Page 56 of At First Smile

“Good thing you’ve got handsome here to take care of you,” Jela says, placing a hand on my shoulder and offering a gentle squeeze.

“Yup.” A tight smile anchors Pen’s expression.

“The usual?”

“Yup.”

As Jela saunters away to put in our order, I reach across the table and take Pen’s hand. “You think you’ll feel up to a walk on the pier after lunch?”

It’s only been two days, and I know she craves a return to normalcy.

I want to give that to her. These battles are Pen’s to fight, I know that.

It doesn’t mean I won’t help where I can.

This temporary injury chafes against her independent nature.

It’s a struggle to find balance with my desire to protect her without clipping her wings.

Though, she’d never let anyone clip them.

Everyone who tries fails. This woman is a spitfire and I fucking love that about her.

“Uncle Rowan!” Damon hoots, his tiny body running towards our table.

My eyebrows shoot up.

Sasha and Greg follow, big smiles on their faces.

“What are you doing here?” I stand up. “Sasha, Greg, and?—”

Before I can say Damon’s name, he’s bypassed me and jumped into Pen’s arms squealing, “Aunt Pen!”

Guess I’m no longer the favorite. I chuckle.

“Damon. Pen’s hand, remember,” Sasha tuts, tenderness shimmers in her eyes.

“Oops. Sorry, Aunt Pen.”

She kisses the top of his head. “It’s all good. You didn’t hurt me.”

“How are you?” Sasha bends, kissing Pen’s cheek.

Pen raises her hand. “Good. It will be all healed up in a week or so. I’m already back to using my cane.”

“What are you guys doing here?” I rub at my nape.

“You two talk about this place all the time, so we thought we’d check it out,” Greg says.

“You drove all the way from Sherman Oaks for a croissant?” My eyebrow quirks.

“It is a really good croissant,” Pen quips.

“We also wanted to see Pen and bring her this.” Sasha holds out a glittery giftbag.

“How’d you know we’d be here?” A crease lines my forehead.

“I have tracking devices on all my clients.” Greg’s hazel eyes lock on mine, a steely expression on his face.

“Daddy saw you two walking to the restaurant as we were driving towards Aunt Pen’s place.” Damon giggles.

“Kid, I was trying to be intimidating.” Greg sighs.

The staff pushes the table next to us over allowing the five of us to sit together.

We share two croissants before eating our meals.

Pen and Greg chatter on about the World War Two podcast they’re both obsessed with.

Damon drinks milk out of a coffee cup to mimic the adults with our coffees and teas.

Since the MVP event, Pen’s been volunteering at several Foundation events with Sasha.

We’ve also spent more social time with Sasha, Greg, and Damon.

“I have to admit something… We didn’t just come to bring you a gift,” Sasha says, a sheepish expression in place.

Pen’s head tilts, a furrow forming on her forehead.

“Greg and I want to offer you a job with the MVP Foundation. As Assistant Foundation Director. Your professional experience and passion for this work make you the ideal candidate.”

It makes sense. The MVP Foundation aligns with Pen’s platform.

Besides volunteering with them, she and Sasha are even meeting with the Bobcats about an adaptive sports night at a game this season.

Turns out, Madeline Jacobson, the team’s owner, isn’t all talk.

She’s personally met with Pen and Sasha to discuss the event, and what changes would be needed to make the arena more accessible.

“Pen would be a great fit,” I say tentatively, my gaze moving to her.

Greg taps his thick fingers against the table’s wrought iron surface. “Not to mention your public persona. We won’t pretend that isn’t appealing.”

Sasha shoots Greg a glare.

“What?” He shrugs. “I don’t blow smoke up anyone’s ass.”

“Daddy swore,” Damon whispers, his hands covering his big smile.

Pen blinks. “I’m honored, but I have a job.”

“Hear us out. We can offer you twenty percent more in annual salary compared to what you’re paid at the hospital.” Greg leans in like a cat ready to pounce on a helpless mouse.

It’s his typical position in negotiations. He’s assessing when to strike to get just what he wants. Only Pen is no mouse. Even if a big part of me roots for him to win this battle, I know my girl.

“How do you know how much I make?”

Greg smirks. “It’s my job to know everything.”

“Ego much?” Sasha rolls her eyes before continuing, “There are other perks. A flexible schedule. Also, most of the work you’ll do can be done remotely, so you can work from home or even from hotel rooms when someone is traveling for away games.” She winks.

“I won’t be traveling with Rowan. He needs to focus on the game. Also, the players are required to stay with each other. Plus?—"

“Plus, no more random dogs to contend with walking from the bus,” Greg interjects, a wry grin etched across his face.

Pen nods.

Greg goes on, “And you’d work for an organization that truly understands what you bring to the table… Everything you’re capable of doing.”

Pen’s lips purse.

Sasha tosses Greg another death glare.

He flashes a crooked oops smile back at her.

Uneasiness braids in my stomach. I shift in my seat, my gaze dropping to Pen.

Her mouth is a firm line as she nods. Pen’s left hand slides from the table’s surface to her lap and grips the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes are intense as they remain fixed on Sasha as she goes on.

“Don’t answer right now.” Sasha reaches out and squeezes Pen’s forearm. “Think about it this week. Talk to Rowan.” She tips her head towards me as if we’re conspirators in this, in whatever plan she and Greg have hatched.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” Pen picks up her mug and takes a long sip of tea.

Pen is the picture of politeness. All smiles and warm conversation throughout the remainder of breakfast. But I notice the way her hands curl around the mug’s handle. The shallowness in her laughter. How her eyes don’t meet mine.

Later as we say goodbye and walk away from Bread, I clear my throat. “Did you still want to go to the pier?” I already know the answer.

“I’d like to go home, please.”

“Okay.”

The walk back is quiet, though the thick tension between us roars.

“I swear I didn’t know they were going to do that,” I say as we reach the front door.

“You didn’t seem that shocked when you said I’d be perfect for the job,” Pen grumbles, unlocking the door, she pushes it open. GB runs up to greet us.

“I was surprised, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’d be a good fit.” I follow her in.

“Good fit for whom?” She spins, lightning flashing in her eyes.

“What does that mean?”

“Not three days after this—” she raises her bandaged hand. “—and I tell you about what Nelson and Cortes say, Greg and Sasha just happen to show up at Bread to offer me a job.” She slams Cane Austen into the corner by the front door and storms towards the living room.

A furrow notches my forehead. “I had no idea they were going to do that.”

Whirling, she faces me. “But you did talk?”

“I…” Sighing, I slump against the entryway between the foyer and living room. “…I did. It all came out Friday when Sasha was at the arena. I was just sharing with a friend my concern over what happened to you, nothing more.”

“I’m sorry.” Her expression softens. “I just don’t like to feel ambushed.”

I cross the small distance between us and place my hands on her bare arms. “I know and I’d never do that. It hurts that you’d even think that.”

“I’m so sorry… I don’t think that… I was just caught off guard and…”

“It’s okay.” I lean in to kiss her, but she places her hand on my chest and stops me.

Her gaze locks on my face. “But you’d like me to take the job?”

The question climbs down my throat and sloshes in my stomach. It’s a test that I know I’m going to fail. “I won’t lie to you… Yes.”

With a bob of her throat, she nods.

My fingers skim her silken skin. “It is a good offer. You’d be doing the work you love with people who respect you.”

“With your agent and publicist’s foundation.” She glares.

“It’s not like that. They are doing this because of you, not?—”

“They’re doing it for you.” She lets out a humorless laugh and pulls away from me.

I blow out a breath, releasing a little of my frustration about the situation.

“Sasha and Greg aren’t going to hand over a position in the foundation they love just because you’re my girlfriend.

Knowing them, they’d had the idea prior to this and seized this opportunity.

As good-natured as Sasha is, she’s as strategic as her husband.

They are doing this to get you to work with them, not for my benefit. ”

“But it does benefit you. You get to know that I’m taken care of.” She tosses up her arms and stomps towards the kitchen, GB trotting behind her.

“What’s wrong with that? Of course, I want you taken care of.” I rake my hands into my hair.

“I can take care of myself,” she snaps back.

“That’s not in question.”

“You just said you wanted to take care of me,” she shouts.

“Yes! We’re a team. Though sometimes I think that only applies when you want to take care of me. Like you did with Landon and Gillian.”

“Landon?”

“I know you spoke to Liv. That you convinced her to say something to her father.”

“It’s not the same,” she scoffs.

“Why?”

“You know why,” she hisses.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” My heart thuds loudly in my chest. “I love you. It has nothing to do with me thinking you can’t take care of yourself. I’m not Alex. I’m not your mom,” I shout back.

“I know you’re not them.” She grips the counter’s edge.

“Do you?” My voice is hoarse.

“Yes!”

“Maybe it’s easier to assign that role to me than yourself.”

“Excuse me?” She freezes, hurt swimming in her eyes.

God, I want to fold her into my arms and assure her that all will be okay, that I’d not meant what I said, but it’s the truth. There’s a tightrope that I walk between supporting Pen’s independence and my desire to take care of the woman I love. Only, there’s no net below to catch me if I stumble.

“You’ve made me eat my carrots a few times, even though it’s the same behavior you hate about your mother… And I love that about you. That you push me, but it can’t be one-sided. We’re either a team or we’re not.”

“I’m not like my mother,” she hisses.

“I think you’re more like her than you think.”

“With my mother it’s always been about fixing me, about what she feels is best for me. It’s not about what I want. She doesn’t work with me. Not like us. We’re a team!” She gestures between us.

“We weren’t at that table. The moment Sasha and Greg offered you the job, you pulled away from me. You assumed I’d orchestrated this.”

“I know you didn’t do that. I’m sorry I went there. It’s something I’m working on with my therapist.” She lets out a hard breath.

“I know you are, luv,” I rasp, my stare locks with hers. “I know it’s hard for you to trust that someone’s love and care for you isn’t about fixing you. You lost your dad?—”

“My dad’s death has nothing to do with this.”

“But it does—” I step forward and place my hands on her shoulders “—You lost him and you were left with a mom that made you feel like something to fix, rather than someone to love. Then Aunt Bea died.”.

“What does Aunt Bea have to do with any of this?”

“With her, for the first time, you were secure to be needed and to need. She loved you just as you are, as do I. You’re not scared that I’ll take care of you, you’re terrified you’ll get used to it, and I’ll leave you like Aunt Bea did.”

She flinches.

“That’s why you really push against me.” I cup her cheek.

“She has nothing to do with this.”

“But she does. It’s not just the people who clip our wings that keep us in cages.

For so long, she was the most important person in your world.

As independent as you are, you depended on her for so much.

All the things I depend on you for. Love.

Support. Team. Then she left you, and you didn’t have those things anymore.

Trina and JoJo may be your sisters in all the ways that matter, but I don’t think you have the relationship with them that you had with your Aunt Bea, or with me, despite you sometimes pulling away. ”

“I don’t pull away. I asked you to move in.”

“Yeah, and it’s a huge step for you but your fear is still fighting your heart.

You bristled at the idea of me paying for anything.

You’re scared. It’s why you don’t always tell me things, like Alex and the flowers or the job offer.

I know that fear makes you think you have to handle these things on your own, we can deal with things together.

Just let us really be the team you say we are.

For real, not just when you want to take care of me. ”

She yanks away from me. “I think you should go home.”

“This is my home, our home.”

She says nothing, just stares.

“Let’s talk about this.” I step towards her.

She holds up her palm. “Let me be alone with this.”

“But you don’t have to be. Please, let us be a team. I know it’s scary, but together we can do scary things. We already have.”

“I want to be alone.”

“We—”

“You said you’d never make me beg.” Iciness coats her voice.

Pain radiates in my chest as if she’d slammed her fist into it. “Do you really want me to go?”

“Yes.” Her lips quiver, but fierce eyes lock with mine.

“Fine. Come on GB.”