Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Penelope
I try to calm the anxiety coursing through my body by placing the turmeric after the thyme on my spice rack.
It’s just dinner. I’ll cook while he gives Hazel a hula hoop lesson. Nothing about that requires me to reorganize the spice rack. Regardless, the spice rack is now in alphabetical order and has never looked better.
The garlic butter chicken with orzo is on low heat.
I went back and forth on what to make. Is it a reminder of what we used to be?
I’m probably overthinking it—but he used to ask me for this dish well before we were anything romantic.
I scoop the cheddar biscuits into dollops on the cookie sheet.
Hazel will probably eat more of those than the actual chicken.
My eyes land on the pan of brownies still cooling on the corner of the counter.
Seriously, what are you doing, Pen? His favorites? You should toss it all out and order takeout.
I turn the heat down on the pan and tell myself to get it together. He’s not here for me or for anything between us. He’s here because he’s a good person and doesn’t want Hazel to be embarrassed.
The doorbell rings at six fifteen on the dot, and my breath locks in my throat.
Hazel appears in the kitchen doorway. “He’s here.”
She seems to like Decker, but she’s still hesitant, which is why she comes to me first, to make sure I’m with her. My daughter and I are handling this the exact same way, and I’m not sure how concerned I should be about it.
“Let’s go be good hosts and let him in.”
She slides her hand into mine, and we walk toward the door. My footsteps feel heavy, my chest even heavier, my heart pounding against my ribs. It’s as though the weight of our past is physically pushing down on me with every step.
This is ridiculous. Decker is gentle and kind and will keep the same respectful distance he always does. We can get through this.
“Do you want to open it, or me?”
“You,” she says, tucking herself at my side, almost behind my legs.
Can we please switch places?
No, because you’re the adult, Pen.
My hand trembles on the doorknob, but I turn it and open the door. I immediately wish I could slam it shut and say bad idea, we need to stay on separate sides of this earth from this day forward.
“Sorry, I got pulled into a media session.” He runs his hand through his wavy dark hair that’s still damp at the edges.
I’ve always loved the way he looks effortlessly gorgeous after a game. Freshly showered, smelling amazing, the anxiety of the game shed like a second skin. Decker is undeniably attractive. There’s no mystery why he’s been the Colts’ diamond girls’ latest obsession.
“Oh, it’s fine.” I open the door wider. “We might just have to eat dinner in the middle of her lesson.”
“I’m running on a protein bar, so no complaints from me.
” He steps over the threshold, taking in the cracked baseboards and dated peeling wallpaper in the small foyer.
They’re all dead giveaways that this place is in desperate need of work.
Decker crouches down to Hazel’s level—which he always does—and I pretend not to be a little more smitten with him for it. “Hey, Hazel.”
“Hi.” She steps forward, her hand going limp in mine.
I resist the urge to tighten my grip and warn her about how hard it is to not love a man like Decker Davis.
“She’s been practicing all afternoon,” I say.
“You have?” Decker stands, smiling at her.
“Since after school.” Hazel lets a tentative smile fill her face.
“Okay then, how about you show me?”
She releases my hand, breaks away from me, and picks up her hula hoop.
Decker follows her, and I watch him cross the threshold into the living room, into our space, and I hate that it feels so right. That the anxious energy I’ve been carrying all afternoon is gone the second he walks in. Because that means trouble.
He sits on the couch and helps Hazel with her start. At one point he pulls out his phone, and they time her.
I make it two rounds before I excuse myself to finish dinner.
The smell of the garlic butter chicken pulls me somewhere I wasn’t planning to go.
I’ve made this dish dozens of times, but tonight my mind drifts back to my freshman year of college, when my dad took a coaching job at Hartwell College, right by Kingsley University, where Decker attended.
That first dinner when my dad invited him over.
It had been a year, and I almost didn’t recognize Decker, watching from the front window as my dad shook his hand in the driveway.
That’s not true. I recognized him immediately.
How could I not? He was the first boy I’d ever fallen in love with.
At that point, the only boy I’d ever loved.
But the version of him I’d been carrying in my head for twelve months, through my entire senior year of high school while he was off having his first year of college, wasn’t this. He was no longer the boy I remembered.
He’d grown into himself. That was the only way to explain it. The boy I’d memorized had become someone I’d have to learn all over again, and I knew standing at that window that I absolutely wanted to.
I heard my dad open the door. Decker’s voice—somehow deeper now—saying thank you and congratulations on the coaching job.
I ran into the kitchen and stirred the garlic butter chicken with orzo my dad had requested on Decker’s behalf.
Hartwell was a step up for my dad. A better program, more talent, and the fact that it came with free tuition for me settled the question of where I would attend college.
I’d never tell anyone how much I didn’t mind having the decision made for me, since coming to Hartwell put me half an hour from Decker.
We hadn’t had much contact over the past year, but I’d read that letter so many times I was surprised it hadn’t been worn thin and broken apart at the creases.
My dad always told me that Decker needed to keep it all together. He’d seen other kids buckle under the pressure, academic and athletic. I didn’t want to be the distraction my dad worried Decker would run into. He deserved to get everything he wanted.
It had been a full year. He’d been gone from my life twelve long months.
“Pen, look who I found!” my dad said.
I turned from the stove as if I was surprised Decker was already there.
“Hey,” he said in an easy drawl that made my stomach flutter.
Decker crossed the distance with his arms open, and I stood by the stove, never setting down the spoon.
He hugged me, and I only used one arm because it felt safer.
My cheek rested against his chest and brought everything back regardless.
He wore a different cologne now, but the warmth still came off him the same way.
I inhaled as shallowly as possible in an effort to pretend I was unfazed.
“It’s good to see you.” His voice was low, as though he wanted to say more and wished my dad wasn’t five feet away, standing by the fridge.
“What do you want to drink, Deck?” My dad popped our little bubble.
Decker stepped back, and I turned toward the stove to stir.
“Water’s fine. It smells great.”
“She’s been slaving away all day. Cheddar biscuits are in the oven, caramel brownies chilling in the fridge.”
“All my favorites.”
I didn’t turn around so they couldn’t see my face, which was surely the same color as my Hartwell sweatshirt.
“Do you need any help, slugger?” my dad asked.
Decker started to laugh but caught himself, coughing to disguise our inside joke.
“No, I’m good. Just relax.”
I’d have preferred them to go to the other room so I could get my bearings, but my dad told Decker to sit at the kitchen table.
I didn’t live with my dad. I’d opted for the dorms so I could make friends. I was there just for the meal.
They talked about school, Decker’s team, the rivalry between Hartwell and Kingsley.
“Have you and Foster reconnected?” my dad asked.
I’d wondered the same thing. I’d seen a few pictures they’d been tagged in together on social media. There were so many questions I wanted to ask about how it had gone and where they stood, but they were always smiling in the photos, so I assumed things were good between them.
“We have, and things are great. We hang out occasionally and talk a lot. Crazy how it all went down. And now he’s playing for you.” There was a lightness in Decker’s voice that I had never heard before when he talked about his twin brother.
“Rumors are he’s a hothead. I met with him last week, and I’m gonna be honest—I don’t mind his edge. He’s got that win-at-all-costs mentality.”
Decker laughed. “That’s Foster. Complete opposite of me.”
“I’m not sure about that. I think he just lets it out while you internalize everything.”
There were moments in my life when I was jealous of my dad’s relationship with Decker.
They had become so close, and I wondered sometimes if Dad would have preferred a son.
But I wasn’t going to magically grow a penis, and I wanted Decker to have a man who took on that fatherly role for him since his own father wasn’t in his life. So my jealousy faded quickly.
My dad’s phone rang, and he excused himself as I was about to say dinner was ready.
“Pen.” The sound of a chair scraping across the kitchen floor came from behind me. “Let me help you.”
I was mid-reach into the cabinet for the plates when Decker’s chest hit my back. “I’ll get them.”
But even after I dropped back to my heels and his hands were on the plates, he didn’t move.
The longer we stood there, the more I wanted to turn around and look him in the eye.
Would he still have that look in his eyes?
That one that said I was more than a friend.
Like there was a wordless conversation we’d been having for years because neither of us had the guts to say it out loud.
He eventually stepped back, and I opened a drawer for a spoon.
“Pen?”
“Yeah?” I kept my attention on the drawer, moving around utensils as though I couldn’t find the right one.
“You haven’t even looked at me yet.”
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat and let my gaze lift.
His hips rested against the opposite counter, arms crossed. Then his lips tipped up, and I gave myself the gift of one quick look, but the minute our eyes caught, relief flooded through me.
Decker was still looking at me as though I was his. My shoulders relaxed.
His smile only deepened, and for the first time in a year, we took each other in.
“You look good, Pen.”
Warmth rushed to my cheeks as hope swelled in my chest. “Thanks. You do too. I missed you.” The last three words slipped out, but I didn’t want to snatch them back. I wanted him to know.
His smile faltered. “I… I have a girlfriend.”
My muscles all stiffened as embarrassment swamped me. I stepped back, and my lower back hit the counter. “Oh. What’s her name?”
What else was I going to say?
Thankfully, my dad came back into the kitchen right after, filling the room with baseball talk while I stood at the stove. I tried to recover, scooping out the chicken and orzo onto three plates while dread wrapped around me like an octopus, pulling me down into the dark depths of the ocean.
I had no idea what it would be like to watch Decker with another girl. But I had a feeling I was about to find out.
“Is dinner ready, Mommy?” Hazel’s voice pulls me out of the memory as she barrels into the kitchen. “Decker’s stomach is making noises.”
“Tattletale.” Decker tickles her side, and she squeals, running away.
She runs to my side, clinging to my legs, and my eyes catch and hold Decker’s.
Those familiar eyes say so much more than the words that ever come out of his mouth. I’m still a fool.