Page 108 of One More Chapter

We have a week left of school before break, and we have been spending our nights—after Penelope finishes her requisite work on the second draft of her book—digging the Christmas decorations out of the attic. For once in my life, I’m trying to slow things down.

Icouldmove into my place now. It’s hooked up to electric and plumbing, and is insulated. The walls are up. The roof is on. The floors are ready for actual flooring. It's an empty dollhouse waiting for the odds and ends to come together. Icouldbring an air mattress for a couple of days while I finish the paint and flooring in the master bedroom. Icouldstart bringing boxes in to keep in my own basement. But something is making me stall, and right now, she is asking me to thread popcorn onto fishingwire to put around our decades old artificial tree. The very same one we spent our first Christmas beneath.

How do you say no to that?

“Anthony!” she chuckles. “Stop eating it!”

I grin like a hamster, my cheeks stuffed with the handful of popcorn I just tossed back.

“You shouldn’t have gotten the good stuff then. You don’t usemovie theater butteras a decoration.”

“It was all they had!”

We continue stringing popcorn onto the fishing line when her timid whisper breaks through the crackle of the fireplace.

“So, umm… I got invited to do an author event in New York next weekend.”

“No shit?” I put down my needle and thread, threading my hands through hers instead. It’s something we’ve been doing lately—while we watch TV or while lying in one of our beds talking about our day. Holding hands. It’s becoming a habit I never want to break. “Is that the thing you’re leaving town for?”

She bites her lip and nods, not quite meeting my stare. I lift her chin with my thumb.

“Pen, that’s amazing!”

Her shy smile lights up my world.

“I’ve been asked a few times to do these events, but I’ve never had the courage to step out of my secret little PJ cave. I think I’m finally ready to do it.”

I wrap her in a hug, and her arms come up and around my back. I can’t decide which is better: the security of being in her arms, or the way she’s glowing with confidence.

“So, that being said, I have a question for you.” I pause, and she dips her head, inhaling before meeting my eyes. “Would you like a ticket?”

There’s something to be said about a person depending on you. Putting your trust in someone else. Revealing yourinnermost thoughts and fears and demons because you know they’ll handle them with care. That’s what Penelope is doing right now. There has never been a greater feeling—not holding her in my arms or being inside her or waking up with her hair on my pillow. Earning back her trust wraps a tight bow around my heart, like the frayed pieces of the explosion I put us through are sealed back together.

“You’re sure?” I ask, praying to God that this isn’t one of the stories I make up in my head before I fall asleep at night.

She nods, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Yes. I want you there. I mean, youdidcome up with my pen name, after all. It’s theleastI can do.”

She quirks a hesitant little teasing smile, and it takes everything in me not to scream the thousands ofI love you’sthat I’ve kept caged inside for almost two years.

I kiss her instead.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but I can’t help myself. Not with pride and confidence painting her in an angelic glow that I could affix to the top of the tree.

My eyes have hers in a stranglehold, and I watch the wide surprise settle into wonder, finally fluttering into security when she kisses me back. It’s chaste, simple and restrained, but that makes this press of our lips all the more intimate. When I pull back, I flick my eyes open, and hers are still closed, her lips pursed like the moment is frozen in time. I want to photograph her, suspended in time like this. But her eyes flutter open, and I wonder if I should just start recording all of her moments. The blue in her eyes is a tranquil ocean, calm waters for the first time in a long time.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

She lifts her brow, and my head drops as I huff out a laugh. I swipe my thumb over the little bit of shine on her bottom lip, and it catches her by surprise.

“Yes, boss. I’d love to come and cheer you on from the front row.”

We string more popcorn as she tells me all about the event.

“It’s a small event. A lot of the people that my PR team is reaching out to are media people. The questions will probably be softballs—there will be a moderator from my team asking questions that I’ve pre-approved, and there is an understanding that, though I’m ready to share my identity with the world, I’d like to ease in.”

“Are you going to do more events like this in the future then?”

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