“I’ll tell you who I think you are.” He stops tapping his fingers along the counter, and rests his hands onto his lap. “You are this incredibly talented woman who seems to handle whatever is thrown at her. I thought about this during my two-hour ride here. I mean, you were a food critic who, even though you probably knew it was risky, agreed to help the same chef you thought you’d destroyed. You had to go in undercover, so to speak, in order to make it work. I can’t blame you for that. And I can’t blame you for what happened between us, because we both allowed it to happen. It’s what we wanted and quite frankly needed. And then, you still found it in you to post a review about the total experience, even after you got hurt.”
I look at Jonathan and all I can do is cry. And I thought I was all out of tears.
“I’m so sorry I yelled at you,” he says, grabbing a hold of my hand.
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my robe.
“It’s okay. And I’m sorry about everything, Jonathan.”
“Everything?” he asks, raising up from the stool, easing closer to me. He works his way between my legs, grabbing a hold of my chin, to gently lift my head.
“Please don’t be sorry about everything. I know I’m not. In fact, I lied. I didn’t come here only to give you your bag. I came here because, well, first of all, I know how much you hate Mondays. I didn’t want to be added to your reasons why list.” He chuckles at his comment. “I also came here because—”
He stops and takes in a deep breath. “Penelope,” he continues, and the sound of him saying my real name puts me in a spiral, “I’m so fucking in love with you.”
His lips curve into that sexy smirk that makes me all google-eyed.
“You’re in love with me?” I repeat, holding my hand to my chest, as it beats out of control.
“Yes, with you, Penelope Monroe. Everything about you. The way your eyes smile when you see me, the fact that we share losing our parents in common, the way your face lights up when you taste something delicious, the way you moan when I make love to you, and the way you intoxicate me, making me feel like I can never get my fill of you.”
He pulls me in closer to him, leans over, and kisses me hard and sensual.
And when we finally break free, I catch my breath and tell him exactly how I feel.
“I-I’m in love with you too.”
After he playfully asks me where he can take me, Jonathan whisks me off to my room and the two of us lose ourselves in each other for hours on end. And through our lovemaking, Jonathan proves over and over again how powerfully love can conquer hate.
And now, today, meet the new me: Penelope Monroe, the unbroken-hearted food critic, turned love-crazed restaurant consultant, turned part restaurant owner.
And, oh yeah…
I fucking love Mondays.
Epilogue
Three Months Later...
Garrett Harrison
It’s true, you know…not realizing what you have until it’s gone, as cliche as it may fucking sound.
I came across a wedding announcement today, as I picked up the newspaper, hoping to successfully peruse the job section—for any job, since I’m now gainfully unemployed.
Jake fired me from The Hudson News Bee a few months ago. Can you believe that shit? I thought I was like a son to him. He claimed the fact I couldn’t seem to keep my dick in my pants was bad for the newspaper. I told him he should start hiring less attractive women…and that seemed to piss him off even more. So much so, he sent me off without a severance package or a letter of reference.
Whatever.
Anyway, back to this wedding announcement thing. I admit, even though I’d like to consider myself to be an emotionally strong man, seeing it has woosied me up. Big time.
You see, I used to date this beautiful and talented journalist named Penelope Monroe who Jake and I hired to write a weekly restaurant review column. She quickly became this renowned food critic, surpassing our expectations.
Jake and I both discovered Penelope’s talents were too grandiose for such a measly periodical, like The Bee. Yet, her column alone perked up sales and ratings, so there was no fucking way we were going to let her go.
And dating her was purely accidental. I mean, it’s true, I wanted to hook up with her the moment I laid eyes on her when she walked into The Bee for a job interview. She was hot. Not an average kind of hot. Explosive.
But I was careful to keep my distance; in other words, I made every effort to keep our relationship strictly business. However, one evening, the two of us were working late and we decided to go out for a bite to eat.
Now mind you, it had been almost six months into our working relationship, and I knew nothing about Penelope, not even how she took her coffee (which, by the way, is two sugars and cream).
Dinner lasted for hours, as I got to know her…and just how amazingly captivating she was. So, I asked her out again and a couple of dates later, we became an item. I knew I was this player, who for ages toyed with women without any regard to their feelings. But she was the one. The one who would tame the lion.
Or so I thought.
I allowed the pesky green monster—jealousy—to intervene.
It all began when Gregory Hambrick, a popular food critic who worked for The New York Herald, called me. Somewhere, in our conversation, Gregory mentioned he was close to retirement and would very much like to see The Bee’s, very own Penelope Monroe step in and take his place. He said The Herald was even willing to buy out her remaining contract. He had read all of her reviews and was quite taken with her writing.
I was like, really?
And…then I quickly told him hell-fucking-no.
Of course, I never bothered to mention that phone conversation to Penelope, or to Jake for that matter. I selfishly didn’t want to risk her jumping ship.
However, that particular phone call was a huge eye-opener for me. I realized then, Penelope was just too damn good for me.
Naturally, I reverted back to my playboy habits and began screwing a ton of women, behind Penelope’s back. I became relatively distant even though, deep down, I knew if she caught me, she’d get hurt.
Things got hot and heavy one evening between me and my newly hired editorial assistant. I admit, I didn’t hire that chick for her work-related skills. I hired her because I thought she had nice boobs. Somehow that evening’s ‘sexcapade’ adventure landed us straight in Penelope’s office. I figured it was okay, because Penelope had already left for the day. And I was too far into the moment to change course.
But as fate would have it, Penelope forgot her journal. She returned to her office just as I pinned my assistant’s cute naked ass onto the desk, me in between her thighs, her legs and those sexy five-inch stilettos high in the air, my shirt off, and my pants right at my ankles.
I’ll never forget the look on Penelope’s face.
A look of disgust, pain, and hatred all bundled up.
I thought the right thing to do was fire her. Penelope, that is.
I mean, I totally figured she’d land on her feet, since she was this sought-after food critic. I never heard from her or saw her since that day, assuming all this time she went on to work for The Herald.
Until today. As I come across this surprising wedding announcement that just so happens to have made the front page of The Herald.
And what does it say?
Headline: Five-Star Celebrity Chef Jonathan Knight Ties The Knot With Gorgeous Renowned Food Critic Penelope Monroe—Rivals No More
Celebrity Chef Jonathan Knight married who he referred to as the woman of his dreams, during a small ceremony in front of their East Hampton waterfront home, last weekend.
The two met under serendipitous circumstances after she left a small newspaper where she wrote a popular restaurant review column to begin working for PR Firm Manifique as a Restaurant Consultant.
Jonathan Knight was her first assignment and, as luck would have it, Jonathan was the chef and owner of Knight and Daze Grill and B
ar—a restaurant Penelope Monroe publicly abolished via her well-known weekly column that boasted over 900k followers.
The two quickly connected and fell head over heels in love, putting their rivalry on the chopping block.
Jonathan and Penelope now own and operate the successfully posh new restaurant—Foodie Crush in East Hampton, New York.
Jonathan says he owes their meeting to PR mastermind, Sebastian Taylor Ramos, who now heads up Manifique’s west coast branch in San Francisco, California.
Knight and Daze Grill and Bar was sold, and is now owned and operated by a well-known celebrity who also purchased Jonathan’s pricey TriBeCa loft as part of the hefty real estate transaction.
Penelope Monroe has recently become involved in several philanthropical ventures, putting money she inherited to use and her popular Facebook Food Blog Page—The Fifty-Two Week Chronicles—is being run by her sister-in-law, Olivia Knight, who hopes to follow in Penelope’s footsteps as a journalistically inspired food critic.
Jonathan and Penelope say they plan to expand Foodie Crush next year and are currently mentoring new chefs, gearing up for that expansion.
The lovebirds also say when visiting East Hampton, feel free to stop by Foodie Crush. They are having a Wedding Bells menu special all month long.
Seeing Penelope in the newspaper all aglow makes me happy and sad at the same time. Which is why I’m all woosied up. I should have held onto her.
But life is what we make it and I’ve made mine what it is today. Maybe I should keep my dick in my pants and wait for Ms. Right to mosey on into my life? Or maybe I should continue to be myself because life is too damn short.
Besides, I am having a blast going out on Tinder dates. The women I’m meeting are sweet, sexy, and exciting.
Penelope had a favorite quote she once shared with me—“Some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.”
Looks as though Penelope Monroe has found her butterflies…
Greetings,
I truly hope you have enjoyed reading The Fifty-Two Week Chronicles!!
I had an absolute ball writing about Penelope and Jonathan’s whirlwind romance - I hope you fell in love with their story.
If you’d like to share your thoughts about the book, please feel free to post a review of The Fifty-Two Week Chronicles…reviews are like boxes of candy, a pot of gold, kittens, and puppies.
The Fifty-Two Week Chronicles (Delectables in the City Book 1) Page 15