by Lacey Black
After a few seconds, I start to laugh. I laugh so hard, tears roll down my cheeks. “Really?” I bellow, glancing up, as if the dating gods were somehow looking down on me at the moment.
Clearly, I’ve lost it.
Grabbing my phone, I fire off a text to my former best friend, Shannon.
Me: I hate you. You’re not allowed to set me up ever again.
It only takes a few seconds before the little bubbles appear.
Shannon: Seriously? I thought for sure you two would hit it off.
Me: The only hitting was my knee to his nuts when he tried to kiss me outside the diner.
Shannon: Really?
Me: Would I make that up? It was horrible, Shan. He insinuated I was going back to his place afterward.
Shannon: That’s too bad. I really thought he was the one!
Me: Well, he wasn’t. You’re officially cut off from setting me up. No more. I mean it.
Shannon: Fine. I’m sorry.
Shannon: Now what are you going to do for the wedding?
Me: I don’t need a date.
Me: Anyway, I’m heading home. I need to scrub the feel of his lips off my mouth.
Shannon: Awww, so sorry he was a dud. I’ll do better next time! *insert evil grin*
Me: No! No next time!
Shannon: Sorry, you were breaking up. Didn’t hear you…
Tossing my phone onto the passenger seat, I can practically hear her evil cackle all the way over here. I start my vehicle and slowly pull from the lot, making sure to keep my eyes straight ahead, in case Jonathan is still lingering somewhere.
The entire way home, I replay the date, trying to pinpoint exactly where it went wrong. I was in a great mood when I arrived, but that quickly took a detour south the moment I spotted my neighbor practically getting it on in a family restaurant. From that point on, my mind wasn’t focused on where it should have been.
Not that Jonathan had turned out to be someone to bring home to meet Mom or Dad.
Ugh! What a night. What a crappy date. What a miserable time.
Do you know whose fault this is?
That’s right.
Completely frustrating and annoying, yet stunningly gorgeous Theo Emerson.
All. His. Fault.
Chapter Eight
Theo
I feel like I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at the walls, even though it’s only been about thirty minutes. Every car I hear pass on the street, I wonder if it’s her, then get completely frustrated and worried when it’s not.
How is her date going?
Is she having a good time?
Will she kiss him goodnight?
I need to go back inside. It’s the only way to save my sanity. Sitting out on my back porch, my chair strategically positioned so I don’t miss her car when it pulls in, is slowly killing me. It’s also not helping my liver, because I’m on my second beer of my night, with no sign of slowing down.
Just as I convince myself to go inside to end my self-induced torture, I hear an approaching car and get all sorts of excited when headlights flash onto my garage as it turns in. I find myself sitting up straighter, waiting as her garage door opens and her car finally pulls into view. She parks in her garage and gets out, even though I can’t see her.
When she finally steps through the entrance and presses the button to lower the door, I get my first view of her since the diner. She’s wearing those cute little ballet flats she likes, and even though she’s wearing a jacket, that green sweater looks even prettier beneath the moonlight.
Penelope stops and digs in her purse, her gaze flashing over to my property for the briefest moment, but I’m certain she can’t see me. There are no lights on in my house, nor out here, and unless she catches motion, she’d have no idea I’m out here.
“Hey.”
“Ahh!” she startles, dropping her purse and bringing her hands up to her gaping mouth. “Jesus, Theo? Is that you? What are you doing out here?” she asks, bending down to retrieve her belongings, snatching them up with sharp movements.
“Enjoying the night. Sorry to scare you.”
“It’s all right.” She takes a hesitant step in my direction. “Seriously, though. What are you doing?”
I can’t help but just stare at her. She really is a beautiful woman, one who probably doesn’t even realize how gorgeous she is. Better than all those girl next door fantasies you have as a young man, back before you become jaded and cynical.
Clearing my throat, I reply, “Just enjoying the night. Want to join me? I have beer.” I reach down and open the small six-pack cooler I packed so I didn’t have to go in and out to get a drink. I pull out one of the remaining cans and hold it out, waiting to see if she joins me or not.
Penelope is hesitant but eventually makes her way toward me. “Thank you,” she replies, taking the beer and sitting on the chair beside me. “These are comfortable.”
I glance over, watching as she inspects the Adirondack chairs I made when I first moved in. “Thanks. They were the first pieces I made when I bought this place. I wanted good, sturdy chairs to sit on, but needed them to withstand the rain and winter weather.”
“I’ve been admiring the dark wood.” She runs her hand over the armrest of the chair before cracking open the can. Penelope takes a small sip before relaxing back into the chair. “What a great night.”
I nod, even though I know she’s staring up at the stars. “Probably one of the last warmer weekends before the colder winter really starts to move in.”
We’re surrounded by silence for several long minutes, and you know what? It’s not uncomfortable. Not in the least. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Sitting beside her, outside with nothing but the subtle sound of crickets chirping off in the distance is pretty damn relaxing.
“How was your evening?” I find myself finally asking, but I’m not sure why. I don’t really want to know how her date went. Or at least I don’t want to if it went well.
“It was…fine.” She looks my way with a smile on her lips, but it looks…off. Forced, maybe? “He’s a great guy.”
I slowly nod, acid burning my gut. “I’m glad.”
Penelope looks to her backyard, up at her large shade tree. There’s the slightest grin playing on her pink lips, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about. Is she thinking about her date? Are they planning to see each other again? How soon? Tomorrow night?
Jealousy is a bitch, my friend, and it has dug in deep, burrowing into my chest and making it hard to breathe.
“How about yours?” she finally whispers, her soft voice like a knife cutting through the darkness, a reminder of how terrible my own date went.
“Oh, uh, fine, I guess.” I take another long pull from my beer.
“One of the Feller twins, huh? I didn’t realize you were seeing her. Which one was that, by the way? I can never tell them apart.” She chuckles, but there’s something icy and raw about it. It sounds fake, and I hate it.
“Fiona, but we’re not dating. Tonight was…well, it was a one-time thing.”
I think back to the shock on her face when I told her I wasn’t going with them to Patrick’s place. The moment we stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the diner, I thanked her for a nice evening and took a big step back. Mostly because her perfume was giving me a headache, but also because her hands had a habit of wandering around my body as if they owned it.
“Oh. I thought you were, you know, together. You seemed very chummy.”
I snort out a laugh, recalling the moment Penelope walked up and saw Fiona’s hand on my junk. “She’s very…friendly.”
Now it’s her turn to laugh. “Friendly. That’s a good way to put it.”
We chat about absolutely nothing, yet everything at the same time, both finishing our drinks. When she finally empties her can, she slowly rises from her chair. “Well, I should probably head inside. It’s getting late. Thank you for
the beer.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for joining me. I had a nice time.”
She glances down and smiles. It’s a beautiful smile. One that makes every smile I’ve ever seen before it seem dull and lifeless. “I did too.” Walking across my patio, she crosses our shared driveway, stopping at the edge of her yard and glancing over her shoulder. “Night.”
“Night, Pen.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me alone and wishing she’d come back.
There’s something about Penelope that draws me to her. Something I can’t deny, nor fight.
Now I just have to figure out what to do about it.
***
With my brother’s wedding looming and taking four whole days off from work, I spend the next few days in my shop. The plan is to take off noonish tomorrow, get checked in to the hotel I’m staying at, and then hang with my brother and some of his friends tomorrow night at the driving range. Friday will be filled with pre-wedding festivities and the rehearsal, and Saturday jam-packed with all that comes with a wedding. By Sunday morning, it’ll be time to check out and head home, but if I know my family, they’ll stuff as many activities as humanly possible in those few short days.
I’m adding a fresh coat of paint to an armoire when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A cat slips into my shop, making as much noise as possible. “Well, hello there,” I say, setting my paintbrush down on the tray. “Are you lost?”
The calico cat meows loudly and rubs its body against a table leg across the room. I’ve seen a few stray cats in the neighborhood, but this one isn’t one that looks familiar. In fact, it doesn’t even look like a stray. He or she appears well fed and wears a red collar around the neck.
“Huh,” I mutter, watching as the cat walks over and makes itself at home on an old office chair I keep around when I need to sit and think. The feline makes one circle before plopping down on the old, faded black seat and closes its eyes.
I watch for a few long seconds before shrugging my shoulders. Apparently, it’s naptime. With one last glance at the intruder, I grab my paintbrush and get back to work. It shouldn’t take me too long to finish this coat, but since I keep stealing looks over at my office chair, the task at hand takes a touch longer.
By the time I set the brush aside, the sun is starting to drop in the sky. I clean everything up in the utility sink I installed upon moving here and toss the brush on the counter to dry. When I reach my chair, the feline camped out cracks open an eye and glares unapprovingly at me. It’s almost as if I’m inconveniencing it by wondering what it’s doing in my chair.
With a deep sigh, I pull a bottle of water from my mini fridge, carefully pick up the cat, and set it on my lap as I have a seat. It glances up, unamused, before laying its head back down on my knee and meowing dramatically.
As I gently run my hand down its head, I gingerly reach down and flip the little silver nametag on the collar. “Annabelle. So I guess you’re a female, huh?” She starts to purr as I rub down her back and around to her belly. “There’s a number here. I suppose we should call your owners. They’re probably getting worried. You’ve been gone a while.”
Just as I’m reaching for my cell phone, I hear a distant screen door open and slam shut. “Annabelle! Annabelle, are you out here?”
I recognize that female voice immediately, and it sounds on the verge of hysteria. Scooping up the cat, I head for the doorway and glance around for my neighbor. I find her looking up at her tree, frantically searching every limb for her cat.
“Missing something?” I ask, holding Annabelle in my arms.
Penelope doesn’t even bother to look my way. “Yes.” Her reply is clipped, stressed. “My cat. Annabelle.”
Propping a hip against the wall, I rub the animal in my arms behind the ears and ask, “What does she look like?”
Penelope puffs out a breath, the cloud of warm air visible in the cooling evening sky. “She’s a white, orange, and black calico cat,” she starts, turning to face me, her hands firmly planted on her hips, “with a…red…collar.”
A smile spreads across my lips.
“What…how…” She inhales deeply, and her eyes narrow into little slits. “Why do you have my cat?” she demands, stomping my way.
She’s so fucking adorable when she’s mad.
“Annabelle? She just stumbled into my shop a little bit ago,” I insist, gently stroking the cat’s side and making her purr.
The noise catches Penelope’s attention. “She’s purring?” Her eyes flash up to mine. “She’s purring?”
“She does that often. I think she likes me.” I go ahead and flash my neighbor a cheeky smile, just because I know it’ll make her blood boil.
“Give me my cat,” she demands, holding her hands out.
“How do I know she’s yours? Maybe you saw this cute little stray cat come into my shop and decided to steal it.” I pull the feline back just outside of her reach.
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been frantically searching my entire house for the last two hours for her. There’s no way she could have gotten out. Annabelle can’t open doors. That means someone took her.”
The accusation is loud and clear. “You think I went into your house and took your cat?”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. I can tell she really doesn’t buy it, but I don’t think she’ll actually admit she could be wrong. “Well, how did she get out?” she says instead.
“I don’t know. Maybe you accidentally left the door open,” I suggest, feeling the vibrations of the cat purring in my arms.
She turns to look at her door, noticing the screen door isn’t completely latched. Instead of arguing further, I head to where she stands and hold out the cat. “Thanks,” she says, a flash of gratitude in those gorgeous emerald eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t find her. Most days she doesn’t like me unless I’m feeding her, but I love her,” she says, scratching the cat beneath her jaw. Annabelle cracks open an eye and seems to sigh when she realizes who’s now holding her.
When I reach out to pet the cat’s head, my pinky unintentionally grazes her chest. She looks up, her eyes dilating ever so slightly, as those deep green eyes turn even darker. I pull back, fighting the urge to just take her in my arms and kiss the hell out of her. Clearing my throat, I reply, “You’re welcome. She was pretty good. Just sat over on my chair while I worked.”
She averts her gaze. “I’m glad. She’s usually a pretty good cat. Except when you accidentally leave the bathroom door open. She can tear a roll of toilet paper into confetti in a matter of seconds.”
The small smile she gives me makes my heart trip over itself in my chest. She’s fucking beautiful all the time, but when she smiles, it takes my breath away. “I’ll make sure the bathroom door is closed next time she visits,” I state, flashing my own grin.
“You do that.” Penelope glances back at her house. “Well, I should get her back inside. She’s probably tired from her outdoor adventure today.”
I watch as she turns and walks to her place, opening the screen door. Before she pushes through the doorway, I hear, “Hey, Theo?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. I’m truly grateful for your help.”
Nodding, I reply, “Anytime.”
Then, she’s gone, disappearing inside her house, and the late afternoon seems slightly drearier, with less life now that she’s gone. I want her to come back, to listen to the crazy ideas popping into my head where she and I are concerned.
Namely, do her lips taste as sweet as I imagine?
And will she ever let me find out?
Chapter Nine
Penelope
I check over my list one last time, making sure I have everything ready for the trip. I’m set to be on the road at noon to head to Seattle for Teagan and Trevor’s wedding. Of course, I have my checklist of things to pack. There’s nothing worse than getting to your destination, only to discover y
ou have forgotten something important.
Like your underwear.
Or a bridesmaid’s dress.
A quick glance over at my couch confirms Annabelle is still sound asleep. She has been lounging around since I brought her back home last night. Though, she has given me the stink eye quite frequently since then, as if she was unhappy to have been removed from her cushy spot, snuggled against the neighbor’s broad, muscular chest.
Not that I blame her for that one at all.
It’s a pretty nice chest.
Once I have my suitcase packed, I double-check it. Then triple-check it. Teagan’s the one out of all of us who is over-the-top organized, but I’m so nervous to forget something vital, it never hurts to verify. Finally, after going through my list a third and final time, I wheel my suitcase to the back door, only to return to the bedroom to grab the garment bag with my dress.
Of all the bridesmaids dresses I’ve worn for my friends’ weddings, this one is my favorite. It’s chocolate brown, hits just below the knees. When Teagan picked it out, she didn’t give that standard bullshit line about being able to wear it again. Everyone knows you don’t actually wear them again.
I should know. I have six others hanging in the spare bedroom closet.
After another check to make sure Annabelle has enough food and water, I start to haul my luggage out to my car. The first thing I notice when I step outside is the fact that Theo’s shop isn’t open. That’s unusual for him not to be working away on some project in the middle of the day.
I’m loaded and ready. All that’s left is to run next door to Mrs. Gibson’s house and let her know I’m heading out. Mrs. Gibson is the sweetest old lady, who has lived alone for the last nine years, following her husband’s death. When I moved in, we bonded over our mutual love for cinnamon rolls, and over time, I learned to trust her enough with my spare key.
