Chapter 20 Penn
Penn
“If I’d known that this is what you meant by catch up with you later, I might have made myself scarce.”
She nudges me from beside the roaring fire. “Oh, come on. You’re having fun. Admit it.”
I glance at the stack of letters before us. “This is going to take all night.”
“Come on, Santa. This is your job.”
“I think Santa’s job is delivering the gifts, not responding to Santa letters.” I wink at her. “And I believe Mrs. Claus’ job is lap dances.”
“Well, that’s not on the table right now, because Mrs. Claus’ job is to put the final touches on this application.
” She bites her lip nervously as she glances at the laptop she has balanced on her thighs.
She finished the application the other day.
I read through it for her, but she keeps going over it.
I think she’s too nervous to send it. Too nervous of failure.
But hey, she already said she hit rock bottom and there’s nowhere to go but up.
Jesus, who am I to talk? I’m terrified of failure myself because if I try and fail, I won’t be going up, I’ll be going down…right back to the Grizzlies.
“You’ll get it,” I whisper, and give her arm a little squeeze.
She smiles, and then it turns playful, like she’s trying to hide her insecurities. “Once I’m done, I’ll help you with the letters, and then we’ll see about putting that lap dance back on the table.”
The bell over the inn’s door chimes as the door opens and as people file in, I lean in close to Jay. “As long as it’s not on this table.” I am so not sharing her with anyone. “Unless, of course, you’re into that kind of thing,” I add, knowing she’s not.
She chuckles playfully. “No, I’m not. Now get to work. This is going to take forever.”
“Fine,” I grumble, and tear open the next letter.
I read the scribbling and write back with warmest greetings from the North Pole.
I mention the elves are working hard for all the boys and girls then remind them to be kind and to leave cookies and carrots.
Jay told me not to mention anything about the wish list because there’s no guarantee they can get it.
“Anyone ask for a pony yet?” she teases with a grin.
“I never should have told you that.”
She leans in and kisses my nose. “But you did and now I know that you’re a cinnamon roll.”
“I’m a what?”
She laughs. “A cinnamon roll. You know.”
“Because I ate one today.”
“No, that’s what we call tough heroes who are soft inside, in romance books.”
“You’re strange, Jay.”
“What did you say the pony’s name was?”
I shift, the room growing warmer. “I didn’t.”
She stares at me, and I go to work on the letters under her scrutinizing gaze. “Oh my God,” she finally bursts out.
“What?”
I seal the letter, and plunge the personalized Santa stamp in the ink before I press it to the envelope.
“It’s something cute isn’t it, like Muffin?”
I shiver at that name. “No.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you name it, or was it already named?”
“I named it,” I grouch ready to give up because this is Jay and she’s not going to stop until I spill.
“Tell me.”
“Fine. Her name is Strawberry.”
“Strawberry. Why?”
“Because…the little girl. She had strawberry blonde hair and I thought she’d like it. I told her she could change it, but she loved it, so see. I was right.”
Jay puts her hand on her stomach and leans forward.
“What are you doing?”
“Holding on to my ovaries, because I think they’re going to explode.”
I shake my head. “This is why I never wanted to tell you.”
As she laughs, I take in the firelight dancing in her eyes. Jesus, she’s beautiful. Catching me off guard, she sits up, throws her arms around me, and despite the bustle of people around us, presses her lips to mine.
It’s a slow, easy kiss, the kind that makes the noise of the inn fade to a soft hum.
When she pulls back, she licks her bottom lip like she’s savoring the taste of me, and I fight the urge to lean in again.
Instead, I grab my hot cocoa, taking a long sip, trying to distract myself from the very real possibility of a lap dance later.
She goes quiet, staring at her screen, but I can tell she’s somewhere else. I tilt my head. “Something on your mind? You know I’m a pretty good listener.”
Her smile is soft. “You and Dad. You seemed to have fun fixing the nativity set.”
My chest tightens, a little squeeze I can’t quite shake. She’s right. I did have fun. Felt like I belonged to something bigger. “Learned how to use a hammer today,” I say, trying to lighten things, though there’s a trace of truth under the joke. “You have a nice family, Jay.”
She nods, letting out a small huff that carries every ounce of worry she’s been holding. “I do. They’re…very supportive. Even after #GobbleGate, they didn’t… they didn’t lose faith in me. I just…” She swallows hard. “I don’t want to let them down again.”
“Babe, you could never let them down,” I say, reaching for her hand. “What happened was a mistake. It could have happened to anyone.”
She shakes her head, the faintest frown tugging at her lips. “Why do all my big mistakes have to happen center stage?”
“Not this time,” I assure her, squeezing her hand. “When you step up there for the tree lighting, I’ve got you. Nothing—nothing—is going to happen. You have my word.”
The tension in her shoulders eases, the lines around her eyes softening. “My big Madman,” she murmurs.
“That’s me. Radman the Madman.”
“You’re so much more than that.” She gives me a kiss, and stares at me for a moment, like she’s waiting for me to see that too.
I glance down at the envelopes, but my hands stop moving. “Do we even have stamps for these?”
“Nope,” she says, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “When the kids come to see you after the parade, you’ll hand them out personally.”
I frown at Chloe’s letter. “I realize Santa’s supposed to know every child in the world, but…no idea who Chloe is. And she lives in Snowberry?”
Jay laughs, brushing back a strand of hair. “I’ll help.”
I groan, dramatically, as if the weight of the world just landed on my shoulders. “My God, the pressure. Why did I agree to this again? Do you have me under some kind of peppermint spell?”
“Possibly,” she teases. “And for the record, you did this to yourself.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, grimacing at the memory. “Because there’s no way I’d want you on the float with…him.” I make a face like I just bit into something sour, then take another long sip of my cocoa to wash it away.
She nudges me gently. “You did it for me, Penn. I really appreciate it. I was dreading playing Mrs. Claus with him.”
I stare at her a moment too long, trying to decide if I should say something. “What?” she asks, catching me.
“Nothing,” I mutter, glancing at the fire, fighting the swirl of emotions I can’t quite untangle.
Did she start this whole charade to get him back, and maybe that’s none of my business…
except Dylan is a colossal jerk, and engaged—not to mention my growing feelings for her—makes it feel impossible to ignore.
I feel her eyes on me, and I look up. The firelight dances in them, and my chest tightens. Jesus. She’s beautiful.
“My family…they really like you, Penn.” I nod, but my stomach tightens.
At the core of all this…we’re deceiving them.
My chest feels heavier than it should. “Dad always liked you. He saw so much potential in your game.” A pause.
Then, “Do you think you’ll maybe…ever try for a different position on the team? ”
There it is again. A quiet reminder that maybe I’m not enough, that maybe I don’t measure up.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, trying to mask the sting, and switch topics quickly. “I was surprised to see you with Sloane today.” Her face drops. My back stiffens, something niggling in the back of my brain. “What?”
She shakes her head, brow furrowed. “She…uh…she was alone, and I felt bad for her, so I invited her along.”
My heart beats a little faster. “Of course, you did,” I say quietly.
Her voice softens almost to a whisper. “I don’t know what she was thinking, to say…”
“Jay?” My voice is cautious, because I can feel the tension crawling under her skin.
Her eyes find mine, turbulent and raw. “She said something…about Dylan still having feelings for me. That’s absolutely crazy.
” I stay quiet. The words hang between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
Her brow furrows as she turns toward the fire, a storm brewing in her expression.
“Why would she ever say that? He humiliated me years ago, and he’s engaged, for God’s sake. ”
I swallow hard. I’m not surprised, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch.
If he and Sloane ever do break up, if some hidden part of Jay—one she might not even know exists—still entertains a thought of him, it could open a door I don’t want her to see.
My jaw tightens. I have to figure out what Dylan’s up to before he can even think about touching her life.
And damn it, I know I’m falling for her. For Jaylynn…for her family too. I have no clue how I’m supposed to handle that.
The inn door creaks open, and a gust of icy wind sweeps through, ruffling the letters on the table. I reach for another card, trying to bury myself in work—but my eyes catch a figure in the corner. Dylan. Of course. And Sloane is with him, looking…unhappy.
“Don’t look now,” I murmur, but Jay’s gaze shifts automatically toward the door.
Sloane gives us a hesitant, awkward little wave, and Jaylynn’s frown deepens. “What are they doing here?”
“No idea,” I mutter under my breath, my teeth grinding.
Dylan strolls toward the counter, that infuriatingly smug grin plastered across his face. Sloane follows like a shadow, and the next thing I know, Belinda is handing him a key.
I shake my head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Ignore them,” Jay whispers, but Dylan clearly has a different idea.
He strides over, grin still in place. “I didn’t realize you two were staying here too.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah…we are,” I growl, the words sharp. He knew. I told him we were at the town hall meeting.
“What are you working on?” Sloane asks, settling herself in the big wingback chair beside Jay.
As Jay turns toward Sloane I can’t help but turn to Dylan and comment, “I thought they were fully booked here.”
Dylan smooths a hand through his hair and unzips his coat, that wry, infuriating grin firmly in place. “When you have clout like I do.”
Clout.
Ah, that explains the stench.
He drops into the seat next to me, all casual arrogance. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I should probably be the one playing Santa. I am the mayor, after all.”
“Not the mayor of Snowberry,” I point out, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Sure, sure,” he says, shrugging like it’s obvious, “But still…and Sloane mentioned something about being in line for the booth if you were going to be in it. You know, for charity.”
What the actual fuck? Is he trying to hook us up or something?
“We really should stick to the original plan,” he mutters, trying to sound reasonable, though my knuckles tighten around the edge of the table.
“Nope,” I blurt out firmly. No way this guy is going on the float with Jay. “BJ already did all the work letting the suit out.” I rub my hands over my thighs, working to keep them busy. “I tried it on earlier, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to take it in again this close to the parade.”
Judging by the scowl carving deep lines into his face, I’ve clearly struck a nerve. I pick up my drink and take a long, slow sip, trying to look innocent, but inside, I’m practically dancing. Jesus. I really do belong on Santa’s naughty list.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Dylan says, turning to Jay with all the practiced charm of a man who thinks the world bends to him.
“Hey, Jay, how about I play Santa? The town’s expecting it, and…
” His eyes flick toward me, that casual, mocking superiority I want to wipe off his face, “…I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.
We wouldn’t want an incident, especially if you ever want to leave this town and work in the city again. ”
Goddammit. Not only is he insulting me, he’s insulting her, too. My jaw tightens. My gaze sweeps the room and lands on the enormous light-up candy cane by the door.
No Santa in the world would put me on the naughty list for that, right?
I take another steadying breath and force myself to sink back into the chair.
No way am I going to deck Dylan. That would be exactly what he wants.
A fight. Drama. Proof that I’m…reactive, impulsive, predictable.
Besides, I already promised Jay I wouldn’t let anything ruin her festival.
So, I clamp down on the fire inside me, letting it burn quietly.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not plotting other ways to make my point. Like putting a creepy elf in his room.