Chapter 11 Sexy Clarinet
Sexy Clarinet
We held hands. That’s it.
One hand, and the four most innocent, delicate kisses on my fingers.
For all I know, Penn was messing with me, but he must’ve also attended the Bridget “Eye Contact or Bust” O’Brien School of Flirting, because a switch has been switched. A lever pulled. A circuit in my system, very much broken. I can’t think about anything else.
As I sit at a glowing table in The Disco Diner, one of everything off the rink’s menu set on the table in front of me, all I want is another taste of Penn.
Not, like, a literal taste.
Well, maybe.
I’m screwed.
“It’s a bit too thick,” Theo says. “Don’t you think?”
I choke on the soft pretzel we’re taste-testing.
The thing is, it’s Penn who’s supposed to be trying the full menu with me today.
He’s the one who insists we can do better—who suggests we partner with local chefs and rotate special offerings.
I’ve told him, repeatedly, that it’s a good idea, but far too complicated for a place that’s already facing unsteady financials.
Not to mention too much of a long game for my circumstances.
Penn insisted I eat through the current menu before I make any decisions.
I insisted he do it with me. But after two calls from a woman named Doris who requires immediate assistance in the form of a tall man who can change her bathroom lightbulb, Penn has abandoned me in my time of need. Physical and otherwise.
I check my phone, hoping for a text from him.
An ETA, a promise that he’ll arrive soon, a PowerPoint presentation explaining why he did what he did at the boathouse, and if he’s done that before, and if he’s like that with other women.
Perhaps he could also reveal when he got so kind and insightful. Alas. Nothing.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “A pretzel is a pretzel.”
Theo jots my riveting review into a small notebook. “Next up: nachos.”
They look like standard nachos. Not great, but not gross, either. I dip a round chip into warm, gooey cheese, and it tastes exactly like I expect. Like processed cheese. “The nachos are fine, too.” I push away the paper plate. “Next.”
Theo stares at me as he slides a slice of pizza across the table. Clearly, he doesn’t agree with my assessments of the pretzel or the nachos, but he doesn’t argue.
No wonder MASH Me promoted him. There’s something to be said for agreeability.
In fact, Penn could learn a thing or two from Theo Ford.
Perhaps it’s a good thing he isn’t here, because he’d fight me on every item.
I’d be dealing with the bad form of Penn-inspired agitation—not the pleasant kind I felt earlier. The one I’m aching to feel again.
I bite into the pizza and gag. There’s no way around it. This pizza has the distinct smell and texture of a bouncy ball. “That one’s got to go,” I declare.
Relief washes over Theo as he sighs. “Agreed. That’s my second least-favorite thing on the menu.”
“What’s first?”
He gestures to the corn dog between us, and I have to suppress my gag reflex again. “You know what? I’ll take your word for it. Pizza and corn dogs, gone.”
“Really?” Theo brightens. “That’s great. Yeah. Okay. So, what should replace them?”
Again, my eyes flit to my phone on the table.
I hate how badly I want to hear from Penn.
I want to see if the switch has gone off in him, too.
Find out if we’re straddling a line, or if we’ve already crossed it, because if we keep moving in the same direction, then eventually I’ll know one way or the other how Penn feels, and whether it’s enough to get me out of here.
What I still won’t know is what happens to me if it isn’t enough. Or what to do with all these mixed-up feelings I have about Penn, no matter where I end up. Because I can’t undo what’s happened, and I’m afraid I won’t forget it, either.
“Let me think,” I tell Theo. Except, I can’t think. Not about anything, or anyone, else.
Your heart line, Penn said. I can hear the words echoed back, in his raspy voice, and I have to chug too-sweet lemonade to regroup.
Theo watches me expectantly, brow creased with worry. He must be able to see how restless my limbs are. I can’t sit still. I shift my posture and cross my legs. Uncross them. I push my hair behind my ears. Pull it forward. Push it back again.
“What do you think?” I stammer out. “What would you do?”
His eyes widen. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I toss up my hands. “Would you change everything? Or keep it the same? Or can some things stay the same while other things change? Does it have to be all or nothing?”
He stares back, blank-faced. “Um…”
“Like, what if people have gotten used to the disgusting pizza? And they never really liked it that way—in fact, they hated it, actually, but it’s familiar.
And they don’t like anything too spicy, so they’ve just kept returning to it, appreciating, in some ways, that it was always exactly as it was, because they could trust that no matter what else might be different, they can count on it to be the same. ”
Theo scratches at his neck. “Boss, I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“The pizza,” I reiterate, flustered. “What if we change it, and it ruins the whole menu? And people can never even enjoy the new pizza, because they can’t forget how they used to feel about it?”
He nods, contemplative. “So, you think people want our pizza to stay disgusting?”
I sit back and exhale, wondering if I’ve lost my mind as well as my place in time. “I just think they might get upset if one day they walk in and the pizza has changed. Forever.”
“Then maybe we should get rid of the pizza.”
My chest pinches. “But we have to offer pizza.”
“No, we don’t. We have other options. And we could add more candy to the menu instead.”
“Candy isn’t comforting,” I argue. “And it doesn’t fill you up.”
“It does if you eat a lot of it.”
“But what about the pizza?” I sound stricken.
Theo scrunches his nose. “Are we still talking about the disgusting pizza? Or are we considering new, non-disgusting pizza options?”
I rest my head in my hands. I can’t explain the pinpricks behind my eyes, and I can’t seem to take a breath that’s deep enough to fill my lungs.
This is not about the pizza.
A hand waves in front of my face. Theo’s. “Boss, are you okay?”
I sit up, embarrassed. “It’s just been a long day.” That started with a car chase. “And a lot of tough decisions.” About putting my fate in Penn’s hands. And liking the feeling of his hands more than I should.
“All good,” Theo says, although he doesn’t look convinced. He picks up his pen again, holding it over his notebook. “So. You were saying. The pizza?”
I plaster on a smile. “Let me get back to you on that.”
—
Penn misses the taste test he planned. And a meeting to discuss the rink’s hours. And an appointment that he booked with the electrician, a lovely man named Rick who seemed rather confused as to why I, as the business owner, didn’t know we had issues with blinking lightbulbs.
I understand that Penn’s quietly launching a business of his own, and I’m genuinely happy for him, and it’s not like he’s officially on the payroll.
But I need him to be where he says he’ll be, because I’m on a literal time crunch, and my best escape strategies have only gotten more complicated.
Winning over Penn is turning me into a damn fool.
And with Rollerworld’s offer on the table, revamping The Disco Diner isn’t straightforward, either.
I’m still not sure if I should try to save the business or sell it.
I’m meeting Connor for coffee tomorrow, and according to our email chain, I’ve already asked him about a business appraisal—which means MASH Ruby has at least considered Rollerworld’s offer.
Hopefully, with Connor’s insights, I’ll get a better idea of how to handle The Disco Diner’s future. And how I’ll get back to mine.
Still, I stew over Penn all afternoon. I plan to pounce when I see him—make him understand how important it is that we focus on the rink, and that he uphold his end of the deal.
Except, when he walks into the staff room at half past four wearing the Disco Diner uniform in a size that actually fits, I consider pouncing for other, more disturbing reasons.
The jeans hug Penn’s thighs, and his tan skin glows against the white shirt, the sleeves tight around his arms. He’s left the top two buttons undone, his hair’s disheveled in a good way, and somehow he’s managing to pull off the entire look.
That, or a post-lemonade sugar crash has me seeing things.
I’m painfully aware that it’s just the two of us inside the small, cramped room, and after all the wild emotional swings of the day, I don’t know what to think.
My usual frustration toward Penn is laced with unfortunate affection.
My simple plan to lock lips and skedaddle isn’t feeling so simple now that he’s shown a vulnerability I’ve never seen.
Awakened nerve endings I never knew I had.
I’ve never felt like this with Connor. Not even in the beginning.
It’s terrifying. I’m not in control—of this game, or myself, or my body. And it’s all Penn’s fault. Penn, whose very appearance is suddenly enough to make me blush.
At a loss, I thrust my head into the refrigerator to avoid looking at him. He waits for me to say something. I don’t.
“Ruby?”
“Yes?”
“Have you found what you’re looking for in there?”
The fridge is quite cold. I’m eye-to-can with a six-pack of LaCroix. “No.”
“Do you need some help?”
“No.”
“You’re annoyed, aren’t you?”
I let my silence speak volumes.
Penn sighs. “It’s the sight of my chest hair, isn’t it? I know. I don’t have enough. Or do I have too much? I can’t tell.” I refuse to comment on his body hair, so he tries again: “Does it help that I’ve made us a shared calendar?”
A pause. “Yes.”
Reluctantly, I back my head out of the fridge and close it, slowly panning to Penn. He’s closer than I expect. Although I could touch him, I don’t. But I don’t step back, either.
“It’s not the chest hair,” I tell him. “It’s…”
My attention unwittingly falls to his lips before I rip my gaze away and groan. “Penn.”
“Yes, Wynne?”
I turn back. “You’ve messed with the vibe.”
“What vibe?”
“Penn, I’m going to kill you.”
He sucks air between his teeth. “That would not be good for business.”
“Don’t play dumb.”
“I don’t have to play at being dumb.”
“Alright, that’s a solid and accurate self-own,” I admit. “But I’m serious. With you and me.” I gesture between us, my knuckles knocking against his broad chest. “You’re responsible for the vibe.”
His voice is a low rumble. “Meaning…”
I scoff, tired of Penn’s trailing half-sentences. “Meaning I’m not the one who played your arm like a sexy clarinet today, okay? So I’m not exactly sure how to proceed.”
He bites his bottom lip, barely containing his smile.
My cheeks are blazing. “Yes, I said ‘sexy clarinet,’ and I stand by it. That’s the best metaphor I can come up with on short notice.”
“Mm-hmm.” He nods, looking far too triumphant for my liking.
I grit my teeth, frustrated. Penn’s thrown me off today with his many surprises, and I know he’s thrilled to see me losing my cool.
“Well,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “You seem like you could use a break. So how about you head home, and I’ll help Theo. Later, we can address the vibes and…proceed?”
I need to fill Penn in on the electrician and the taste test, but if my impulse to deep-freeze my own skull is any indication, I’d better leave before I do something I can’t take back.
“Fine,” I say tightly. “See you at home, then.”
For a second, we just stand there, staring.
Waiting for the other one to move. Then Penn’s gaze drops, and his hands move to my hips.
I gasp as he shifts me sideways, his body warm and closer than it needs to be when he slides past me.
Still gripping my waist, he tilts his mouth to my ear, his voice a rough scrape when he says, “See you at home.”