Page 66 of One More Chapter

I scowl, doing that thing with my eyes where they turn into slits like a viper’s.

“You are literally not helping your case for me being pissed at you today, Anthony.”

I swivel in my chair and scroll up to the last chapter I wrote—at least nine days ago—and start to reread, hoping that sparks an idea for where this next chapter should go. Except, Anthony is still in my office. In myspace. There’s a window over mycomputer, and I can see him in the reflection, but more than that, I can feel his presence. It’s as if our body chemistry is wired, neurons awakening to buzz when the other gets close enough.

Damn, that’s good. I should put it in the book somewhere.

“Can I help you?”

My gaze flits up to the window, and I realize he’s gone quiet, his face impassive.

“I’m sorry I messed up your lesson today. I should’ve known better than to start up a game. I’ll uh… I’ll get out of your hair.”

He’s gone before I can turn around. What I do catch of his departure, aside from the flick of his blonde hair as he combs his hand through it in what seems to be frustration, is the buzzing in my veins seeming to diminish with each and every step he takes in the opposite direction.

twenty-five

anthony

Leaveit to Mother Nature to homebound the two people who just can’t seem to get out of each other’s way.

A nasty thunderstorm rolled in this fine Saturday morning and hasn’t let up since. It’s only supposed to get worse as the day wears on, so I’m glad I got to the gym early. There will be no working on the house, no letting out the bees through manual labor, and no escaping Penelope’s presence today.

She hasn’t left the house either.

For the most part, she has been holed up in her writing cave, and I’ve been pacing the place trying to decide what I can do with my hands, since they can’t seem to do anything but damage between the two of us. We’ve been taking one step forward and ten steps back. At this rate, we’ll never be on the same page. Hell, we might not make it to the same chapter until we’re ninety.

I’ve already deep cleaned everything I can think of, but in my hyper-fixated state, that means the entire house was cleaned damn near spotless in about an hour and a half. Since I woke up at dawn due to the rain pounding on my windows, it’s still before lunch. As I’m scrolling my phone—standing up in the middle of the kitchen instead of sitting on the couch so that I don’t fall into a YouTube doom-scroll—an email from Nate catches my eye.He sent out a staff-wide email, surveying interest for the new behavior committee. All of a sudden, my day has purpose.

I set up camp at the kitchen table with my laptop, tablet, and Apple Pen, and get to work fortifying the behavior plan I made during my Master’s program. Fitting it to River Valley/Meadow Ridge’s specifications is one of those tedious jobs that won’t take much brain power, butwilltake a lot of time. It’s exactly what I need to get my mind off of Penelope.

I must be so in the zone that only a power outage can snap me from my project hole, because that’s exactly what has me finally lifting my stiff neck from my hunch over the table hours later.

“Pen?” I yell out, my head snapping up when the world around me seems to shut off. In the glow of my computer light, I spot her over the half-wall between the dining area and the kitchen. Her eyes are wide, but she blinks in her surroundings a few times and nods.

“I’m good,” she says softly, raising her hand in a wave. “Do you know if this place has a generator?”

“I still have cell service. I’ll give Mom a call real quick.”

As I dial up my mom on the other side of town, I register all I hadn’t while finalizing my project. Rain is coming down in sheets. Hail the size of golf balls pummels against the windows. I guess we really were in for one hell of a storm.

Hanging up with my mom, I flip on my phone’s flashlight and find Penelope has moved to the living room and is popping large square batteries into giant flashlights, illuminating the place like spotlights on a stage.

“Mom said there isn’t a generator, but—damn, boss, are you prepared for zombies or something?”

“Or something,” she says, looking satisfied with her spread, which includes four industrial-sized flashlights, four emergency candles with a hundred hours of power each, bottles of water,and a portable charging station. “Where do you want to set up camp?”

We hunker down in the living room, each bringing the comforters from our beds. Thankfully, we have a gas fireplace. I tend to it, and once the blaze brings warmth into the room, Penelope returns with two dinner plates.

“How’d you manage dino nuggets in the middle of this?” I chuckle.

“I was actually plating dinner when the power went out. No ketchup for your T-rexes tonight, though. I don’t want to chance opening the fridge if it’s going to be awhile.”

I marvel at what she has on the coffee table. In my project stupor—in the way that we’ve been needling at each other this week—she still thought to make me dinner. I swallow that down like a bowling ball.

“If it’s going to be awhile, we aren’t staying here. My parents have power. Sounds like it’s just this side of town, and Dad said they’re already working on it. If it isn’t up within the hour, we’ll head over there. My truck should be able to handle the roads.”

Though it isn’t the dead of winter by any means, it’ll still get pretty cold in here overnight, and I don’t like the idea of sleeping with the fireplace on. She nods, then bites the head off of a T-rex.

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