Losing Penny (20 page)

“She doesn’t really like poetry. She reads
Snivel Drivel.”

Andrea brightened. “I love Snivel
Drivel!”

Drake nodded. “You’d probably love Penny.
Everyone does.”

“Everyone loves Penny?”

“Everyone who knows her.” Including a crazed
stalker, a million blog followers, and who knows how many
television viewers.

“I think you’re exaggerating. She has to be a
little unlovable.”

He thought of the dirty socks in the middle
of the living room and shrugged. “I guess everyone has their
flaws.”

All berries have great antioxidant benefits.
Blueberry supplements may be helpful in slowing cognitive decline
and lowering the risk for Alzheimer's disease.

From
Losing Penny and Pounds

“Tell me about
Magdalena,” Penny took her eyes off the road for a nanosecond and
tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

“Magdalena?” Drake raised his eyebrows. “Are
we playing Truth again? Because if so, I should warn you, I’m going
to get mean and dirty.”

Penny pulled onto the highway and pointed the
Volkswagen toward town. “Your meanness and dirtiness don’t frighten
me. And I wasn’t playing Truth. I think that if I’m pretending to
be Magdalena I should know more about her.”

“Can’t we just focus on huckleberries?”

She shrugged, tempted to tell him about the
party. What she wanted to say was “Drake, I’ve made an idiotic
mistake. I planned a birthday party and it grew to mammoth
proportions and now your mom is inviting all of your friends.
Someone is bound to have known Magdalena, so I can’t possibly go,
and how can I not go when everyone here knows we’re living together
and thinks I’m your ex-wife?” Instead she said, “Huckleberries are
boring.”

“Then why are we picking them?”

“This was your idea!”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“Come on, tell me about Maggie.”

Drake sucked in a long breath. “For one
thing, I never heard anyone call her Maggie.”

Penny pressed her lips together. “She sounds
as boring as huckleberries.”

Drake nodded. “Huckleberries don’t even come
close to her boringness.”

“Is that why it didn’t last?” Penny tried
picturing Drake and a Cuban beauty wandering through Central Park
and feeding breadcrumbs to the pigeons, but for some reason
Magdalena kept changing into someone with dark red curls. “What was
she like?”

“Why don’t we talk about you? Tell me about
your
past lovers,” Drake said.

Penny smiled. “Oh that’s easy. Remember, I
was…nonlover-like.”

“One point for me, or wait—don’t I
automatically win because you lied?”

“I’m not lying, and we’re not playing.”

“Come on, there had to have been
someone.”

“Sometimes…I mean, it’s not like I’ve never
been kissed. There was the one guy in cooking school, Allen.”

“See, I knew it. Tell me about Allen.”

“We don’t need to talk about Allen…talking
about Magdalena makes more sense.”

“Not to me,” Drake said under his breath.
“Turn here.”

Penny followed his pointing finger and pulled
off the highway onto a dirt road. “Where are we going?”

“To the huckleberries, of course.”

The car bounced over empty potholes and pits
of mud. Penny had to use both hands to keep the car headed straight
on the path. “She must have been pretty.”

Drake slid a sideways glance at her. “She
was…is.”

Penny’s hands clenched the steering wheel. “I
think all Cuban girls are pretty. There must be something mandated
in their country’s bylaws. All Cuban girls must look like Eva
Mendes.”

“What did Allen look like?”

“Allen looked like a cooking school student,
which he was, and so did I. Back then we matched. The problem was I
didn’t want to match Allen.”

“We’re here,” Drake told her.

Penny nosed the car to the side of the road.
Underbrush lined the tiny dirt road and the forest canopy towered
over their heads. The air smelled mossy and sung with crickets.
Through the trees Penny caught sight of a low wall circling a
cemetery filled with headstones. Patchy grass and a smattering of
dandelions and buttercups grew between the stones. With a wicker
basket over her arm, she climbed from the car and followed Drake.
The church was made of gray stone and had heavily carved wooden
doors. Penny walked through the cemetery, entranced by the dark,
stained markers.

“You’re telling me Allen looked like a
Biggest Loser contestant?” Drake said.

“No, I’m not saying that. That wouldn’t be
kind. And being unkind in such a quiet, almost reverent place would
be wrong.” Penny took a deep breath and carefully chose her words.
“I’m saying that when we were…friends, he wore a device that
counted his caloric intake and expenditure.”

Drake raised his eyebrows and held out his
hand to help Penny over the low wall.

“He was sweet.” Penny placed her hand in
Drake’s and hoped he couldn’t feel her rising pulse.

“Why did he stop being your—” he paused
dramatically, “friend?”

Penny thought about it. “I’m not sure. I
started losing weight even before cooking school ended, and then
the blog and the show…I just got really busy and we didn’t see each
other as much. I guess it just sort of fizzled, and I didn’t have
time for him anymore.” She kicked at a mossy rock. “That’s really
sad.”

“Did you love him?” Drake asked.

“Heavens no.”

He smiled and looked pleased with her
answer.

She squeezed his hand. “But you must have
loved Magdalena. You wouldn’t marry someone you didn’t love, would
you?”

Drake didn’t answer. Instead he led her down
a path and then stopped in front of a bush. “These are
huckleberries, by the way.”

“You’re deflecting.”

For an answer, Drake picked a handful of
huckleberries and put a few in his mouth.

Penny frowned at him. “Are those safe?”

He laughed. “How can I be deflecting if we’re
not playing?”

“Okay, we’re playing.”

Drake shook his head. “Not fair. I just
learned about Fatty.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“I mean, Allen.”

“Do you want to play or not?”

“Are you going to grill me about
Magdalena?”

Penny nodded. “And Blair and Vikings.”

“Then I don’t see how I can win.” He turned
his attention to the huckleberry bush. “Although, I do have
questions.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“What happens when the summer is over?” he
asked.

Penny stopped picking berries.

He stood behind her, his face bent toward her
hair. “I like living with you. I like having you around.”

“Even my socks?”

His breath tickled the back of her neck. “I’m
just not seeing a happy ending here, and I really want one.”

“I have a show to do.”

“And I have classes to teach.”

“Drake…”

He scowled and frustration settled across his
face. “I know we’ve only just met, but living with you has put our
relationship on hyper speed.”

“Not everything.” After all, there had only
been one kiss. He must have read her mind, because he touched her
cheek, took her hand, and slowly drew her toward him. His nearness
almost hurt. She became breathless, her heart pounded, and her
fingers tingled—all for want of a little kiss. She worried about
how their relationship would work, but she soon stopped worrying
when all of her attention swiftly and acutely focused on kissing.
Right here, right now kissing.

Drake pulled away from her and rested his
forehead on hers. “That was nice.”

“For being a literature professor, you’re
completely inept when it comes to adjectives. ‘Nice’ in no way
describes your kiss.”

“No? How about this?” He picked her up,
carried her over to a fallen tree, sat down, and settled her on his
lap. His mouth was warm and tasted like huckleberries. A niggling
warning started somewhere deep inside, but she pushed it away.

“How was that? Better than nice?” he asked
softly. His breath and the movement of his lips brushed against her
throat. His lips found hers again and he laid her backwards and
leaned over her.

“Delicious, divine,” Penny said, struggling
to find her voice when his lips had returned to her throat. She
held onto his shoulders. If he were to let her go she’d fall into
the tall grass. His lips trailed down the side of her neck and
stopped below her ear. Her nerves skittered.

“Cooking words,” Drake said.

“Not exactly true,” Penny said. “Cooking
words are steaming, stirring, mix…Oh wait, those work, too.”

He laughed and pulled her up and onto an
ancient looking stone bench that she hadn’t noticed before.

“I can’t wait to read your cookbook.”

She backed away from him and tucked a strand
of her hair behind her ear. “It’s a very puritanical cookbook.”

He leaned toward her and she bit her lip,
watching his lips approach. “No steaming?”

“Oh, there’s steaming.”

“And stirring?”

“Plenty of stirring.”

“I
have
to read this book.”

“And I have to write it,” she said, trying to
sound calm, despite the rioting in her blood. Self-preservation,
like a screaming siren, warned her that if this continued she’d
only get hurt, but her libido urged her to hold him. Her sensible
self said she didn’t know Drake very well and that their time
together had a deadline. They both had books to write and their
everyday lives to return to. She leaned away, but Drake pulled her
back into his arms.

“Maybe we’ve botched up our past stories, but
let’s get this one just right,” he whispered into her hair.

“We have a story?” She moved so she could see
his face. His eyes stared back at her, full of hope and something
else that she couldn’t define, but whatever it was it upped the
level of her heart pounding and finger tingling.

He nodded. “With a happy ending.”

“What about the beginning and middle?”

He rubbed his thumb on her cheek. “We’re
going to get those just right too.”

“A perfect recipe?”

“Absolutely,” he whispered, moving in for
another kiss.

“Hmm, Drake,” Penny murmured sometime later.
Drake pulled away from her. She tried to follow, but a cold breeze
blew between them.

“Let me show you something.” He took her hand
and led her to the steps of the old stone church.

A stone marker stood by the door. Moss and
lichen hid some of the words, but Penny recognized the prayer of
Ecclesiastes:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to
every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to
die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is
planted.

“It’s fascinating to think that some words
last forever and while some are forgotten almost as soon as they’re
put down on paper,” Drake said.

“What made you write about Vikings?” Penny
asked.

Drake scowled. “I didn’t want to write about
Vikings, but after Blair told me Simon’s story, they haunted
me.”

“Who’s Simon? I want to hear Simon’s
story.”

Drake tugged her hand to lead her back to the
car. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

He held open the car door for her and she
settled behind the steering wheel. She liked that he didn’t mind
her driving. Her brother never let her drive when they were
together. Richard liked to be the one in control, even if they were
taking her car.

“You want me to tell you a haunting story?”
Drake climbed in beside her and buckled his seatbelt.

“I don’t believe in hauntings.” She turned
the key in the ignition and the Volkswagen leaped to life. Avoiding
potholes and fallen branches, she pointed the car toward home.

“But that’s the thing. You don’t have to
believe in hauntings to experience them. I don’t believe in them
either, yet the Vikings come, whether I want them to or not.”

“Maybe this is a story you’re meant to
tell.”

“Says who?”

Penny shrugged. “Your muse?”

Drake smiled. “Do you have a muse?”

She flashed him a quick smile before turning
on to the highway. “Yep, and she’s perpetually hungry. That’s why I
write about food. Tell me about Simon’s story, and I’ll make you a
Black Forest cake.”

Drake stared at her. “I love Black Forest
cake.”

“So, close your mouth, stop drooling, and
tell me the Viking story.”

“It’s long and dull.”

“How can a haunting be dull?”

Drake cocked his head in thought. “Okay,
maybe it’s not dull.”

“It’s only as dull as you make it.”

A pained look flashed in Drake’s eyes, but he
blinked it away. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, and she wondered if
she should apologize, but since she didn’t know what for, she
stayed quiet.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Drake began.
“Charlotte—”

“Who’s Charlotte? I thought this was Simon’s
story.”

“Charlotte Rhyme, Blair’s aunt. We’re never
going to get through this story if you keep interrupting.”

“So sorry. Keep talking.”

“Charlotte was working as a graphic designer,
and had been hired to create some PR for a fundraiser for a
Lutheran Church hosting an antique show. This was the largest
congregation in New York City, and the show was held in the
basement of a nineteenth-century church. A choir sang liturgy in
the sanctuary above, and the music was piped down to the basement.
The atmosphere was surreal: the room had blackened brick walls,
sunlight filtered through window wells, and gas-lit lanterns hung
from rafters. The manuscript was the finest work Simon had ever
seen.”

“Who, exactly, is Simon?”

“Charlotte’s lover.”

“She had a lover?”

“Yes, I just said so, didn’t I?” Drake looked
annoyed.

“I promise I won’t interrupt again.”