I can leapthrough the cosmos, but I cannot for the life of me parallel park a car.
“Okay, now all the way to the left,” Penn says, directing me from the passenger seat.
“I did go left.”
“Not far enough.”
Groaning, I follow his instructions—or, at least, I think I do.
“No, keep braking!” he shouts. “First, you spin. Then let up on the brake.”
I slam on the brake, both of us jolting in our seats. “I give up,” I say, letting go of the wheel. “There’s a line behind me, Penn. This is a scene. I’m officially making a scene.”
“You’re good,” he tells me, his arm behind my seat as he glances out the back window. “They can wait.”
I gesture to the slush-covered street in front of me, snowflakes falling across the windshield. “What if somebody’s headed to the hospital? What if they’re about to miss a flight?”
Penn shrugs. “Maybe they’ll assume you’re a student driver.”
I shoot him a look.
He grins and sets his hand on my arm, and the one-two punch of his dimple plus his touch is enough to shock me into paying attention. “Take your time, Wynne. It’s fine.”
The cool winter light brings out the silver-gray in Penn’s eyes. He’s in his green coat, the collar of his blue plaid flannel showing at his neck, and what I’d really like to do is bury my face right in that nook, against his skin.
“I’m not good at this,” I say on a sigh.
Meaning: Parallel parking. Patience. Pretending.
Penn’s head lolls back against the seat as he pins me with a steady, twinkling gaze. “That’s why you’ve got me.”
My heart skips, my insides fizzing with just how much I want that to be true. It’s been a week since he left me swooning at the train station, and the holiday decorations covering downtown Lakeville have me all too aware of time passing.
I’m ready to crack down some of the walls between us. Because while I’m grateful for every second we’re together, it’s like I told him that last night at The Disco Diner: There’s never a right time, or a right place. Just a right person.
I take a breath, grip the wheel, and pull back into the road. We’re supposed to pick up the custom napkins I ordered for the PennPals launch party, but branded party goods can wait.
And I can’t. Not anymore.
“What are you doing?” Penn asks, glancing behind us. “We have to pick up our order by end of day. We’ve got things to do. Where are you taking me?”
“Why? Don’t you trust me?”
“Not when you’re behind the wheel.”
I roll my eyes.
“Seriously, Wynne. Where are we going?”
At the stop sign, I turn and tell him, “We’re going to our spot.”
Penn’s brows lift in surprise. “Right now?”
I nod. “Right now.”
—
Our boots crunchin the snow, golden-hour sunlight shining through the tall, ice-glistening oak trees overhead. A green light above the boathouse means that the lake is frozen. After an even chillier fall than usual, it’s been a particularly frigid first two weeks of December.
