Page 70 of One More Chapter
I glance down at Anthony, who somehow snagged the comfy recliner, and I’m stunned.
He looksexhausted. The deep pockets around his eyes paired with the glassy sheen makes me wonder what he’s been doing all day.
“I… wish I had a better comeback for you. I’m just trying to hide. Looks like we found the same spot.”
I exhale, sliding down the wall until we’re at eye level.
“Long day or something?”
“Yeah. Or something…” He yawns hugely. “Was over at my new place with my dad and his crew finishing the flooring, then had to finish up a few odds and ends for my mom. I picked up the beer on the way here. No biggies, but my social battery is kind of in the negative right now.”
My chest tightens. He’s mentioned before how his ADHD can make him a project wizard. I just never realized how it mightalso sap everything in him. He installed flooring all day, and still came here for his friends?
“Did you guys get it finished?”
“What? The flooring? Yeah, it’s all good to go. Once it passes inspection, I’ll start working on the fun stuff.”
“Justyou?”
He nods with a grunt.
“I know how to do all that stuff myself. I get the supplies at a major discount, so doing it myself saves on labor. Plus, working with tools is a big stress relief.”
I nod, tracing the stress that crackles in little red lines in his eyes. He should go to bed, but I know he won’t leave his friends hanging.
“What about you? What are you hiding from?”
That’s a loaded question. I can’t tell him that I’m exhausted from trying to avoid him. Instead, I go with a half-truth.
“I still can’t figure out my book,” I shrug, then fall part-way down the rest of the wall. “I have a deadline coming. This—” I hold up my arm, now sporting a breathable brace instead of that heavy plaster, “was the last extension. They want a first draft by the end of November, and all I’ve got for them is a load of crap that sounds like bad FanFiction.”
I slump some more, and Ant reaches a hand over the arm of the chair.
“Come on, PJ. Don’t sulk from the floor.”
I’m too tired to fight anymore. And besides, the floorishard. I let Anthony slide me into his lap, and try to ignore the way our bodies click into place when I do.
twenty-seven
anthony
Two minutes ago,I was an exhausted mess, a battery at two-percent. The moment Penelope leaned against the wall, I got a second wind. And the second she let me pull her into my lap, I became supercharged.
Except now that I have her here, I don’t know what to do with my hands. I’ve played this moment over in my head a million times, but now that we’re here, I’m like a frozen ball of potential energy. Do I hold her here? Wrap my arms around her? Hold her tight and refuse to let her go? She perches on my thigh, kind of awkwardly, like neither of us knows quite what to do next.
God bless Aaron’s cousin, who comes bumbling past us, tipping her into the cradle of my lap accidentally.
He tosses a quick, “Sorry, man!” over his shoulder. I am not sorry in the slightest. Because Penelope doesn’t move. Sure, she stiffens, but so do I. It takes a few moments after the shock for her to loosen, melting tentatively until she’s comfortable. As soon as she does that, I feel confident enough to cradle her body, leaving my hands to rest beside us on the seat.
All of a sudden, Aaron’s amplified voice cuts through the living room—somebody gave him a microphone. I crack a smile,and Penelope jostles in my lap with my laughter, which she echoes.
“That man does not need a microphone,” she giggles.
“No. No he does not. But it’s his party. Let him have his fun.”
He’s announcing the sign-up for karaoke, and a line forms as he and his bride to be flick through the songs.
“They remind me of that couple on the beach in Florida.”