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Maisie lifted her fingers. “Maybe just a little?”
“No, not even the tiniest amount.” Amelia glared at Clara. “I’m not joking. I quit. Someone else can do the tours.” Without waiting for a reply, she left the kitchen.
“Poor Amelia,” Penelope said.
“Oh, please,” Clara said, scrunching the paper bag in her hands. “I have cleaned up her barf at least five times over the years. This is just payback.”
Maisie giggled. “I better go check on her.” She scooted out of the kitchen, and soon her footsteps could be heard thundering up the staircase.
Penelope grabbed the bananas off the counter and hung them on the fruit basket, when Clara broke the silence. “You seem to have a way with drunk people and entertainment, maybe the tours could be your thing if you stick around.”
Penelope’s mouth fell open before she sputtered, “I’m not…who said…I don’t know why…”
Clara gave an easy smile and sidled up next to her, staring out at Darryl, who currently was getting a snowball in the gut. “You were ripped away from here before. That wasn’t your choice. But that’s changed now, hasn’t it?”
Penelope searched for words, anything to try and declare that staying was the worst idea ever.
But the words never came.
Clara laughed softly, obviously liking Penelope speechlessness, before she strode away.
“Didn’t you say that I had to make sure Christmas wasn’t full of drama this year?” Penelope called after her.
“When have you ever listened to me?” Clara countered.
Chapter Eight
Darkness faded away to light as Penelope peeled open her eyes. It took her a moment to remember that she and Darryl had returned to Darryl’s place after dinner with her cousins. She’d come to love the family dinners they did together. She recalled the two glasses of wine she ingested that apparently had given her enough liquid courage to rip Darryl’s clothes off the second they entered his house, and she’d very much remembered how he tasted when she took him into her mouth. Which lasted until he began trembling then pressed her up against the wall and gave her a mind-blowing orgasm.
That all was perfectly fine.
What wasn’t okay was the warm and heavy weight pressing against her chest. Any bit of sleepy haze faded in a millisecond. “Darryl,” she whispered, frightened to move.
He lay motionless next to her, snoring softly, with his back to her.
The problem was, Darryl wasn’t the only one snoring. Ebenezer was curled up on her chest, the soft snores of the big tomcat breaking into the silence. “Darryl,” she said a little bit louder, scared if she made a move, her face would become a cat scratching post. “Darryl,” she said louder.
From a dead sleep, Darryl shot up in the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Help me,” she barely managed.
Darryl flicked on the bedside light, stared at her face, then the cat, and began laughing.
“This is not funny,” Penelope said seriously. “He’s going to kill me.”
“I’ve never seen him do this with anyone but Tyson.” Darryl rubbed his eyes, sitting up a little, then when he dropped his hands, his grin appeared. “He likes you.”
“He doesn’t like anyone,” she countered. “You named him Ebenezer, remember? He’s just warming me up to eat me.”
Darryl’s mouth curved. He settled back against the pillow and stared at them both a moment. “I’m not exactly sure how to handle this.”
“You’re a cop,” Penelope grumbled. “Surely, you can handle a cat. Get him off me.”
Darryl chuckled and winked. “Just kidding. I wanted to enjoy the view a little longer.” He clapped.
Ebenezer opened his eyes, yawned and stood up, but then those sharp eyes came to Penelope’s. He stared at her, looking as horrified as she was, or maybe that was just the way his brow looked. Certainly this was up for debate.
“Don’t kill me,” Penelope whispered. “I taste terrible.”
