So, why in the hell did I ask Penelope out? God, I’m such a moron. This is a woman who’s been married before, someone proposed to her … she has children. She knows what proper romance should look like. Meanwhile, the best I can do is buy some grocery store flowers and show up at her house like some lame romantic comedy hero.
I pull at the collar of my button-down, cursing myself once more that I actually picked this out of my closet. Fuck, I look like a chump.
And this is where the anxiety creeps in. I’ve always had it, lurking underneath my skin, but using arrogance and the enormous intelligence I was gifted at birth, it’s been easy to put up the facade that I’m never rattled.
But, deep down, I’m just as spineless and scared as everybody else around here.
What if I spill something on her? What if I get food stuck in my teeth? What if my card gets declined?
And those are only the surface level things I’m worrying about. The first date snafus that were more about vanity than actual connection.
The real problem is that she’s already slept with me, so we know that there is chemistry in the bedroom. But what if we sit down across from each other, alone at a dinner table, and have absolutely nothing in common?
I’ve known Penelope for most of our lives, but what if she decides, after one date, that there really isn’t all that much that attracted her to me?
The thought is nauseating, and now I curse myself for not having more dating experience. If I’d done this before, with another woman I didn’t like half as much, maybe I wouldn’t be jumping out of my skin with anxiety.
As I walk to her front door, my heart threatens to bust free, sweat trickles down my spine, and fuck me, my eye starts twitching. I’m a mess by the time I make it up the front walk, and the date hasn’t even begun yet.
I knock with a shaky fist, my store-bought daisies trembling in the other.
After a minute or two, Penelope’s cherry-red front door swings open, and there she stands.
Powder blue sundress that sets off the color of her clover-green eyes. Smooth, caramel-tan skin contrasted by the cornsilk color of her loose waves. A timid smile, her fingers twisting back and forth in one another, the delicate pink polish making even her hands look beautiful.
Penelope is a canvas of brilliant color, always has been. She lives as brightly as a rainbow after a dark storm, and it takes my breath away.
It’s funny how your world axis can tilt to reveal a completely new vantage point. I’ve been so bitter and isolated for years, thinking that my family and the girl I’ve been interested in didn’t understand me at all. The reason I’d proposed being Penelope’s friend with benefits was to stick it to her … to show her how much she’d missed by not picking me.
But over time, my resentment melted away. It’s as if a curtain of gloom has lifted from my personality, and in its place left a film tinged rose-colored. On one hand, it made me feel like a wimp, like some guy who’d fallen to his knees once he realized he could be loved. On the other hand, I was just glad I hadn’t completely spoiled my chances before coming to my senses too late.
“You look pretty,” I tell her, the words feeling strange in my mouth. I hand over the flowers, and she bends her head to smell them.
And not because she doesn’t look like a knockout … Penelope always does. But because I don’t how to flatter a female. This is a whole new arena for me, and I find that I’m on the losing end of this competition.
“Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.” Penelope smiles shyly.
That’s when I realize she might be nervous, too.
A little face pops up behind her back and I notice Ames standing there, smiling at me. “Doesn’t Mommy look like a princess?” he asks.
I kneel down so that I’m on his level, something I read to do when you’re around children. Yes, I have been reading textbooks about child rearing. No, that doesn’t make me pussy whipped.
“Yes, she does,” I say, tossing his hair in an unconscious motion that shocks me.
“Are you taking her to the castle, just like the prince in Cinderella?” His innocent voice inquires about one of the most romantic fairy tales of all time.
“Well, I don’t know about a castle, but we are going to eat sushi,” I tell him honestly. “Maybe I’ll get her a glass slipper later, though.”
I wink up at Penelope, whose eyes shine with something very close to hope as she watches me interact with her child.
I’m aware what dating her comes with. I’ve gotten the lecture from Fletcher, and I know my mom observed me like a hawk when we all had dinner at her house. Starting a relationship with Penelope doesn’t just mean the honeymoon stages of dating. We won’t go to dinner or dancing every night, I won’t be able to spontaneously take her out of town or pick her up at a random time on the weekend to go swimming at the lake.
She comes with her boys and although wrapping my head around just even dating is hard … I’m going to respect that as best I can. I’m going to nurture a friendship with them, as well as court their mother. Court, what a funny, old-fashioned word.
But if Penelope is going to realize I am serious about this, I have to do just that.
I’m not sure when the shift occurred … of me wanting to date Penelope rather than just fuck her. We all know I’ve always had a thing for her, that it’s been unrequited, that it hasn’t gone away over the years.
And, at first, I was okay being just her side piece. Being the man she visited in the middle of the night.
Maybe, it was because all my brothers had to go and get married, sad saps they are. Seeing them happy, seeing how relationships didn’t weigh them down but lifted them up? My logical brain connected the thread between happiness and dedicating your life to one woman.
But it wasn’t just them. As I got to spend more time with Penelope, and really talk to her on a one-on-one level, it became clear as day that my crush on her was never unfounded. She’s spectacular. Funny, sexy, goofy … the loudness and brazenness I’d once faulted her for are the things that addicted me most. When we talk after sex, when I look into her eyes as she lies on my other pillow … something in me shifted. My heart started to get involved, and that was something I had never experienced before with any other woman.
Of course, it wasn’t. My heart had always been reserved for Penelope. And admitting that didn’t make me a fool.
I am a man who goes after whatever his brain or heart tells him to. So, I’m not going to second-guess my own emotions or decisions. If I want to date her, I am going to date her. If Penelope suddenly makes me change my thinking on marriage and kids, so be it.
Marriage and kids, where the hell did that come from? Get it together, Forrest. You’re not trying to completely freak her out.
My hands are so slippery on the steering wheel, I’m afraid I might drive us into a ditch on the way to Lancaster.
“I’ve never eaten sushi.” Penelope speaks up, her voice timid.
I chance a glance at her, my eyes flitting nervously. “Oh, I didn’t realize …”
“It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll find something. It’s … raw fish, right?” The way she says it makes the whole thing sound horribly unappetizing.
“Yeah. This is the best sushi restaurant for miles. If you don’t want to go there, though, we can pick somewhere else.”
“No, we can go!” she says too quickly, and it’s so unlike Penelope to just appease anyone.
I drum my hands on the steering wheel and try to focus on the radio to drown out my thoughts.
But it doesn’t work. “Can we cut the crap?
My voice slices through the air, and Penelope’s head whips in my direction.
“You don’t look pretty, you look beautiful. Radiant, is more like it. I should tell you that I’ve wanted to take you out since I laid eyes on you as a pre-teen and that I’m so nervous, I can’t stop my knee from shaking. Even now, as I vomit up all my feelings, it won’t stop.”
We both look down at m
y knee which is swaying more than a house in an earthquake.
“And I should tell you that I’m taking you out to sushi to impress you, to make you think I have an affinity for worldly things, which honestly just makes me sound like even more of a prick than I usually am. Really, all I want to do is spend time with you, and I hope to God that you enjoy this as much as I know I’m going to.”
A beat passes.
“I’m nervous, too.” Penelope gives me a small smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. And with anyone I like half as much as you. Also, I changed my shoes about six times.”
A sigh of relief whooshes from my lungs. “Thank fuck. I didn’t want to be the only one nervous for this.”
“My God, Forrest Nash … I think you’ve transformed from the Beast into a prince right before my very eyes.” Penelope reaches across the car and settles a hand on my thigh.
“Ames was talking about Cinderella, not Beauty and the Beast,” I counter.
She tilts her head to the side, considering me. “Yes, but the Beast had a library and you’re a nerd, so it fits more.”
27
Penelope
Staring down at the jiggly, raw piece of tuna on my plate, I’m not sure whether to eat it or ball it up in my napkin and throw it in the garbage.
Forrest has already dug in, his chopsticks perfectly poised, dunking his sushi piece into a concoction of soy sauce and other green and pink items he mixed in off the big sushi plate in front of us.
“It’s not going to bite you.” He chuckles after swallowing.
“I’m a little afraid it’s going to crawl off my plate and go back to the ocean.” I cringe.
Forrest takes a drink of sake from his glass, the same kind he ordered me. I’ve never tried it before, but I am pleasantly surprised at the taste. It has left a nice buzz in my veins, which has calmed some of the nerves leading into the date.
“Who knew you were a picky eater? And here I thought you were this adventurous girl.”
Forrest is goading me, I know this, but I never have been one to step down from a challenge. With an “I’ll show you” glance thrown at him, I reach down onto my plate. I pluck the fish and rice up between my thumb and forefinger, dunk it in the soy sauce and shove it in my mouth.
The texture is foreign, the taste ones I’ve never experienced before. Looking at all the ingredients, you wouldn’t think they’d mesh well. The salty dunking sauce, raw fish, cucumber, this orange mayo looking sauce, seaweed … it all seems a strange combination.
But after the initial bite starts to register on my palette, I’m surprised at how much I like it. It’s fresh but rich, salty, and spicy, it has a slimy texture but the rice holds that at bay enough to get past it.
“It’s … not bad.” I smile, proud of myself for trying something new, and proving to Forrest that I’m not a coward.
My date looks triumphant on my behalf. “You just tried a spicy tuna roll, which is way more advanced than what most people start with. Bravo.”
I give him a little seated bow and follow my first bite of sushi up with a sip of sake.
“Next, we have to teach you how to use chopsticks.” Forrest watches my tongue dart out to catch a stray drop of my drink on my lips. “It’s not very civilized to eat sushi with your fingers.”
“We do some very uncivilized things, and I’ve never heard you complain before.” I blink a sweet, innocent glance at him while the dirty innuendo falls out of my mouth.
Forrest smacks a hand to his chest, his expression all faux offense. “Ms. Briggs, I don’t kiss on the first date.”
I play along. “Well, considering we’re way past that, I’m not sure this can even qualify as a first date.”
He pops another piece of sushi into his mouth, and I choose a new roll to try. We share a smile that waxes of mutual humor and secrets we know about each other in the bedroom.
“How’s work going?” Forrest asks.
“You really want to know that?” I find it amusing.
He shrugs. “We’ve never really talked about it before, and I read a book on dating one oh one that said to seem genuinely interested in your date’s career.”
“You did not read that book.” My tongue and lips tingle with an impending laugh.
A nod of his head, his dark hair ruffling with the motion. “Of course, I did.”
Now I snicker. “Forrest, you can’t be that lame. Or that socially inept. We’ve interacted at barbecues, events, even alone in your own home!”
His gaze is solemn. “That might be true, but I’ve never taken anyone on a date. I’ve never taken you on a date. I wanted to do it the right way.”
And underneath his clever, quick-witted conceit, I see it. The vulnerability of a man who has never felt fully himself with anyone. Except … maybe with me?
A shy smile spreads slowly on my lips. He’s probably expecting me to banter back at him, to tease him about this very personal admission he’s shared. But I won’t. Because I knew I’d be tripping over my awkwardness and fearful about jumping into the dating pool … but I didn’t realize the two hearts at this table would feel the same way.
“Work is good. Great, actually. Being a small-town school nurse is as unpredictable yet boring as it sounds, and I absolutely love it. Who knew dealing with teenage breakups and flu outbreaks would be part of a job description?”
Forrest blinks, probably surprised that I actually answered the question instead of delving into his first date confession.
“I can’t imagine dealing with that kind of drama every day. Or that many people.”
I shrug. “Yes, the students can exaggerate with the best of them. But they’re just trying to figure themselves out, some of them with very real daily ailments. I like to think I can prod them in the right direction while also helping them see that life won’t always be this rife with hormonal turmoil.”
A muscle in his jaw tenses, but his eyes shine with admiration. “You’re doing good work for those kids. Sometimes, I felt like high school would never end. It wasn’t as easy for me as it was for my brothers. But then my dad bought me my first computer, and I found I was passionate about something … it does get better. That’s such a cliché when guidance counselors say it, but it does.”
The butterflies that have been simmering, fluttering quietly all night in my gut, suddenly take flight. My opinion of Forrest has changed so many times in the last year, it’s a little bit like whiplash. Every time I think he’s going to be a pompous ass, he somehow surprises me. In this moment, I thought he’d brush off real emotion with some sardonic comment. Instead, the man shows me he has the maturity of someone twice his age. Admitting that he had a rough go of things until he found his interests … that’s big. Not every man would open up about being so unsure.
It makes me want to open up, too. “I think a lot of people assume that I peaked in high school.”
“Penelope …” Forrest’s voice is low but holds contempt, like he wants to argue that point.
I hold up a hand. “No, I know that’s what a lot of people in Fawn Hill say about me. Penelope Briggs, the prom queen widowed by her high school sweetheart. Raising three boys as a single mother. Never left town, tries to act younger than she is … I’ve heard all the gossip about me. Hell, I’ve probably spread some of it trying to save face. And it might be partially true, I did have some of my best years in high school. When I left, life rolled down hill for a while. I got pregnant way younger than I’d wanted to, my husband died, I had to make ends meet for my kids. But … people don’t realize that I’ve also prospered. My children are amazing, having them is the best decision I’ve ever made. I have a wonderful job I love, I live down the street from my parents and my best friends. I think people can assume a lot of things about you without ever having really taken a look at your life.”
A warm, strong hand dwarfs mine in the center of the table, Forrest’s long fingers absentmindedly threading through my own.
“This version of
you is the one I like best. Back then, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. Don’t argue, we both know it’s true. But this Penelope? She’s a thousand times the girl I crushed on in my childhood. You haven’t peaked … although you may after dating me. Not sure how you can get much higher than that.”
He cuts our serious talk with a glib joke, and it’s probably why we mesh so well. I can’t help the wobbly chuckle that leaves my throat.
“Guess I’ll be ruined after this.” My thumb strokes the inside of his palm.
“Either that, or you’ll just have to stay with me forever.” Those baby blues twinkle with amusement and sincerity.
Suddenly, it’s a bit hard to breathe. Forrest said the word forever, and for the first time since Travis died, I can envision a future that holds a man who loves me, without a pit in my stomach.
28
Forrest
Once a month, Keaton insists on having us all over to play poker.
It was something Dad did with his buddies in town, and my oldest brother thought we should keep the tradition alive.
Soon, we’ll all sit in a circle around the professional poker table Keaton went out and bought; my brother is anything if not a prepared perfectionist. Bowen is shuffling the cards while Keaton chats with Presley, who retreats up the basement stairs just seconds later.
“We ready to start?” Fletcher asks, a can of iced tea in his hand.
Normally, I like a good six-pack next to my feet to sip on for the entirety of the game. But Keaton thought it would be nice if we did a sober night once in a while for my twin brother, so our poker games have adapted a soda, lemonade, and iced tea only beverage menu.
“Yep, let’s do this. I came to kick all your asses.” Bowen gives us all a greedy little smirk.
I crack my knuckles and slide my sunglasses onto the bridge of my nose, as is my party trick.
“You look like a dumbass.” Fletcher flicks my forehead as I sit down with him on my left. Keaton is on my right, with Bowen across the table.
Flutter: The Nash Brothers, Book Three Page 13
