Page 26 of At First Smile

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Pen’s New Boyfriend and My Competition

Rowan

“ P en,” I murmur, my thumbs skim along her bare arms.

Goosebumps bloom over her soft skin beneath my callused fingers. I drink her in. Those honey, almost doe-like, eyes peer up at me. That glossy pink mouth, which I crave to take with mine, opens with a tiny, hissed moan at my touch. With each gentle caress, her body softens against mine.

“It’s you—” Her forehead scrunches. “It’s just you.”

“Just me.” My mouth slants into a small grin. “Just Rowan.” I bite back the urge to say, your Rowan.

It’s too much to dare… but that’s why I’m here. Daring, despite the sins of hiding parts of myself and then walking away, that I can earn back her trust and the privilege to be her Rowan.

The breath I’d held the moment she strolled into Bread’s outdoor seating area releases with the knowledge that she isn’t pulling away.

Her smaller frame still nestles against me.

The tension that seized her lovely face dissolves with a ghost of her smile.

A soft pink caresses her cheeks and makes my hand jealous to follow its path along her now-rouged skin.

“Your beard.” She raises her hand and, with tentative touches, skates her fingertips across my clean-shaven face.

Like a petted puppy, my body melts into her touch. “I am surprised you knew it was me without my beard.”

After post season was over, I generally just trim my beard.

Keep it neat, but shaving it is a symbolic gesture about no longer hiding myself from Pen.

At least, that’s how Wes puts it. After talking to Sasha on Tuesday morning, I knew I’d been an idiot and would do anything to make things right with Pen.

That includes asking Wes for help. The best friend I never wanted is a lady-whisperer, even if he’s the only one that calls himself that.

With five sisters, two moms, and three ex-girlfriends who are still good friends with him, Wes practically has a PhD in women.

“Lay yourself bare at her altar,” he’d advised as he rummaged through my cabinets for snacks. Wes’s guidance calls for an unconditional apology. To be unabashed and unafraid. Though fear twists and turns in my veins. Still, I’m here.

“Do you like it?” My brows draw together. “I can grow it back if?—”

“No,” she says quickly and then bites her plump lower lip. “It’s good… All that matters is that you like it.” She pulls back her hand and brushes a wayward auburn strand behind her ear.

God, I want to do that. I want to curl that silky lock around my finger. I want to run my hands down her body. I want to press my eager smile to her timid one. I want to…

A throat clears. “Pen, are you okay?”

Oh yeah, the hostess . In the flurry of seeing Pen, I’d forgotten we are in a public place. Despite being the only customers in the bakery’s outdoor seating area by design, there’s still staff present.

Our gazes remain locked, but Pen nods. “Yeah, Jela. Just surprised.”

“I hope a good surprised,” I say quietly.

“Jury’s out.”

“Ok. I’ll give you a few minutes for jury deliberation. Take your time, you’re our only customers today after all,” Jela snarks.

“What? Only customers?” Pen blinks, pivoting towards Jela.

The hostess smirks and motions to me. “Tall and dreamy over there bought out the restaurant for the day.” With a wink, she saunters away.

“Rowan…” Pen spins, facing me and gapes. “You didn’t… Why?”

I rub the nape of my neck. “To see you.”

“How did you know I would be here?” Shoulders stiff, she steps away from me.

“It’s Saturday.” The hard lump in my throat almost clogs the words from coming out.

Her face scrunches. “Explain.”

“I never got your number. Add it to the long list of bonehead decisions I made with you. I am so sorry, Pen.” I swallow, forcing the lump down. “I wanted…needed to—” My fingers rake into my hair. “I wanted to tell you everything and I knew I needed to apologize in person. You deserve that.”

Her fingers wrap tight around Cane Austen’s handle. For strength or to leave, I don’t know.

Pen’s eyes drag to the flowers on the table. “You’re here because I told you about my Saturday ritual.” Each word is slow and deliberate.

“Yes.” My gaze follows hers and my chest constricts. “I’m a selfish bastard.” I reach for her but stop myself.

The last thing she needs right now is me touching her.

Even if holding her hand is the only thing that can quell this tornado of emotions storming inside me.

For the last year she’s dealt with a controlling and manipulative man who stalked her after she broke up with him.

A man who would show up wherever she was and make unwelcome grand gestures. A man who sent flowers.

“Alex,” I hiss, scrubbing my hand down my face. “Christ, I should have thought. I swear?—”

“I know… It’s okay.”

Is it? My hands clench and unclench at my sides. I want to throttle him. I want to hold her. I want to punch myself.

“Pen—”

The slow shake of her head dismisses my coming words. “What if I hadn’t shown up? What would you have done?” Her voice is quiet, but steady.

“I would have just kept coming back week after week.” I close my eyes, knowing it was the wrong thing to say. Was there anything more stalkerish? It’s the truth, though, and I promised myself I wouldn’t hide from Pen ever again.

Facing me, playfulness softens her expression. “That would have gotten costly.”

Nodding, my lips rise into a small smile. “Worth it.”

“What do you want, Rowan?”

To kiss you. To hold you. To fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness. To spend the rest of my life and even beyond working to be the man who deserves a woman like you. None of that passes my lips.

Instead, I say, “To share a baklava croissant with you.”

She arches an eyebrow. Steely resolve hardens her features.

Sweetness may envelop every aspect of Pen Meadows, but I don’t doubt her fierceness.

The way she politely checked that flight attendant on the plane taught me that.

Unlike me, she’s not a growly, rabid mongrel.

Still, she’s formidable. Perhaps, more. My bite ensures my victim will run away and never come back.

With Pen, people simply bow to her demands.

And I am ready to fall to my fucking knees for this woman.

“No, not just a croissant. I want to talk.”

Mouth drawn into a firm line; she stares at me expectantly.

But the hint of sunshine in her stormy expression emboldens me. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness?—”

“But you’re here anyways,” she scoffs.

“Yes.” I take a step closer and her candied scent spools around me. “I told you, I’m a selfish bastard. I don’t deserve it, but I want it… I want you.”

“You left me.”

“I know.” My eyes cling to hers, despite how much I want to cast down my gaze in shame.

“Why?”

“To protect you.” I take another step closer to her.

She remains rooted to her spot.

Our bodies are just an arm’s length away. All I need is to reach out and I could pull her into me, pressing her into my chest with the hope that my racing heart conveys all the truths that my clumsy words will never do a sufficient job communicating.

“JoJo was there, so I knew you had your person. I’d thought my leaving would draw the reporters away from you. It’s a poor excuse. But, at the time it seemed what was best for you.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think I’m the best judge of that?”

“Yes… That’s why I’m here. I never gave you a chance to make up your own mind. I was so focused on protecting you that I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me what you are?”

“To protect you.” My forehead wrinkles. “Wait, what I am?”

She rolls her eyes. “Being a hockey player is what you are, it’s not who you are.”

“You may be one of the few who think that.”

Face pinched, she lets out a sibilant breath. “Well, most people lack imagination.”

My lips drag up at the corners.

She sighs. “What are you protecting me from, Rowan? Yes, you’re famous. Yes, your life is messy right now because of punch-gate, but what is it you’re really scared of?”

“Me… I’m scared of me.” It’s almost a croak.

“Oh, Rowan,” she whispers, her stiff posture eases and the steely expression melts. “It’s not forgiveness you don’t think you deserve… It’s me.”

The words cluster and choke in my throat.

“You didn’t leave to protect me, not really.

You left to protect yourself. You waited to make your move fearing that you’d somehow disappoint me, but I think you didn’t want to let yourself down.

That I’d turn out to be just like everyone else and not see you.

You didn’t give me… us a chance.” Shaking her head, she starts walking away.

“You’re right.” Spinning, I follow her. “I’m fucking terrified.”

She stops but doesn’t pivot to face me.