Chapter 13
Jaylynn
Unease prickles through my body as we continue down the long road leading to the country club, its grand silhouette tucked on the outskirts of town.
The towering pines bend beneath the weight of heavy snow, branches groaning under the burden.
The SUV fishtails slightly, tires struggling for grip on the slick road, and I clutch at the door handle like it’s a lifeline.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.” My voice comes out tighter than I intend, and I tug at my seatbelt until it bites against my shoulder.
Penn squints through the windshield as fat flakes slap against the glass. “Didn’t think it was going to come down this early.”
“Weather forecasters.” I huff. “They promise eight inches and deliver twelve.”
As soon as the words are out, Penn’s mouth quirks, his brow arching in that delicious way that makes my ovaries clench.
“That’s what she said.”
“Oh my God.” Heat flares in my cheeks. I smack his arm and he winces, dramatically, not because I actually hurt him.
“Careful,” he says, grinning. “I’m delicate.”
“Right. Delicate as a bulldozer.”
He flicks the wipers to high and cranks the heat, the SUV rattling in protest. “Do you want to turn back?”
I shake my head as the winding road curves and the massive country club comes into view, a hulking shadow against the storm. “We’re here now. Let’s just get in, grab what we need, and get out.”
The parking lot is buried under an unbroken blanket of white, so Penn just pulls up in front of the columned entrance and kills the ignition. Snow lashes sideways against the glass.
He leans forward, peering through the storm. “Want me to run in and get it?”
“Do you even know where it’s stored?”
“Nope. Never been inside.”
The words hang there, heavier than they should be.
A reminder that even though he grew up in this town, the country club wasn’t his world.
He belonged, but never really belonged. Everyone looks out for his aunt, sure, but they’re both outsiders, always orbiting the town without being fully in it.
My chest squeezes. I want to fix that for him, to anchor him here, to make sure he feels welcomed. Wanted.
Loved.
I blink hard. No. Not loved. Liked. Just…liked.
Penn’s gaze slides over me, lingering on my coat and my ankle boots, the ones that are already a poor match for a light dusting, never mind a full-on snowstorm. I tug my mittens on in self-defence.
“Let me come around and get you,” he says firmly. “If I lose you out here, we won’t find you again until spring.”
Despite the storm, despite the nerves clawing at me, I nod.
I watch through the fogging glass as he circles the SUV, shoulders hunched against a brutal gust of wind.
The storm batters at him, but he moves with purpose, solid and steady, the kind of man who doesn’t back down from weather, or anything else.
And as he wrenches the door open and holds out his hand, something tightens deep inside me. Something warm, solid, safe. Something that makes the storm feel a little less terrifying. Even in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of chaos, he makes me feel safe.
I slip my hand into his outstretched one.
A second later, his arm is firm around my waist, guiding me against the biting wind.
Big, fluffy snowflakes the size of cotton balls, attack my face, sticking to my lashes until I’m blinking through a snowstorm of eyeballs.
We half run, half stumble to the front door, laughing and swearing under our breath.
Shivering, I dig around in my purse until my fingers find the cold jangle of the oversized key ring.
My hands shake so badly the keys rattle like sleigh bells.
Penn takes them gently from me, his big hand brushing mine, and slides the right one into the lock with ease.
The double doors groan open, and he ushers me inside.
The silence hits first.
“Spooky,” I whisper, hugging my arms around myself. My voice echoes in the cavernous foyer. “I’ve never been here alone. Or in the dark.”
“Do the lights even work?”
“They should. Maintenance comes once a week.”
Sure enough, with a decisive flick, the chandelier blazes to life. Dozens of glittering crystals spill light across the grand entrance, scattering shadows across the polished floor. We both pause, cataloguing the scene like intruders who’ve stumbled into a palace.
The long check-in counter looms to one side, while the mahogany bar stretches along the right wall, its brass foot rails gleaming faintly even in the low light.
The shelves behind it are lined with silent bottles of liquor, glinting like forgotten treasure.
Some kind of wedding garlands, still strung from the summer season, drape across the mantelpieces, their ribbon tails stirring in the draft.
On the far wall, the trophy case gleams with polished victories—golf cups, tennis plates, and shiny sailing prizes. Old photographs line the walls, black-tie galas, proud tournament winners, glowing brides and grooms on manicured lawns.
“This is where your mom wants you to get married, huh?” Penn’s voice is casual, almost too casual. He lifts a shoulder. “Seems like a nice place.”
“It is,” I say softly. For a moment, memories rush back—my brothers’ weddings, the laughter, the dancing, the champagne corks popping.
My smile fades almost as quickly as it came.
Dylan and I had once talked about standing in this very place as husband and wife.
Now the thought feels like a bruise I’d rather not poke.
Penn must sense the shift, because instead of pressing, he rubs his bare hands together, blowing on them dramatically. “It’s freezing in here. If I get frostbite, you’re carrying me out.”
I let out a laugh, the sound bouncing in the vaulted space.
My gaze flicks to the leather chairs positioned before the massive stone fireplace, a cozy tableau begging for a fire.
For a split second, I imagine curling up there, the storm raging beyond the windows, the world shut out.
But we’re on a mission, and the storm outside is only getting worse.
“Where’s the star?” he asks.
“From what I was told, it was packed away with last year’s parade decorations. Which means…” I shrug, unknowingly. “Storage room?”
“Which is where?”
I turn in a slow circle, lips pursed. The grandeur of the club suddenly feels like a labyrinth. “Uh…let’s start with the basement storage?”
He cocks a brow, amused. “You don’t actually know where the basement is, do you?”
“Not…exactly.”
His hand finds mine again, warm and sure. “Then let’s go find ourselves a door.”
We head down a long corridor lined with portraits of stern-looking board members.
Penn pushes open a door at random, and we peek inside.
The room is smaller, more intimate, cloaked in heavy curtains that smell faintly of cigar smoke.
An antique chessboard waits in the corner, and faded leather chairs are gathered around a low table.
“I think the board of directors use this one,” I murmur.
Penn points to the polished game table, his mouth quirking. “Poker night. Guaranteed.”
“Probably. Let’s keep looking.” Penn nods, and we continue down the long, quiet hall. My heels click on the polished floor, echoing in the emptiness. “Why does it feel like we’re doing something illegal?” I murmur, glancing over my shoulder.
“I don’t know… but it does.” His hand tightens around mine, warm and reassuring as we check a few more doors.
At the end of the hallway, we come to glass doors. Before Penn can push them open, I whisper, “The ballroom.”
“Maybe they store stuff in here,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
He opens the doors and we step inside. The space stretches endlessly before us—a parquet dance floor that gleams under the soft chandeliers, the walls lined with sconces that throw gentle pools of light. He spots a door near the small stage. “Let’s look there.”
Our shoes click across the floor as we approach the stage, usually home to bands and speeches and sometimes summer camp productions. Penn tries the closet door. Locked.
I point to his coat pocket. “Check the keys.”
He digs through the ring, testing several before one finally clicks. Inside, we find boxes of old costumes, tattered dress clothes from summer plays, and stray pieces of décor.
“No star.” I sigh, shoulders slumping. I pace the room, eyes scanning the elegant archway that leads to the formal dining room.
Sunlight—or in this case, snow light—would usually pour through its tall windows onto polished tables and gleaming silverware.
It’s odd seeing it so empty, so silent, when I’ve only ever known it alive with chatter, music, and laughter.
“Are you okay?” Penn asks softly.
“Yes… I was just thinking about all the parties I’ve attended here, the dinners, the celebrations…”
“You sound like you miss it,” he says.
“You know,” I murmur, turning to face him, “I do. But this…” I wave a hand around the silent grandeur. “With no one here, without the usual chatter and clinking glasses…it’s like the whole place has been put on mute. And I…don’t hate it.”
“I’m here,” he says quietly, the warmth in his voice wrapping around me.
“Maybe that’s what makes it more appealing,” I reply, a playful wink accompanying my words.
“With all the noise and hustle of Christmas, it’s like the world hit pause here,” he adds.
I step toward the French doors that, in summer, lead to a deck overlooking the golf course.
Flicking on the light, I’m met with a blanket of falling snow, each flake illuminated like a tiny diamond.
I hug myself, savoring the view. Despite the cold, despite the storm outside, there’s a warmth in having this entire place alone with Penn.
“Cozy,” I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest. “But I’m worried about getting back. ”