Page 99 of If Our Hearts Collide

The only way to make this better is to step aside and allow someone else to take over for me.

Thoughts of teaching Penny how to drive flutter through my brain. Who is going to help make sure she’s safe on the road? Who is going to verify that her apartment is up to code? Does she actually plan to attend that dating mixer at the coffee shop?

Whoever I recommend to watch out for Penny must understand how precious she is to her family. Keeping her safe has to be top priority.

I have a list of contacts I can use that have already been semi-vetted. Surely someone will stand out from the crowd as apotential replacement, and most likely I’ll have to fly that person to Portland since I know everyone in the business already that is local, and no one person in particular stands out as a viable option.

Penny needs someone who won’t crack under pressure or be bribed with her sweet antics, and I know she’ll try.

I’m not a quitter, so the mere idea of giving up seems so foreign. I’ll suck it up for a week to gather my references for Graham and Nic, and then officially resign from this assignment.

Ugh.

I don’t even want to think about the disappointment that will be evident on their faces. The Hoffman brothers have trust issues. I’ve earned their respect over the years. This is out of character for me, and yet I really have no other choice.

Penelope Hoffman has fluttered her way into my heart.

And the only way to function is to deny the hold she has on me.

19

PENNY

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad to say goodbye to Momma as she helped me bring in my purchases to my new residence. I haven’t even officially spent the night here, but there’s now no reason not to do it. I have my bed, dresser, and all of my essentials right here in this place. Yet, as much as I wanted to have this level of independence, I am already lonely.

And perpetually embarrassed over the kiss request incident with Collins.

Who the hell asks someone for a kiss?

What am I—ten years old?

Not only has the man probably kissed a hundred women in his lifetime, he managed to look sympathetic toward me when I asked him for one. And that there is the worst.

He pities me.

Hell, at this point, I pity me.

To him, I’m some little naive girl who has a silly crush. I might as well grab a holographic notebook and doodle our names together with pink hearts drawn around them, while the “Collins and Penny sitting in a tree…” song plays on loop from the sound system.

Ew, how mortifying.

How am I going to function with him bodyguarding me when the only person I need protection from is myself and the stupidest things that can be spewed from my mouth?

And that there is the real dilemma.

So here I sulk in my dream apartment with my newly shopped for furnishings that fit my momma’s style more than my own, and the only thing I can celebrate is the loss of my dignity.

The only hope of surviving yet another day where I feel awkward and silly is to stay busy and focus on a task. Maybe then my mind will stop thinking about how comfortable my parents’ house is and the warmth of my momma who would cuddle me in a heartbeat.

I try not to think about how my momma makes the most delicious breakfasts or how my dad and I chat about pop culture around the island in the kitchen—where most discussions seem to occur.

And I’ll try not to think about how before the incident, I was a carefree girl who faced challenges head-on, and not want to curl up under the covers and drown out all the humiliation I brought on my own life.

I just need to center myself and make this new space feel the same way the comfort of home feels like—but with my own flavor. I did it with my Plus None desk, so I just need to follow that same recipe here.

This is my first big-girl apartment, and I should at least find joy in doing things my way for a change.

Right now, boxes are stacked along the walls in the living room, and my luggage is open and arranged on the floor in haphazard piles.

---