiggle back and forth so hard that his defined gray spots become a blur.
The doorway fills with dark jeans, scuffed black motorcycle boots, and broad shoulders that block out the last of the light. Jesse’s green eyes cut through the room until they land on me.
“Hey,” is all he says.
Before I can even whisper my breathless, raspy hi, he’s already crouched to pet Tank with one hand, the other arm wrapped around a twined bundle of firewood.
“Thought I’d build a fire,” he says without looking up. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight.”
“Sorry. Fireplace doesn’t work,” I retort.
He looks up at me now.
I scrunch my nose, feeling not-so-bad about bursting his bubble. I turn my back to him, planting myself in the chair next to the fireplace again.
He doesn’t just get to swoop in and play hero.