There’s just a couple teenagers throwing a football near the swings and old Mr. Henderson feeding ducks by the water.
He squints at me as I walk past and gives a short nod. “Prince.”
“Morning.”
His gaze drops to the heel.
“…rough date?”
I keep walking.
The town suddenly feels too small and too wide at the same time, every street carrying some version of her. The bookstore where she bought Elle a penguin encyclopedia. The grocery store and the drugstore. The town center where she took off this very heel, and I carried her home while the town clock chimed at midnight.
Everywhere I look, there’s Penny.
And now Penny’s nowhere.
By the time I pull back into our driveway, exhaustion has settled heavily beneath my skin. I kill the engine and sit there for a second, gripping the wheel too tightly while the heel rests against my thigh.
Maybe I’ve overreacted. Maybe she came back while I was gone and fell asleep in the guest house.
The guest house.
I haven’t checked the guest house.
The thought pushes me up, and I’m moving again. When I step inside, sunlight filters softly through the windows, warming thelittle kitchenette and the folded blanket draped over the couch, but there’s no sign she’s been here.
I turn to leave when something catches my eye. Her journal sits open on the side table beside the couch. Normally, I wouldn’t read it. I know better than that. But my gaze snags on my own name before I can look away. It’s on a page from months ago.
The lake is the first place in Maplewood that’s ever made my brain go quiet.
Evan taught me lake breaths today while Elle laughed and Gus splashed, then he found me the perfect pebble to skip with.
A smile pulls faintly at the corner of my mouth, the memory of that day flashing through my head, before the next line hits me straight in the gut.
I think he’s my penguin.
I stare at the words for a second too long, then close the journal carefully and jog back to the truck.
Because I know exactly where she is.
***
The truck barely rolls to a stop before I kill the engine. I sit there for a moment, chest still thundering from the hour spent tearing around Maplewood with a silver heel in my hand like some deranged fucking fairytale detective.
But then I see her.
Penny’s sitting at the edge of the lake, with her jeans rolled to her calves and her bare feet in the water. The breeze moves through her hair gently, lifting the blue tips so they flash against the light, and for a second, I can’t do anything except look at her.
She’s safe.
Relief hits hard as I grab the heel before climbing out, shutting the truck door and trying to get my thoughts together. The lake does most of the talking usually—water folding softly against the shore, wind through the trees, distant birdsong carrying somewhere overhead.
I make my way down the small slope toward the water, slower now that the panic isn’t driving me forward.
She doesn’t notice me at first, too busy turning pebbles over in her hands one at a time, rubbing her thumb across each smooth surface before tossing them aside into the grass.
When I reach her, I lower myself onto the grass without speaking straight away. Penny startles slightly at the movement, head turning fast, but the second her eyes land on me, everything inside her face shifts at once. Relief followed by guilt, then something deeper and more dangerous that’s been living between us for months.
