Page 12 of Penelope in Retrograde

Smith takes a look at the hand-stamped logo on the bag. It’s a pink poodle and a marijuana leaf, which I think is the perfect blend of trashy and cute. A smile curls his lips as he pours the remaining cookies into the palm of his hand. He sniffs them and gives a nod of approval.

“Is that toffee I smell?” He hands the cookies to me.

“They’re Ozzie’s favorite. He’s not great with flying, and they seem to keep him calm.”

“Do they work on humans?” Smith tilts his head toward Aidan.

“Why don’t we start with offering him a paper bag before we resort to drugging our driver.”

“Good point.”

Smith hands the paper bag to Aidan. He takes a series of rapid breaths, testing the elasticity of the bag to its limit. I have no idea if breathing into a bag actually makes anyone less anxious, but watching Aidan do it is giving me anxiety.

“Better?” I ask after he rests the bag on his chest.

“Now I’m just hungry.” Aidan brushes some crumbs away from his beard. “I didn’t eat lunch today. What if we’re up here all night? I have low blood sugar.”

“Are you diabetic?” Smith asks.

“I don’t think so.” A worried look crosses Aidan’s face. “But food is my go-to when I’m stressed.”

“Do you keep anything to eat in the car?” I ask.

“No. It’s against company policy.” Aidan’s breathing starts to quicken again. “Also, if you could please leave this whole incident out of your review, I’d appreciate it. I really need this job. Viktoria won’t marry me if I’m unemployed.”

“Five stars are coming your way, buddy,” Smith assures him. He turns to me. “Check our bags for anything that might be edible ... other than the dog edibles in your purse.”

“I’m on it.”

My purse and Smith’s man bag were moved up front when we turned the van into a triage unit for Aidan. I don’t bother looking in my purse because I know that the closest things I have to food are some antique mints. Instead, I slide into the driver’s seat with Smith’s bag on my lap.

I almost can’t bring myself to look through it. I’m the queen of snooping, but it feels wrong to riffle through my ex’s belongings when he’s just a few feet away. I run my index finger over the smooth, buttery leather. It reminds me of the leather jacket he always wore in high school. On cold nights, he’d let me borrow it, and I would breathe in the scent of his orange-spice cologne mixed with the earthiness of the leather. It was a little slice of heaven.

“Any luck?” Smith asks.

“Still looking,” I reply.

I unclip the brass buckle and peer into his bag. It’s neat and orderly, like I would expect it to be. There’s a tablet secured in a matching leather cover. Two Montblanc pens and a stylus hang in leather loops on the interior of the bag next to his wallet. There’s a paperback copy of the latest Stephen King novel and some sort of self-help book. Smith was always a reader, usually reading more books in a year than me, and there’s something comforting in seeing that he still is.

A crack of thunder rattles the van, and Aidan lets out another yelp. I unzip the last compartment of Smith’s bag, and to my relief, there’s a pack of cinnamon gum.

“Here.” I toss the pack to the back of the van. “This is all we’ve got.”

I start to close Smith’s bag, but something catches my eye. It’s a small box in Tiffany blue. My heart sinks for reasons I don’t fully understand. I steal a glance at the back seat. Smith and Aidan are locked in conversation. Apparently, Aidan has strong feelings about cinnamon-flavored gum. My fingers graze the edges of the box. It’s too small to hold a bracelet, and the shape is all wrong for earrings.

“Peppermint soothes upset stomachs, not cinnamon,” Aidan explains. “Don’t you have any peppermint?”

“Penny, is there any peppermint gum in my bag?” Smith’s voice is gruff.

“No,” I reply, my gaze still fixed on the box. “Just cinnamon.”

I close his bag and move back to the middle row before I have some sort of breakdown and open that ring box. I’m certain it has to be a ring box. The question is, what kind of ring is in it? Obviously, an engagement ring comes to mind. Not that it matters to me if it is. Smith and everything that has to do with him is going back in the Old Penny memory filing cabinet the minute this ride is over.

“Well, I’m running out of ideas,” Smith says. “You got any?”

“I’ve got a worry stone in my pocket.” I pull out the smooth amber-and-black stone. “It’s tiger’s eye.”

“You want me to eat a rock?” Aidan wheezes.

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