Elle absorbs this with serious concentration. “Like Christmas?”
“Not… exactly,” I say.
Penny’s mouth twitches, and I watch as her teeth slowly slink into her plush lower lip.
Dr. Dahlia continues in the background. “The exchange of pebbles strengthens their bond…”
“Why pebbles?” Elle demands. “Why not fish?”
“That’s actually a very good question,” Penny says thoughtfully. “Maybe pebbles are easier to carry.”
“They should give snacks,” Elle decides.
“Mm,” Penny agrees. “Romanticandpractical.”
On screen, one penguin presents a pebble, and the other accepts it, and they shuffle closer. Gus suddenly lifts his headand lets out a sharp bark at the movement, and Penny jumps beside me.
“Gus,” I mutter, reaching down to steady him, but my palm falls onto the top of Penny’s, her fingers already there, threading into his fur until he settles again. She looks down at the contact as I pull my hand away again, but doesn’t look embarrassed or uncomfortable.
Dr. Dahlia’s voice softens as the penguins huddle together. “This partnership will last for many seasons…”
Elle twists around to face Penny. “Do people have seasons?”
Heat creeps up my neck.
“People can choose to stay together if they want to,” Penny answers, still calm. “It’s not exactly the same, but some people decide they like each other enough to keep choosing each other.”
Elle considers that deeply and looks like she’s brewing a whole new round of questions that I am in no way ready to hear her ask out loud, so I intervene.
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “That’s enough wildlife education for one morning.”
“It’s not over,” Elle protests.
“It is for us. This season of Dr. Dahlia has come to an end.”
Penny laughs softly beside me, and it eases something in the room that could have gone sideways. Instead, Elle hops lightly off the couch.
“Well, I need to get my pebble collection anyway,” she announces. “To show Penny.”
She disappears down the hall with Gus scrambling after her, claws skidding slightly as he goes. The house falls quieter without her commentary, and Penny shifts slightly on the couch, turning toward me.
The television continues humming in the background, about choosing mates and giving pebbles, but neither of us is really watching it now.
“So you’re really thinking about staying here long-term?” I ask, because the question has been sitting there since the table.
“Yeah,” she says with a soft smile. “I am.”
“Maplewood’s not exactly thrilling.”
“I don’t want thrilling.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes moving to mine. “I just want something real.”
Her words settle over me, and I nod, letting them sink in.
“I’ve done the fast-pace thing,” she continues. “After my dad died, his business, which I worked in, changed. My stepfamily took over, and everything shifted.” Her gaze drops, focusing on the slow circle of her thumb on the back of her hand. “I spent years holding together something that wasn’t his anymore—cleaning up their messes and playing peacemaker.”
I know that feeling well.
Her shoulders draw in slightly. “It just felt wrong. There was no integrity left, and I felt like I was slowly losing parts of who I was every time I had to do their dirty work. I don’t want that anymore.”
