Page 86 of One More Chapter
“You were kind of quiet tonight,” I finally say, piercing the silence. “Kind of freaked me out.”
Her smile ticks up lazily, but her eyes stay trained on the bedspread.
“What, Penelope isn’t herself if she isn’t loud and starting a riot?”
“I don’t know. I think that’s all kind of an act.” At this she tenses, like I’ve spoiled one of her secrets. “But, when she’s comfortable around people, shedoestend to be more open. Was it me?”
I ask that last question in a whisper, my own fears finally coming to light. She blinks up at me, brows knit to the center.
“It wasn’t the comment about the Elvis squirrel, was it?”
“No. No, it wasn’t you, Ant. Or the squirrel.” Her cheeks flush, and I swear that there’s tamped down heat in her eyes when she looks up at me. Her gaze flutters back down as she continues, “I’m not sure if I’m ready to give Elvis squirrel another show. Not just yet. But that doesn’t mean it’s off the table entirely. I want to make sure I’m taking care of my heart first.”
I nod. This thing with Pen isn’t about sex. It’s about the way our hearts seem to sync whenever we’re near, and about my inherent need for that to happen as often as possible. But before I can tell her as much, she slams into me with an earth-shattering puzzler.
“Have you ever thought about… changing your career?”
Damn, does she have me pegged. My heart stutter-steps before righting its beat. But right now isn’t aboutme, it’s abouther.
“Are you thinking of quitting teaching?”
She hesitates before shrugging, but once she does, the floodgates start to crack open.
“I… I don’t know if I love it anymore. It’s something I once saw stability in, but now, it’s just something that drains the life out of me. My books are doing well enough that I could take a chance onwritingas my sole career, but I’m scared.”
I hear everything she’s not saying in that hesitation. She’s afraid to take a chance on herself.
“I think you should do it.”
Her eyes widen, hope trying to swim to the surface of the hesitant tides of blue.
“Take a chance onyoufor once, Pen. You’re clearly amazing at what you do, even if I am a little biased.”
“You’ve never even read one of my books,” she laughs, raising a brow in challenge.
“Okay, but millions of peoplehave, and they’re demanding more of you. What does that tell you?”
She won’t say it. She won’t give herself the credit where credit is due. So I do it for her. sliding a hand beneath her wandering one, I lace our fingers together and squeeze, feeling the hammering of her pulse where our palms are joined.
“You deserve to be happy, Penelope. If teaching doesn’t make you happy anymore, that’s okay. If the money is what’s holding you back, look at how much success your books bring you. Youcando it. It’s okay to be scared, but I don’t think it’s okay to let that fear hold you back anymore. Don’t hurt yourself because of a what-if. Take a chance onyou. You’re worth it.”
She blinks. Furiously. Like she’s doing her best to hold back tears that are fighting their way forward. She squeezes my hand, nods three times, and tugs until our bodies are able to loosely tangle. Penelope falls asleep within minutes, like those words were her permission. It doesn’t take me long to follow, despite my earlier assumption that I would have one of my sleepless nights.
Of course, that peace was just determined to be interrupted. By my alarm? No, not this time.
I wake at the crack of dawn to incessant pounding on my window.
“Thefuck?” I groan, pushing out of bed. I don’t even get to enjoy the fact that, for a second, Pen was wrapped around me with her knee pushed between my legs and her wild red hair draped over my chest. No. Because something is attacking my window.
I pick up the baseball bat beneath my bed that I keep there for such purposes, blink the sleep crust from my eyes, and try to orient where the noise is coming from.
“Ant, what thefuck? Why do you have abat?”
“Because we’re beingattacked. Stay in bed.”
I level the bat over my shoulder and, at the next resounding thud, I follow the sound upwards.
This house has several Palladian windows above the basic one, a design choice that I incorporated into my own place for the aesthetic. But do you know what those pesky crescent fuckers don’t have? Blinds. My mother never thought it necessary. And, apparently, that creates a glare in this bedroom. One that has birds dive bombing the glass at the sight of their own reflection.