Page 22 of Lucky Penny
Just type in his name and see what comes up. Find out if what he’s told Fia about his business and life in California is actually true. That’s reasonable, right?
I start typing his name, my fingers stiff, my throat going tight like I’ve swallowed something too big. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of finding.
No, that’s a lie.
I know exactly what I don’t want to find. The same reason I never looked him up for ten years, because knowing he existedsomewhere without me—that he kept going, living, becoming someone I didn’t know anymore—was unbearable.
I type his name in the search bar, but my finger hovers, hesitating.
What if he has a girlfriend?
The breath leaves my lungs like I’ve been punched. I slap my laptop lid shut so fast it makes Tank jump and bark. This is ridiculous…I am not doing this. I don’t care if he has a girlfriend. I have no right to care.
Fia stirs from the sofa, opening her eyes and reaching for her phone.
I study my nails, pretending to be relaxed, even though my heart’s racing way too fast for someone merely lounging in a chair.
“Shoot, I need to start dinner,” she says, stretching before shuffling into the kitchen.
“Cool, cool.” I swallow. “Need any help?”
She shakes her head, totally oblivious to hownot chillI am right now. Fia pulls her hair back and grabs an apron—a habit she picked up from Nan.
“Nope, I got it,” she replies, propping her phone up with the recipe open.
I watch from the sofa, useless, while she waddles around the kitchen. I really wish Nan hadn’t torn down the wall between the kitchen and living room twenty years ago, turning this old Victorian into an open-concept space—because right now, all I want is to hide and be alone with my thoughts.
“I’m just happy to have someone to cook for besides myself,” Fia yaps mindlessly, as she pulls a bundle of vegetables from the fridge.
The pantry surprisingly isn’t empty, and there’s actual produce in the house. Bringing my own food only crowded the kitchen.
I don’t know when my sister suddenly became a real adult.
I stand, and Tank licks my hand as I set my laptop on the coffee table.
“Isn’t he the sweetest?” Fia asks.
“He seems very well trained,” I say, patting his head. His fur is silky smooth, eyes like little honey-colored marbles.
“Well, he should be—considering that’s what Jesse does.”
I freeze. “What…does he do exactly?”
Fia chuckles, already slicing an eggplant. “Wow, sis. You literally knownothingabout him, do you?” She laughs again, like it’s so damn funny. “He’s a dog trainer.”
You have no idea how much I know about him.
How he kisses softly and slowly. How he runs his large hands up and down my back until it’s safe enough to sneak back to his own room. How he used to call me princess to piss me off, until it became his pet name for me. How he made me a playlist with songs that reminded him of me, of us, and how, for ten years, anytime one of those songs comes on, I have a knee-jerk reaction to turn it off as quickly as possible, like my sanity depends on it.
“I guess I don’t.” I play along. “So, that’s where he goes all day?”
“Yeah. He had a pretty successful business in Los Angeles, I guess.” She shrugs, reading the recipe. “He works with dogs that’ve basically run out of chances,” Fia says, her tone light, like this isn’t about to knock the wind out of me. “The ones people think are too far gone. His specialty is rehabbing them and getting them adoptable again.” She drops that in so casually, like she’s reciting a fun fact. “I guess he was on some huge podcasts and had this crazy two-year waitlist. But now he works with rescues. Just look him up, he’s kind of a big deal.” She chuckles. “He was even on the cover of that tattoo magazine last year. So crazy, right?”
My throat constricts, and I peel my eyes away, even though she’s not even looking at me. She’s too focused on preparing the meal, but I feel exposed regardless.
Because that’s exactly who the Jesse I knew would’ve grown up to be.
Helping the voiceless, helping those who are forgotten.
