His body stills. “I’d have liked you regardless of whose daughter you were.”
I smile at him. “But you know what I mean, right? You felt like people judged you because of your family. That’s what I was afraid of. I just wanted complete anonymity to feel whatever I wanted to.”
He picks at a tiny hole in the thigh of his jeans. “I can understand that.” His gaze flips up to mine. “That’s the night I put my dad in jail.”
I blink once. Twice. My heart crushes against my ribs as I watch an unnamed emotion pass through his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” I whisper.
“Because I didn’t want you to know that’s the kind of family I was from. So like I said, I can understand that.”
He goes back to fiddling with the hole in his jeans.
I stand in front of him. Reaching out, I take his face in my hands and lift his chin. I look him right in the eye so he doesn’t miss a word I say.
“I would’ve liked you no matter what family you were from too,” I tell him.
He takes a breath and lets that settle over him. Finally, he grins. “Thanks.”
I release him and back away.
As if a piece of my life has been snapped into place, I feel a serenity like never before. And as I watch Penn watch me, I realize there’s a peace between us, too, in a way I couldn’t have imagined.
“Abby made such an impression on me,” he says cheekily, “that I got a tattoo for her.”
“The dice?”
He nods. “She was the only person that I felt like didn’t judge me, make excuses for me, or blow me off.”
I grin. “I think I kind of did blow you off that night, if you catch my drift.”
He laughs, his dimple setting deep in his cheek.
I take his hand and pull him to my bed. We sit together quietly, our hands locked together with an intensity that I’m not sure either of us means to happen but neither of us pulls away from. Having him here like this is the most intimate moment I’ve ever had with a man, because we’re sharing something that matters. We’re choosing to participate in this, even though it isn’t easy. Even though it kind of hurts a bit. Even though it could change everything.
“I was embarrassed that you didn’t recognize me at first,” I say softly. “And then, once I didn’t say anything, it was kind of hard to just bring it up. I was stuck and I didn’t know what to do, but I was going to tell you today.”
He shakes his head. “I was just shocked. I’ve thought about that emo girl named Abby over the years, wondering what happened to her. I’d almost convinced myself that I made her up as a coping mechanism or something.” He blushes. “I saw that on a television show once.”
I laugh. “I was real. Abby was real.” I think back to what I must’ve looked like that night with my black hair and bloodred lips. “That was not my best stage of life.”
He shrugs. “I thought she was pretty bangin’.”
“Did you?” I prod.
“Almost as hot as she is now.” He squeezes my hand before letting it go. “I should hate you,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because before you came to town, I had my balls. Now, I’m talking about my feelings, giving a fuck about how you feel, and I haven’t gotten laid. At all. I don’t even know me anymore.”
I bump him with my shoulder. “Yeah, but you’re the new and improved Penn Etling now.”
“I was pretty damn perfect before.”
“You’re welcome to go back to it,” I tell him. Even as the words slip by my lips, I inwardly cringe.
He might take me up on it. I might die if he does.
He bites his lip and looks at the ceiling like he’s considering it. The longer he goes, the more worried about it I become.
“Nah,” he says. “It was getting pretty tiresome to be me with my phone ringing all the time and the girls just all over my cock. I needed a break from it.”
“Oh, geez.”
He shrugs. We sit quietly for a while, the only sound coming from Harper’s television show.
As I study his handsome face, I realize that this is the realest I’ve ever been with another person. The vulnerability I feel exceeds anything else at the moment. There’s no shield, no plan to prevent myself from getting hurt by Penn. There’s only trust that he wouldn’t do anything to wound me.
It’s a revelation that sparks something inside me. I’ve given my time and energy to men who didn’t try half as much as Penn. And even though I want more, and I do, maybe something could work out between us.
Just as I’m trying to formulate how to start a conversation to see how he feels, he stands up.
“Come on,” he says abruptly.
“Come on, what?”
He snorts. “Can you please think about what you say before you say it?”
Come on what. I hit him.
“Where are we going?” I say politely.
He grins. “We’re taking a road trip.”
“And where are we taking a road trip to?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?” he asks. “Just put some shoes on, or don’t, and let’s go.”
I put my hands on my hips. “And why should I trust you?”
“It’s a little late for that. We’re on the ‘talking about feelings’ level. There should be some trust there. But if you ever bring this up in public, I’ll deny it like a motherfucker.”
I can’t hide my laughter. “Deal. Now, back to where we are going: Can I wear what I have on?” I ask.
“Do you think I care what you wear?” He holds out his hands. “I mean, if I had my choice, you’d wear nothing, but I’m going out on a limb and guessing you won’t go for that.”
The smile he gives me dissolves me on the spot.
He’s back.
“Fine. Let’s go,” I say.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and leans his head against mine. I think he might kiss the top of my head, but I’m not sure.
What I am sure of is that this was way easier getting into than it will be getting out of.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AVERY
Oh, wow.” The words escape my lips before I even realize I’m saying them.
The sight before me, even without Penn in it, is spectacular. The deep-blue waters of Dogwood Lake ripple in the fading sunlight.
Everything feels amplified out here. The greens are more vivid, the birds happier, and the air a little sweeter than anywhere I’ve ever been. It’s just like I remembered but . . . more.
“What do you think?” Penn asks. He holds his hands out to his sides like he’s showing off the little area nestled out into the middle of the forest. “Ring a bell?”
“Of course it does.”
I turn in a circle. The tree canopy overhead is thick and lush. The large oak tree we lay under that night is still there, minus the ants. I laugh.
“What?” he asks.
I point at the tree. “Do you remember the ants?”
“Fuck yes,” he admits. “I came out here with a can of ant killer the next day. That’s against my usual code of conduct, but I had welts everywhere for two weeks.”