Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(21)

“Look at me, walking away,” I say out loud.

A dose of pride washes over me because that wasn’t easy. But I did it. I didn’t cave.

Laughter drifts through the crack between the door and the floor, and I find myself listening for Penn’s voice. It doesn’t take long until the friendly timbre makes its way to me.

Even if I could actually avoid him in this town of nine-hundred-or-so people, I don’t know that I’d want to. He’s funny and friendly, and everyone who knows him seems to like him, even Harper. And the way he talked to Lorene today at the salon was downright adorable.

“But that’s the problem. He’s everything I like. He’s just everything I don’t trust too,” I whisper to myself.

My mind projects the next six months like a home movie. There are two potential end results if I give in to Penn.

The first is that we hook up and then move on. That wouldn’t be terrible if it weren’t a complete waste of time. Also, it has me repeating the same behavior I’ve had my whole life: giving in to what other people want when it’s not what I want.

Not that I don’t want to sleep with Penn. I do. So much. So, so much. But it’s a one-night stand—a week at most—and I’m not in the market for that. I don’t want to be.

The second potential outcome is that we somehow finagle things into a semblance of a relationship. But would it even be a relationship I wanted to be in? Or just a relationship that has an expiration date on it from the get-go?

I sigh. “You are not even thinking about this,” I tell myself. “You promised yourself you’d find someone that truly wants you. That’s probably not Penn. No, that’s definitely not Penn.”

This is true, regardless of what Harper says. Case in point: he doesn’t even remember me. While he’s not to blame, it is a red flag for future interactions.

An awkward lump takes root in my stomach. For the first time since that night so long ago, I kind of regret sleeping with him.

Penn was so sweet when I stumbled upon him by the lake. He distracted me with fishing stories and tales of small-town life and then listened as I ranted about my problems. We laughed and commiserated, and as the sun set and the stars came out, I found myself in his arms.

By the time the sun kissed the horizon on its way back up, I had walked to my car, grabbed my things from Harper’s, and was at the airport.

I never saw him again, and I’ve always been okay with that. It’s been this special moment that was just for me. No one knew about it. No one could taint it for me. There wasn’t a soul in the world who could guilt me for my actions or tell me he was desperate—or worse, that I was.

I’ve never wished that night to be any different.

Until now.

“I could tell him he knew me before,” I think aloud. Even as the words leave my mouth, I know there’s no way I can. The lump grows in my stomach and turns into a rock. It grows heavier as I imagine mentioning our history—and that he forgot and I clearly didn’t—and trying to wash over it all with some kind of silly laugh.

Embarrassment creeps up my cheeks.

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Walking across the room, I look at myself in the mirror. My face is a bit flushed, my pupils large, black dots.

I take my hair down from a ponytail and smooth it out. I wonder how many calls I’ve missed from my friends in Los Angeles. Probably none. They’ve moved on by now.

My fingers go through my tresses as I think about my old crowd. They love the ladder-climbing lifestyle. Running into and with celebrities, hitting the hot locales, taking the perfect snaps for social media at the right spots—that is their life. It was never truly mine. The older I got, the more I felt like I was let into their circle because of my mother. There’s little doubt they’ve filled my spot in their circle with someone else who can bring something to the table.

I pause and look at my reflection. My eyes are so clear, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and I realize that I feel that way. Lighter. Intuitively happier.

My hair goes back up again as I smile to myself. I check myself out from all sides, making sure I don’t have little fins of hair sticking every which way. Even though I roll my eyes at my antics, I don’t stop.

“You just go back out there and pretend like he’s another guy,” I say to my reflection. “You can flirt. Flirting with cute boys isn’t against the law and is great for the ego. Just remember he’s not for you.” I twist my lips. “Or he would’ve remembered the first time.”

After giving my hands a quick wash and dry, I take a piece of paper towel to the door. I use it to unlatch the lock and twist the knob before throwing it away.

The music is mellow, a pop song from the nineties, as I hesitate behind the little bar. It’s his laugh that makes a beeline to my ears. Despite the oregano in the air and odor of spilled beer, it’s Penn’s cologne I gravitate toward.

I need a drink.

“Hey, Avery.”

I jump at the sound of Harper’s voice. My hand clutches my chest. “You scared the crap out of me,” I tell her.

She laughs. “I see that. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just zoned out a little, I guess.”

Harper bites her bottom lip and eyes me suspiciously. “Are you joining us, or are you hanging out with Penn and Matt?”