Page 31 of At First Smile

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tell Me to Stop

Rowan

I t’s been a perfect night. After the concert, I drove us back to Pen’s place.

The entire drive, my brain came up with scenarios that wouldn’t end with me kissing her goodnight at the front door.

Ones that would extend tonight just a bit longer.

Lucky for me, Pen’s as smart as she is beautiful.

As we pull onto her street, she bites her plump lower lip and suggests dessert.

“I have ice cream or brownies,” Pen says, slipping off her sandals and placing them on the small shoe rack by the door.

I follow her lead and take my runners off. “Why choose?”

She peers over her shoulder at me, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “I like the way your brain works.” Pen saunters across the small foyer towards the kitchen.

The two-story cottage-style house oozes charm.

White-framed seascape watercolor paintings decorate the robin’s egg blue walls and plush inspirational message pillows, the kind my mam loves to buy at open-air markets, adorn the navy couch.

Through the open window comes the delicate sound of wind chimes rustling in the gentle breeze.

The scent of mint and orange spice drifts across the open-concept kitchen and living room space.

If my brother Finn set one of his books in an idyllic oceanside cottage, this would be it.

“Is this Aunt Bea?” Picking up a silver framed picture from the white end table near a plush armchair, my mouth curls into a small smile.

An older woman with auburn hair the same shade as Pen’s, only cut short into a sleek bob, stands beside Pen and Cane Austen. In the photo’s background the sun sets over Stonehenge. Both women wear bright smiles and T-shirts that read, But First, Scones .

“Which photo are you talking about?”

“The one at Stonehenge.”

“Yeah. It was my high school graduation gift. Aunt Bea took me to London for two weeks. We’d do a trip every summer to somewhere different… Well, almost every summer.”

Setting the picture down, I turn. “How’d you pick what places made the list?”

A sad, wistful expression etches on her face. “Books. We’d read about a place in a novel and add it to the list.” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Did your mom take you on trips as a kid?”

“No. We three boys were a lot.” My lips turn down. “Well, mainly me and Gillian. We fought all the time.”

“Like bickering or…” She raises her hands into fists and pantomimes punching. Her smile is infectious.

God, she’s adorable. “We were known to leave each other with a fat lip or black eye. As much as Finn enjoys helping either of us fuck with the other, he spends more time playing peacemaker or referee.”

Her head tilts to the right. “Do you two still beat each other up like that?”

“It’s more words or silent indifference these days.” Shrugging, I move towards the kitchen island. “I know you lived with JoJo while at university, but did you live with Aunt Bea after?”

It’s an abrupt subject change but needed.

Talking about Gillian tightens a knot in my stomach.

As much as I can talk for hours about Finn, Gillian is a different story.

Unlike in Michigan, I’m not hiding this from Pen, but I’m just not ready to unspool that knot, not yet.

The guilt and shame that twines the negative emotions surrounding my relationship with Gillian are too much for this moment. Still…

“I’m sorry.” I grip the granite countertop’s edge. “I’m not trying to be evasive…” My face scrunches. “Or maybe I am. I just don’t want to talk about him tonight if that’s okay… Unless you want to.”

“When you’re ready.” She reaches across the counter and squeezes my arm.

Placing my other hand atop hers, settled on my arm, I squeeze back.

“JoJo and I discussed getting an apartment together after undergrad, since we’d both be attending grad school at the same place, but Aunt Bea was diagnosed with breast cancer, so I moved back.

She hadn’t asked but–” With a sad expression, Pen sighs.

“It just felt right. She’d always been there for me, and I wanted to do the same. ”

“She was lucky to have you.” My fingers link with hers.

“I was the lucky one.” Nodding, she withdraws her hand and turns.

My mouth opens to ask more, but I close it. In the eleven days since Pen had strolled into my life, she’s taught me there’s a time to push, a time to pull, and a time to just let someone be.

“Individuals or share?” She opens a cabinet beside the oven.

“Share.” Leaning forward, I place my elbows on the island countertop. “Want help?”

“I got this.” She pulls down a bowl. “Make yourself cozy. Looks like GB is.”

Following her mirth-filled gaze, I find the dog sprawled on the couch atop a makeshift bed made from the once neatly organized inspirational pillows. His paws drape off the side of the couch and a quiet snore hums out of him.

“GB,” I groan as I straighten. “Down.” Snapping my fingers, I motion at the dog, who ignores me completely.

“Leave my boyfriend alone. He’s tired after our date.”

Rounding the counter, I wrap my arms around her middle and tuck her into my chest. “Am I in a throuple with you and my dog?”

“Absolutely not!” she scoffs. “You’re just our chauffeur.”

My heart tugs just a little bit more at that.

It’s not shocking GB fell so quickly for Pen.

After all, I have. GB can be a little rough around the edges.

He’s obstinate and, despite the very expensive dog trainer recommended by Sasha, he’s disobedient.

Still, nothing but admiration shines in Pen’s eyes as she stares at him.

Even at the park when he peed on every tree between the parking lot and the grassy amphitheater, she cooed, “Is that your tree too? Classic only child syndrome.”

Grinning, I nuzzle into her neck. “In three of my brother’s books, the chauffeur gets the girl in the end, so I like my chances.”

“Hear that GB? He’s trying to steal your girl,” she teases, placing a large brownie in the bowl.

You’re my girl. Mine. The idea of Pen being anyone’s girl but mine fills me with a feral protectiveness I’ve never experienced with any woman. It’s primal. It’s possessive. It has me tightening my grip around her waist.

“What does Finn write?”

“Historical romance.” I kiss below her ear, enjoying the way she melts into me.

She spins in my arms. “If you’re going to distract me, I’ll put you to work.”

“Gladly.” My arms band around her, pressing her soft curves against the hard planes of my body.

Pen’s not a small woman compared to others. She’s tall with long legs, plump breasts, and a round ass, but in my arms she’s delicate. Her frame, which tucks so perfectly into me, appears small against my large muscular one.

Smirking, she hands me the bowl. “Heat this for thirty seconds.”

“Yes ma’am.” I place a lite kiss on the corner of her mouth and move to the microwave.

“So, Finn writes romance? I don’t think I’ve read many male romance writers. Does he write under Finn Iverson?”

“He publishes under F.M. Iverson.” Forehead scrunched, my fingers brush against raised clear bumps atop the microwave buttons. “What are these?” I turn to find a slack-jawed Pen.

“They’re bump dots, so I know which buttons are which by touch.”

With a nod, I close my eyes and run my fingers over the raised keypad, punching in thirty seconds.

Snapping her fingers, she drags my attention back to her. “Focus, your brother is the author of the American Heiress series?” She gestures furiously with an ice cream scooper.

“You’ve read them?”

“ Read them ?! The besties and I are obsessed.”

Face bright with excitement, she goes on about her favorite books in my brother’s now five – or is it six?

– part series about early-Twentieth Century socialites and the working-class men who love them.

As Pen and I work together to make the brownie sundae, she jumps from book-to-book like a frog leaping between lily pads.

Her smile is wide. Her eyes sparkle. Her hands are in constant motion.

“You know I have an advance copy of Finn’s latest book.” Chuckling, I scoop up a bite of ice cream-smothered brownie from our shared bowl.

Her spoon stops midway to her mouth. “Cassandra and Zachery’s story? If you send that to Trina, you may win her over.”

The high-back stools that line the front of the kitchen island allow me to sit extra close to Pen, while sharing our dessert.

I’m fighting the urge to pull her onto my lap and feed her like the goddamn caveman I am.

Though an even more primal part of me wants to shove the bowl between us aside, lay her on the counter, and claim and mark every inch of her. The way she’s marked every part of me.

Instead, I nudge her knee with mine. “I’d rather use it to entice you away from GB.”

“Never! What GB and I have is epic.” She flashes a grin at the sleeping dog before turning back to me. “Seriously, though, that’s sweet, but I assume it’s not an advance audiobook copy.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I should have thought. Sorry.”

Her bare foot taps my calf. “It’s okay. Most people don’t think of it.”

“I don’t want to be like most people when it comes to you.” Cradling her face, I sweep my thumb across her jawline.

Her breath catches. “You’re not.”

“I can ask Finn for an audiobook copy or, if he doesn’t have one, get it from Wes.”

“Wes? Your unwanted bestie?”

“He does audiobook narration on top of the acting and bartending. He’s done all my brother’s books. That’s how he ended up working at Axel’s. Finn recommended him.” My nose wrinkles. “I suspect Finn did it as a prank, knowing how much Wes would drive me—” I stop speaking, taking in Pen’s wide eyes.

“Your brother is F.M. Iverson and your best friend is Wesley Williamson?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god!” she squeals. “Trina and JoJo will die. We love his narrations.”

I grin. “Well, perhaps you’ll let me take you to Axel’s Friday night for dinner. I can show you the pub and introduce you to Wes.”