Silence settles between us, and for a second, I don’t trust myself to speak for fear of saying more than I should. That she’s worth more than her name or her connections. That she means so much more to a little girl sleeping down the hallway.
And to me.
“So,” she says, pushing off the counter slightly, “I stopped relying on anyone but myself. Everything good I’ve ever been involved in has always ended up with a crack in it anyway.”
There’s no self-pity in her words—that’s the part that gets me. It’s like she’s learned the lesson so thoroughly, it’s settled in her bones.
“You didn’t crack my house,” I say, and she looks up at that. “You made it louder.”
Her brow furrows. “Louder?”
“There’s music at six am now,” I say. “There are penguins in lunchboxes, and Gus is exhausted every night. Elle walks into rooms with her chin up.”
I hold her gaze.
“That’s not cracking things, Pen.” I take one step forward. “That’s filling them.”
She swallows, and I move even closer without really meaning to, enough that I can see the faint blue streak near her temple. Close enough to clear the space between us and give myself an excuse if I reach for the plates. But I don’t.
Instead, I rest one palm on the counter next to hers, then turn to her. She doesn’t pull away, but her breathing changes first, just a fraction slower. I can still feel the shape of her waist under my hands from the ice. The way she trusted me not to let her fall.
“Pen,” I say quietly.
Her eyes flick to my mouth as my hand reaches out to sweep a strand of hair behind her ear. I let my fingers rest there by her pulse point, then trail along her jaw until they settle at her chin.
I tilt her head up again to meet my eyes.
“You fill the cracks,” I repeat.
Her eyelashes flutter a second, and I swear I feel her lean into my touch. Blue eyes move between mine, and I watch her pink lips open a fraction as I lean in—
FIZZZ!
We both jump as the dishwasher changes into its glass cycle, and my hand falls from her chin. The spell snaps, and she leans back first, shaking her head.
“I should—”
“Yeah,” I say, because I don’t trust my voice to do much more than that. I gesture out toward the guest house. “Do you want me to walk y—”
“No no, that’s… I’ll be fine.”
We stand there a moment longer, watching each other. Then, with a soft smile and a small nod, she turns and makes her way toward the back door.
I shove my hands into my pockets so I don’t do something completely inappropriate, like grab her and pull her back to me.
She opens the door, then looks back, biting her lip gently.
“Night, Evan.”
“Goodnight, Penny.”
She closes the door softly, the noise rattling on the other side as she locks it from the outside with her key. And I stand there like an idiot, staring at the locked door long after she’s gone, my pulse still beating too hard beneath my skin.
Because if it wasn’t for the dishwasher’s damn glass cycle kicking in, I would have kissed Penelope Easton.
Chapter twelve
If the shoe fits
