Chapter 4 Penn
Penn
Goddamn traitorous motherfucker.
And no, I’m not talking about my gallbladder. Because while we were fake kissing—fake, mind you—that bastard between my legs decided to rise to the damn occasion. No chill. No loyalty. Just pure, shameless betrayal.
And… nothing about that kiss felt like practice.
Not even a little. It felt real. Like warm, sweet, slow-burning real. The kind of kiss that stays on your lips long after it ends. The kind that tastes like seconds.
But nope. Not going there. I’m not here to get tangled up with anyone, especially not someone who is equal parts sexy trouble and sugar-sweet sass. Jaylynn might have a smile that short-circuits my brain and a laugh that lives in my bones, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to catch feelings.
Honestly though, how could I even dream about falling for a woman who hid an elf under my sheets and scared the living crap out of me? Jaylynn thought it was comedy gold. But that’s fine—I’m already plotting my revenge. Something involving glitter. Or googly eyes. Or both.
I’m still grinning like a lunatic as I hurry up Elaine’s walkway, taking the stairs two at a time, and pause outside the house.
My old house. The one I grew up in and never quite fit inside.
Especially after she remarried. Some of the guys tried.
Some didn’t. When they didn’t, it meant keeping my head down and following the rules like I was walking a tightrope over broken glass.
Truth is, I wanted Aunt Elaine to have someone who made her happy. I just didn’t want to be the reason that happiness cracked. So, I stayed quiet. Invisible, even. Anything to avoid being shipped off… wherever unwanted kids go.
But Earl? Earl was the worst of them all.
The last of the rotating door of husbands.
He showed up during my high school years, and was here when I was trying to make something of myself with the Grizzlies.
The day I moved out was the first time I could breathe freely in years.
The guy made this house feel like a prison with floral curtains.
Elaine tried. God, she tried. But Earl’s cruelty was quiet—just out of her line of sight.
The glares, the digs, the constant reminders that I wasn’t wanted.
That I’d never amount to anything. That Elaine only kept me around out of guilt or obligation.
And when you hear that enough, especially from someone who’s supposed to be family… you start to believe it.
He didn’t live long enough to see me play in the NHL. Part of me wanted to rub it in. Shove my jersey in his smug face. But the truth is, I probably wouldn’t have done any of that.
Because… maybe… he wasn’t entirely wrong about me being good enough. If I had been, I wouldn’t have been held back so long, and deep down, I still don’t feel like part of the team.
My hand lifts to knock, but the door creaks open before I touch it.
“Oh, Penn, you don’t have to knock,” Elaine says with a light scold and a fluttering wave of her hand.
From inside, a loud meow slices through the air, followed by a piercing wail.
Guess Muffin—AKA Earl, the reincarnated hellcat—isn’t thrilled I’m back.
“Are you ready for lunch?” I ask, eyes landing on her fuzzy llama sweater and matching hat, complete with little ears flopping off the top.
I blink. “Let me guess… National Llama Day?”
She beams like she’s been waiting all morning for someone to ask. “You know it!”
I chuckle, already picturing the hoof-shaped cookies I know she baked this morning. “To think, if I’d come a day later, I’d have missed this majestic celebration.”
Aunt Elaine is, without question, the only person on earth who tracks National ‘Whatever’ Day with the same dedication most people reserve for tax season or playoff games. But hey, her weird little holiday cookies are actually kind of amazing.
“Let me just grab my coat. Come in.”
“I think I’ll wait out here,” I say, stretching my arms and tilting my face to the sun. “It’s too nice not to soak this in.”
She nods and disappears inside, leaving the screen door shut and the heavy wooden one open. I’m just admiring the quiet street when—
WHAM.
Four clawed paws slam into the screen with demonic fury.
I lurch backward, catch my foot on the top stair, and go down like a sack of bricks—arms flailing, pride disintegrating—until I land flat on my back in the snow with a thud loud enough to wake the dead.
Smooth, Penn. Real smooth.
And to think I ever imagined I had the reflexes of a professional athlete.
I lie there for half a second, doing a quick inventory of bones and organs, then scramble upright, brushing snow off my jeans like it might somehow erase the embarrassment now radiating off me.
Which, of course, is exactly when I hear it—the crunch of tires on snow, the low purr of a window rolling down.
No, no, no.
“Hey, Radman,” comes the too-familiar voice of Dylan-freaking-Hayes. “Or should I say… snowman?”
I glance up and yep, there he is, the human equivalent of a wedgie, leaning out his car window with that smug, punch-able grin.
“Hayes,” I mutter, nodding stiffly. My gaze flicks to the girl in his passenger seat. If she caught my fall, I’ll be a viral meme by dinner—but she’s too busy reapplying her lip gloss to notice I exist.
Small mercies.
“Is that Dylan?” Elaine’s voice drifts from the stoop as she emerges, pulling on wool mittens with little llama hooves knitted into the fingers. Of course.
“Hello, Elaine,” Dylan calls, all fake cheer and empty charm. “Happy holidays.”
“You too,” she sings back, then waves as he drives off. “Douchebag,” she mutters under her breath.
I blink. “What?”
“Moosh,” she says innocently. “Yiddish slang. It means affection.”
“Uh-huh. Since when do you speak Yiddish?”
She shrugs, completely unbothered. “I watched Fiddler on the Roof last night.”
Sure.
I offer her my hand to help her down the steps, which, note to self, desperately need shoveling. “Does Gerald still come by to clear the driveway and stairs?”
“I told him not to bother today. It’s just a light dusting. Can’t hurt anything.”
Tell that to my tailbone.
“Elaine, come on. Let Gerald clear it. Doesn’t matter if it’s a dusting or a damn blizzard,” I say as I help her into the car. “I don’t want you slipping and breaking a hip. Or worse.”
She waves me off like I’m some nervous mother hen. “Oh, stop fussing. I can take care of myself.”
Sure, but that doesn’t stop the worry from creeping in more and more these days. She’s still got her spark, but sometimes spark doesn’t stand a chance against black ice.
I shut the door gently and hurry around to the driver’s side, climbing in. She buckles up and flashes me one of those warm, crinkly smiles that have been softening the sharp edges of my life since I was six years old. My chest tightens.
I love her. Fiercely. She’s the one who stepped in when no one else did. But loving her also scratches at the scar tissue left behind by the one who didn’t.
My mom—Elaine’s baby sister—was younger, single, totally unprepared for motherhood.
She said she wasn’t equipped, and maybe she wasn’t.
Logic says she did the right thing by handing me over to someone who could handle it.
But logic doesn’t do much to quiet the kid in me who always hoped she’d show up one day and say, “Just kidding. I changed my mind.”
She never did.
“You want to hit the Jolly Bean?” I ask as we pull out of the driveway, keeping my tone light.
Elaine perks right up. “It’s my favorite.”
I grin. “Figured it might be.”
She clutches her purse as we cruise slowly down the main road, letting her take in the town all done up in garlands and candy canes. Even I have to admit—it’s charming in a way that sneaks up on you. Like one of those Hallmark movies you mock but secretly enjoy.
“You were able to get a room at the inn?” she asks.
“Yeah, no problem.” I shoot her a quick smile. And I got a surprise roommate situation with Jaylynn, but Elaine doesn’t need that particular update. Not yet.
“That’s good. If I’d known you were coming home…”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly.
Regret nips at my heels. Maybe I should’ve come back for Christmas all these years.
She’s the only real family I’ve got. But coming back has always carried a kind of ache I don’t know how to handle.
It’s a reminder of everything I didn’t get. Everything I wasn’t wanted for.
Still, Elaine did what she could. She didn’t sign up for motherhood, but she gave me a home, gave me love—even if it was a little unconventional.
“You did a good thing taking those cats in, Elaine,” I say, half teasing, half serious.
She chuckles. “They needed me.”
Yeah. I get it.
We roll into town and I pull into a spot near the square, slipping a glance at the clock. I’ve got an hour before the meeting. Plenty of time to grab lunch and keep pretending I’m not being haunted by memories and unresolved mommy issues.
I circle the car and help Elaine out, steadying her elbow as we walk past a Santa shaking a bell for some local cause. I fish out a twenty and drop it in the red bucket. He nods and offers a jolly “Ho ho ho!” like he’s proud of me.
Then we push through the door of the Jolly Bean and—
Oh hell.
There she is.
Jaylynn.
In an apron. Carrying menus. Smiling at someone.
My head jerks back like I’ve just been smacked with a snow shovel.
No one said anything about her working here.
And judging by the way my pulse kicks and my stomach does a weird, traitorous flip, because maybe I’m not as prepared to fake this in public, as I thought I was.
“I… uh… you work here?”
Jaylynn shrugs like this is totally normal. “Tess called in sick. I told them I’d cover the morning rush.”
Of course, she did. Because she’s sweet and likes to help people out. Look what she’s doing for me.
She flashes Elaine a warm smile. “Nice to see you again. Want your usual seat?”
“Of course.”
Jaylynn leads us to the booth in the far corner, and my stomach tightens as we pass Dylan’s table. Because naturally, he’s here too—like a zit on prom night, just showing up when no one asked.
He leans back in his chair, smirk already locked and loaded. “Santa still standing out there? Or did you take him down too?”
Elaine cuts him a sharp look. “You mind your manners, young man. Or I’ll call your mother.”
He snorts, tries to make a llama sound, but it comes out like a goose being strangled mid-honk.
Do not hit him. Do not hit him. Do. Not. Hit. Him.
I’m repeating the mantra in my head like it’s a damn spell, until I glance at Jaylynn. She’s watching me with this mischievous glint in her eyes—like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“You don’t have to serve him, do you?” I ask under my breath.
“Unfortunately, yes,” she says, rising up on her toes so her voice lands just for me. “But don’t worry… I do things to his coffee.”
I blink at her. “Jesus. Really?”
She whistles innocently, spinning a placemat into place like she’s not low-key admitting to caffeine-related vengeance.
“Remind me never to piss you off,” I murmur.
Elaine points a stern finger in my direction. “Language, Penn.”
“Right. Sorry, Elaine.”
“I’ll grab you both a coffee,” Jaylynn says with a wink, already heading for the counter. “Just made a fresh pot.”
I watch her go—too long, probably—then glance down at the menu as Elaine throws dagger eyes toward Dylan’s table.
“Ignore him,” I whisper.
Elaine snorts. “How that guy ever became mayor… If he ever takes over the position in Snowberry, I’m out of here.”
“You could always come to Boston with me,” I say lightly, testing the waters. “I think you’d love it there. We could get a house.”
She shrugs, noncommittal—but then pivots, sly. “Now, what’s this I hear about you punching Santa?” I groan. She pounds one tiny fist into her palm like she’s ready to throw down herself. “I bet he deserved it.”
“He did,” I admit, then sigh. “But I can’t go around hitting people, Elaine.”
“You can if they deserve it.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“I’m your aunt. I raised you. If I say it’s okay, it’s okay.”
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head. “So… if I walked over there and decked Dylan for being a mouthy jackass, that’d be fine by you?”
“Wouldn’t mind.” She leans in, eyes twinkling. “Heck, son. I’d clear a path for you.”
Son.
The word lands with a little thud in my chest. Simple. Casual. But somehow, it hits harder than any punch.
She starts to rise, but I catch her arm before she can make a getaway. “No more hitting, okay? I’ve got to clean up my image if I want to keep my spot on the Bucks. Just so you know, I made a secret pact with Jaylynn.”
Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “She’s a sweet one, Penn. Everyone loves her—well, except for SpicyGranny74. Though she turned out just fine. Got her own podcast now.”
I blink at Aunt Elaine. Strange duck? Sure. But the woman’s got her finger firmly on the social media pulse.
“All right, spill. What’s this pact about?” she pushes.
She unzips her coat while I shrug off mine, settling in for the truth. I lean in a little. “I need to fix my image. So, she’s helping.”
“And in return?”
Her milky blue eyes lock onto mine.
I glance around at Dylan and Peppermint Barbie, busy snapping fish-lip selfies, then lower my voice. “I pretend to be her boyfriend. Maybe even fiancé. She has to pull off this festival without a hitch if she wants a real job again. I’m going to help her with that, and with Dylan back in town…”
Elaine finishes for me with a grin, “She wants to rub it in that she snagged a famous hockey player.”
“Something like that,” I murmur, not exactly feeling famous—or sure I’m even a hockey player for much longer.
“I like this plan,” she says, genuinely pleased just as Jaylynn arrives with fresh mugs, pouring from a full carafe.
“That smells amazing,” I say, grateful for the caffeine.
“Elaine, I love your mitts,” Jaylynn chimes as my aunt peels them off.
Elaine beams. “I could make you a pair, you know.”
“That’s sweet, but I could never rock them like you do,” Jaylynn smiles warmly at me, and I can’t help but love how gracious she is with Elaine.
Elaine turns her attention back to us, pointing a finger between the two of us like a seasoned detective. “So… you and my boy here. Faking a relationship.” She leans in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But what I really want to know is… is the sex real?”
Ho. Ho. Holy shit.