Wolfie
It's been almost a full week of living alone in my apartment since Connor moved out, and so far, it's been fucking weird.
Not always weird in a bad way. I'm already seeing the perks of a roommate-free lifestyle.
No one to eat my leftovers or hog all the hot water, for starters. And now that it's Saturday, I do like knowing I won't be shoving my head under a pillow tonight to drown out the suggestive creaking of Connor's bed from the other side of our shared wall.
Jesus, I still can't believe that same man is about to be a father.
But with the rest of the weekend ahead of me and no plans on my radar, part of me wishes Connor were here to talk me into heading out to the bars, or play me in a few rounds of whatever mindless video game he's hooked on this month. Instead, I'm sinking into my couch with a beer in my hand, saddling up for a quiet night in with me, myself, and I.
A little too quiet, to be honest. The only sound is the low rumbling of the train rolling by every five minutes or so, but you have to strain to hear it.
I considered moving out when Connor did, considered looking for a new place, but there was really no reason to. I can afford the place just fine on my own, and figured I could turn his old bedroom into a guest room, or an office or something.
In a way, it's peaceful being here without Connor. Or it would be, if I didn't hate being able to hear myself think right now. The longer I'm alone, the louder my thoughts get, and they all seem to be saying the same thing.
I miss Penelope. Like, a lot.
As I slouch back into the couch, my mind races through the possibilities of how she's spending her Saturday night. Maybe she's home alone, thinking of me too. More likely, she's out on the town, flirting with some guy who might take her home. The thought makes my stomach churn, but it's how it should be. She deserves someone easygoing and sweet, like her. Someone she doesn't have to keep a secret from her brother.
And that will never, ever be me.
Desperate for a distraction, I reach for the remote to flip on the TV, but come up empty. I don't have a remote anymore because I don't have a TV. That was Connor's, and I've yet to buy a new one to replace it.
I've got to distract myself somehow.
Just then, my phone buzzes with a text. It's from Connor, of all people.
Maybe he's ready to beg me to move back in with him. Or maybe he's selling his TV for a bigger one. A man can dream.
But no, he's just wondering what I'm up to tonight. I guess I'm not the only one still adjusting to living alone.
I tell him I'm free as a bird, and he shoots back a text asking if I want to come try out one of the Oak Park breweries. It's a bit of a drive, but hell, it's not like I have anything else going on tonight, so I tell him to name a place and time and I'll meet him there.
• • •
Less than an hour later, I'm pulling into the parking lot of a massive, industrial-looking building.
It looks like a warehouse to me, the sort of place you'd drive right past if you didn't know what you were looking for. But the address matches the one Connor sent me, so I hop out of my car and walk through the tall steel double doors. One step inside, and I'm greeted with the sharp, hoppy smell of craft beer.
Yeah, I've got the right place.
"Over here!" Connor waves me down from a high-top table in the back corner, nudging the beer list my way as I take a seat on the stool across from him. "How's the old place? Miss me yet?"
"You wish," I say with a grunt, hiding any lack of a poker face behind my menu. There's no chance in hell I'd admit to that. "You been here before?"
He shakes his head, scanning the extensive list of options. "The online reviews were good, though, and their IPA won some big craft beer award two years back."
When the waitress comes by, we each order a pint of the award winner.
I slap down my AmEx, insisting I pick up this round. "Least I can do, since you'll be blowing all your money on diapers pretty soon."
He chuckles and shakes his head. "Thanks, man."
While we wait for our drinks, Connor fills me in on some parenting book he's been reading, which as far as I know is the first book he's read since high school English class. Before long, the waitress is back with two frothy pint glasses filled with liquid gold.
Connor lifts his glass. "Cheers."
I gently tap mine against it, careful not to spill before lifting it to my lips. It's damn good. But I've hardly taken two sips before Connor opens his mouth, and suddenly, the taste in mine turns sour.
"So, Penelope told me what went down between the two of you."
My throat tightens around the lump of nerves that's suddenly blocking my airway, like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. I can feel all the blood draining from my face as I stare deeply into my pint glass, summoning whatever part of my brain is responsible for reminding me to breathe, to wake the fuck up and do its job.
"How, uh, how much did she tell you?" I barely choke the words out, then suck in a much-needed breath, my lungs stinging as they expand.
Shit. Pull it together, Wolfie.
"Breathe, dude," Connor says.
As if I'm not fucking trying. What do I usually do when I feel like this? Run? Fat chance of that right now. My legs feel like spaghetti noodles.
Spaghetti. Which just makes me think of Penelope and her homemade pasta sauce.
Shit, I've got it bad.
"Wolfie. Look at me. I'm not mad at you."
Per his request, I raise my eyes to meet his, and am surprised to see him smirking around his pint glass as he takes a long, drawn-out sip, then sets his beer down on the wood-topped table with a thunk. "I didn't invite you here to rip your balls off, dude. Relax."
I force a laugh, but it comes out just as awkward and shaky as I feel. Not at all convincing. "If you say so. Still, I'm sorry."
"For what?" he asks. "Sorry you got involved with her?"
"No. I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you. And sorry I hurt her. That wasn't my intention."
"I think people rarely intend to hurt other people. But they still end up hurt, and we still have to be responsible."
I nod solemnly. No one understands hurt better than me.
"She told me how it started-that at that work retreat, she played you off as her boyfriend."
I nod. "That was surprising."
Without my permission, a small chuckle escapes my lips. She was so brazen back then. So sure about what she wanted. To my shock, it was me.
Although, to be fair, maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised. I'd noticed the way Penelope's gaze seemed to be drawn to me whenever we were in the same room, how her eyes would wander to my lips when we spoke. I just kept telling myself I was imagining it, that there was no way a girl like her could be interested in a guy like me.
Connor leans forward. "So, why'd you cut things off?" he asks, one brow arched.
I bite the inside of my cheek until my mouth fills with the taste of blood. I want to lie. Or better yet, I want to get up and get the fuck out of here. But something has me rooted to this bar stool. For the first time in too damn long, I'm not going to run. I'm going to be honest.
"Listen, you know how I am," I say, focused more on my beer than on Connor. "I'm complicated. She doesn't need that kind of shit in her life."
"You're right," he says bluntly.
Surprised, I recoil. That wasn't the response I was expecting. "I am?"
"Sure." He shrugs, wiping beer foam from the edge of his glass with his thumb. "If you're going to be so hot and cold, back and forth, then that's complicated. She doesn't need that. What she does need is someone to be good to her, make her happy. You did that, from the sound of it. But you've got to stop running from her and then crawling back. Stay and commit, or walk away. Those are the only two choices. What's it going to be?"
The question hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. "I can't be with your sister," I grumble. "It's not fair to you."
"No, what's not fair is you giving her mixed signals, and me having to defend the fact that you're a good guy. Which you are, Wolfie. You know that, right?"
My stomach twists. Shit. Do I know that?
I've always thought I was all right, good enough to get by. But good enough for someone like Penelope? Not a chance. But that doesn't seem to be what Connor thinks. Or what Penelope thinks. So, maybe I should stop thinking it too.
Before I can say a word, Connor's eyes narrow as he pushes his beer aside and plants his forearms on the table. "Look. Shoot me straight. Do you care about her?"
"Of course I care about her," I say quickly.
"No, dude. Do you care about her? Don't make me get all mushy-gushy about it."
I gulp down air, settling the fear and guilt in the pit of my stomach with every breath. "I was falling for her, Connor."
"Then stop making it more complicated than it needs to be."
I take another long gulp of my beer, eyeing Connor from behind my glass. "Since when are you so wise about this shit?" I don't say the rest of what I'm thinking, which is . . . Why aren't you mad? Why aren't you threatening to cut my balls off?
He smiles and lifts a shoulder. "Maybe I'm just practicing my good, fatherly advice. You're one of the good ones, Wolfie. I trust you with my sister, man. And you deserve to be loved and to be happy."
The words send a twinge to my gut. Maybe if my dad had been the advice-giving type, I would have had an easier go of things. What I wouldn't give to turn back the clock and tell teenage Wolfie the same thing Connor just told me.
But I can't. All I can do is take his advice and run with it.
And I know exactly where I'm running.
Once the tab is squared away, I thank Connor for his words of wisdom, then rush to my car, routing my GPS straight to Penelope's apartment.
• • •
It's not until I'm looking for parking outside of Penelope's place that it occurs to me how bold I'm being. Hell, there's a very high likelihood that she's not even home.
The thought of her chatting up some guy at a bar downtown comes to mind, and my heart kicks in protest. All I can do is hope and pray it's just a thought, not a reality.
By some miracle, I nab a spot at the end of her block, which should be almost impossible at this time of night on a Saturday. I know better than to take it as a good sign, though. I don't believe in signs or luck or any of that bullshit. But I do believe in me and Penelope, so I race down the block, drawing cold air into my lungs as I stop in front of her apartment building and slam my thumb on the buzzer.
"Hello?" Her voice is soft on the other end of the intercom.
Just one word from her and relief pulses through my veins. Thank fuck she's home.
"Penelope. It's me. Can I come in?" I ask, but it's quiet for too long.
Fuck. I should have lied and said I was a pizza delivery guy or something. At least that would have gotten my foot in the door.
But then I hear the latch of the door click open and the low hum of the buzzer allowing me in. She'll see me. It's a start.
I take the stairs two at a time up to her apartment, where she's ready to greet me from behind a crack in the door.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, opening it wider.
There's a judgmental edge to her voice, which I can't blame her for. Last time I showed up at her door, the conversation was an ugly one.
She lets out the slightest yawn, covering her mouth with her palm. "It's late."
I glance at my watch, then lift a brow at her. "It's barely ten o'clock."
"Really? Oops." The faintest blush creeps over the apples of her cheeks.
God, she's adorable. All rosy-cheeked and ready for bed. But I can't get distracted by how cute she is. Not when I have much more serious topics in mind.
"Can I come in?"
Her gaze drops to her fuzzy pink slipper socks, then wanders back up to meet mine. "I'm not exactly dressed for company."
"You look perfect."
Hesitant, she chews her bottom lip for a moment, then pulls open the door. "Come on in."
In the kitchen, I take a seat at her table, and she offers me a mug of tea, which I take her up on. I could probably use something stronger. Liquid courage and all that. But maybe it's for the best that I'm completely sober as I say this.
"I saw Connor tonight," I say hesitantly.
She blinks at me in surprise, obviously wondering where this conversation is going. That makes two of us, since I'm honestly not even sure what to say.
"We met for a beer near his new neighborhood."
Penelope nods. "That's nice."
I take a breath and meet her eyes. They're guarded. Unsure. And I hate that I put that look in her eyes. She used to look at me with such hope, such wide-eyed optimism.
"He mentioned something." My chest feels tight, like I can't quite get enough air. I don't know how to say this next part, so the words fall ungracefully from my mouth. "You told your brother about us."
She frowns as she sets my mug in front of me, then settles in with her own. "Is that a problem?"
"It should've been," I say honestly. "When he started talking, I thought he was going to castrate me. Which I probably would've deserved, with what I've put you through."
She barely hides her smirk behind her pink ceramic mug. "I'm not sure I'd go that far."
"I would. I've put you through hell."
"You've been through hell yourself," she says, pausing to sip her chamomile, still watching me over the rim of her mug. "Connor and I talked about that too. It helped a lot."
My eyes widen.
Wait, what? Never did I expect Connor Blake to actually be helpful in my effort to win over his sister, but wilder things have happened, I suppose. Like me falling for her in the first place.
"What did he say about me?" I ask.
"That you're used to people giving up on you. And that I could be the one to break that pattern."
"Damn."
"Is it true?" she asks, her voice small.
"Maybe." I reach across the table, taking her soft hand in mine.
Lucky for me, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she squeezes tight onto my thumb, like she's not going to let go. And I hope she never will.
"Listen, Penelope. I've always seen myself as so complicated. Too complicated. For you, for anyone. Thought I'd just be better off alone, not imposing my bullshit on anyone."
"You're not too complicated for me, Wolfie," she says earnestly, blinking up at me with her sweet turquoise eyes.
It's almost too much for me. I'm not used to feeling so much, but with her, it's like my heart's wide open and there's no place to hide.
"You're kind and generous," she says, "and despite what you think, you're a good man."
I swallow. "I'm trying to understand that. To learn to accept my past and move forward with my future. And there's no version of that future I can imagine without you."
Her pretty pink lips barely part as she draws in a quick, shaky inhale. "How am I supposed to know you're not just going to run away again?" She ducks her head, staring deeply into her mug, as if the answer were buried in there somewhere.
I don't know how to convince her, to assure her that I'm not going to pack up and leave again. I've done an awfully good job of tarnishing my track record thus far. What can I say? What can I do?
"Move in with me." The words fall from my lips faster than I can stop them, but once they're out, I realize just how much I mean them.
Penelope, however, is rightfully confused. She recoils, pure shock draining the color from her face. "What? You're insane."
"No, I'm in love with you. And I don't want to live alone when we could be there together. That's how serious I am, Penelope. I want you with me, all the time, twenty-four/seven. Move in with me."
Her features soften, and something beautiful and sweet shimmers in her eyes. "You're . . . you're in love with me?"
I can't help the smile teasing my lips. "Isn't it obvious?"
Sliding her mug aside, she pushes to her feet and leans over her tiny kitchen table, capturing my lips with hers. She tastes even sweeter than I remember. Like flowers and honey. Like my future.
Like home.
"I love you too, Wolfie," she murmurs against my lips, then pulls back, leveling me with a dose of reality. "But can we at least wait until my lease is up before we talk about moving in together, though? Take things one step at a time?"
"Of course." I nod. "Anything you need."
She arches one mischievous brow, her wild eyes flickering. "Anything?"
"Anything." I laugh, pulling her lips back to meet mine. "I'm following your lead."