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“Bentley.”
My lips stop short of saying Ben. Only Syd used the nickname. Since her passing, I've avoided any place we frequented, including the Starbucks in my building's lobby.
A low grumble clears my throat.
"I messed up with the Peterman case. Forgive me. And I'm sorry for how I came on to you just now. I feel a strong connection to you, Penelope, and it's not about the job offer. It's about you."
She looks longingly at me.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I've been alone for a year now. No dates and no sex. The worry of disrespecting Syd's memory left me paralyzed. I never thought I'd feel anything for anyone else. But then I saw you, and something stirred inside me. I know it's sudden, but I need to tell you this."
Penelope looks at me, her eyes softening.
"I don't know what to say. I've been hurt before too, and I don't know if I'm ready to open myself up again."
"Can we at least give this a chance?
Penelope’s bottom lifts into my arms and we return to the blue micro-suede couch. Broken glass catches my eye.
“Let me sweep up the shards first.”
“Not your concern. Talk.”
A wisp of vanilla and chocolate wafts from a soy candle on the coffee table, making the room smell like a candy shop. There’s an even sweeter scent that rises from Penelope's skin, intoxicating notes similar to the best kind of whiskey. Something ancient and undeniable.
“I lost sight of why I practiced law over the past year. The sorrow of losing Syd channeled into working eighty hours per week. I took on easy and profitable cases, although they weren’t aligned with my values.”
“Why did you become a lawyer?”
“My parents’ housekeeper, Lucinda, suffered abuse by her husband. She shrugged off the inexcusable injuries, stating this male behavior was part of the culture. The more bruises I saw on her arms, the angrier I became.”
Penelope clasps my fingers, and I sigh with joy.
“Were you able to help her?”
“I hadn’t passed the bar exam at that point. She eventually left the abusive man and counsels women in similar positions at the local community center. Offering free legal services to others in her neighborhood is my way of paying her back for years of kindness and care.”
“That’s beautiful.”
She presses our hands against my thighs and leans in for a tender cheek kiss. Time stills, and I allow her affection to flow through my veins. I may cry from her show of empathy.
“I meant it when I said I dropped Peterman as a client, and I’m sorry for triggering your pain.”
Her phone rings and the magical spell breaks. She picks up her cell from the kitchen counter and strides into the hall.
“Thank goodness. You’re going to throw away all the junk food, right?”
“Yes, even the Fritos, Dad.”
Her back stiffens, and I listen to her side of the conversation.
“No, I’m not moving home.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to be independent.”
“Fine. Be mad. I'll call you on Christmas Eve.”
