Page 22 of Meet Me In Winterberry

Coming out of my thoughts, I step further into the room and am still in awe. This isn’t The Plaza or The Ritz, and I can’t believe I am saying this, but I like it even better here. The coziness of the room floods the space, and it feels like home.

There are no fluffy white robes or room service but there’s beautiful Christmas decor, a small wood fireplace against the wall, snow falling outside and a sense of peace.

No Instagram notifications, interviews to do, or phone calls to make.

Sometimes, I find myself so caught up in my life and the appointments on my calendar that I forget to breathe and take a look around me.

And it isn’t until this moment that I realize I haven’t been at peace in more years than I can count.

The slam of a car door pulls me out of my thoughts and into the present. Back to a world where Drew has cheated on me and I’m in a small town in Vermont, hiding out and pretending to be someone I’m not.

And out of nowhere, it’s like the dam breaks.

The tears begin to slide down my cheeks. I can’t hold them back any longer, so I let them out. Picturing the tabloid again in my head brings a fresh wave of pain.

After a few minutes, I’m able to gather myself enough to grab my Louis Vuitton bags, hoisting them onto the bed so I can find my silk pajama set. I’ll change into them after I take a much-needed shower.

I can’t believe it’s only been a few days since I saw that tabloid with Drew’s picture on the front. I feel like I am in some alternate universe.

Unzipping the suitcase, I reach to the bottom and freeze before pulling out my pajamas. Maybe Iwillgo down to dinner before I get ready for bed. I may not be hungry, but I’ll be ravenous in the morning if I don’t eat now.

Feeling nervous, I wipe my hands on my pants and take one more look at myself in the mirror and open my door. The smell of pasta and garlic bread immediately fills my nose and my mouth starts salivating.

I make my way down the steps and stop when I hear chatter and laughter filtering out of the dining room. A longing spreads through my chest at the sound of family, and I slowly descend the rest of the steps.

Each step creaks under my weight, and I swear everyone can hear the beat of my heart.

As soon as I round the corner, I spot Nora’s gorgeous curls and the back of Brent’s head. The long oak table spans the length of the room and is big enough for guests to also sit and eat. In the center of the table is a huge centerpiece with sprigs of holly and cinnamon pinecones.

Tonight, it looks like I’m not the only guest joining, as I count four other people already eating.

The conversation stops and every head swivels as I enter the room. Under the weight of Brent’s stare, I feel exposed, worried that at any second someone will realize who I am, and the paparazzi will appear. It’s what always happens.

“Penelope! You came!” Nora jumps up from her chair, racing over to me.

“I’m sorry, am I late for dinner?” My cheeks grow warm.

“Not at all.” Suzanne smiles, getting up from the table and heading to the kitchen as Nora grabs my hand and leads me to the table.

“Here, you can sit next to me. Right, Dad?”

“Right,” Brent says without breaking our eye contact. I take the seat next to Nora and try not to glance across the table where Brent is sitting.

Suzanne comes back into the room with a plate full of food, setting it in front of me with silverware and a glass.

“I hope you like pasta and garlic bread.” She smiles.

“Oh, I do.”

Taking my first bite, I let out a contented sigh. When was the last time I had a bite of pasta? Probably around the same time I had pancakes.

“That good, huh?” Brent eyes me from his seat, a small smirk playing across his mouth.

Instantly, my cheeks grow hot and a sweat forms on my upper lip. On a normal day, I walk red carpets at award shows, have conversations with high-powered celebrities, and have fake stories shared about me in tabloids.

But here? I feel like a completely different person. I’m fumbling over my words and getting embarrassed way too easily. Pushing my thoughts aside, I use the skills I learned in my improv classes, faking confidence I don’t currently possess, and stare back at Brent.

“Sogood.” Take that.

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