by Olivia Dade
“Get out.”
“I just didn’t want you to run when you realized who I was. When you realized I’d lied to you about my job when I introduced myself earlier.”
“Get out.”
He reached for her, but she jerked out of his grasp. “Penelope, I’m falling in love with you. Please let me try to make this right.”
At that, she broke. “How dare you?” she snapped, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “You told me you were the man who’d take care of my heart. You told me I could trust myself. You told me I could trust you. Instead, you fucked me, using a false name and a false life history. If that’s love, I want none of it. Not an atom. Not a second.”
“Everything I’ve told you is true,” he said. “Everything except what I do for a living. My legal name is John, but I’ve always gone by Jack. I told you about my daughter. I told you about my mother. And I was going to tell you about my writing.”
“I don’t believe you. You had plenty of opportunities to say who you were, and you didn’t.” Her brown eyes were swollen, and the look in them sliced through him. The sense of betrayal written on her face made him frantic, grasping for an argument that might make her understand what he’d done. That might make her forgive him.
He bent down, grasped the keys she’d dumped in his lap, and dangled them in the air. “You lied to me too. Unless you just found these in the last few minutes, you’ve known where they were the whole time.”
“I wanted you!” she cried, slapping the tears from her cheeks. “I hid the keys because I wanted you, and I didn’t want to wait to be with you.”
“And your car?”
She bowed her head. “The battery is fine.”
“That’s my point. When you find someone you want, someone you could love, you do whatever it takes to get that person. Sometimes you even lie. Especially if that lie won’t hurt anyone. Not in the long run.”
She shook her head. “It hurt me, Jack. You knew my history. You knew how I felt about honesty, and you lied anyway.”
“If I’d told you who I was right after we’d met, what would you have done?” he asked her, determined to make her listen to him. “Would you have given me a chance? Or would you have run away from me?”
Her shoulders slumped. “If you’d told me you were the bestselling, famous author of one of my favorite books? I’d have told you to find a better option than a shy librarian.”
“There is no better option for me. I want you. Only you. And I didn’t want you to reject me before I had the chance to show you what we could be together.”
“I understand that, Jack. But it should have been my choice. My decision. And you didn’t give me the information I needed to make the right one.”
He reached out again, and this time she let him. His hands cupped her face, and he stroked the tears from her wet cheeks.
“Please forgive me,” he whispered. “Please.”
She covered his hands with her own. At the gentle touch of her fingers, he felt a surge of hope. Then she grasped his hands and removed them from her face.
“I’m sorry, John,” she said. “Get out.”
Jack sat in front of his computer, looking at his upcoming publication and publicity schedule. His fifth book would be coming out in a few months, and his publisher had convinced him to do a virtual book tour via blogs. He hated the idea, but it was still better than flogging his novel on television or in front of crowds. Most writers were natural introverts. Putting them in front of large groups of people usually only led to trouble.
His eyes burned from staring at revisions, as well as lack of sleep. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Usually, this part of the publishing process didn’t bother him too much. It meant he’d succeeded. He’d completed a book, after all, which felt good. Usually better than this, but still. Good. And the opportunity to revise it before sending out Advance Reader Copies was crucial. He didn’t want bloggers and reviewers to catch continuity errors, typos, or other problems he could prevent by a little careful editing. This time, though . . . this time, the process was killing him. Everything was killing him. And he knew why.
It’s January 15. Two weeks since the first time I saw Penelope. Two weeks since the last time I saw Penelope.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He’d seen the back of her head twice, both times when he’d come to the library to see her and plead his case. Before he’d even made it through the entrance, she’d turned and walked into the workroom, closing the door behind her. The second time he’d gone there, the other librarian—the blonde one, Angie—had pulled him aside.
“There’s no point,” she’d said. “Penny’s quiet, but she’s stubborn as a mule. I’ve been trying to plead your case. Not getting very far, though.”
“She told you . . .” He’d trailed off, not wanting to reveal anything Penelope might like to keep hidden.
“Who you are? Yeah. But I already knew. I recognized you the moment you walked into the library on New Year’s Eve.”
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I thought you’d be perfect for her, and I didn’t want her to reject you before she had a chance to meet you,” Angie had explained.
“But that’s exactly why I didn’t tell her!” he’d almost shouted, frustrated beyond endurance.
“I know. If it’s any consolation, she got angry at me too. After I told her, it took a week before she started talking to me again.”
“It’s no consolation,” he’d muttered.
“Think about it this way. She’s my best friend. She’s known me for more than twenty-four hours. Also, she knows my real name and real job, and she has from the beginning. So that’s probably why she’s willing to forgive me, as opposed to you.” Angie had tapped her chin with a thoughtful finger. “Oh, and I didn’t have sex with her. I’m sure that makes it easier to overlook my flaws.”
So he’d left. And, unwilling to become a stalker, he hadn’t returned to the library since. Even though every time he passed by it in his truck, he had to fight the urge to turn the steering wheel and drive into the parking lot. More than anything, he wanted to stride into the library and make her listen to him. Make her understand just how badly he’d wanted her, and how desperately he still did.
He’d tried sending her letters, but she’d returned them unopened.
He didn’t have her phone number, so he couldn’t call her.
He’d sent several e-mails to her work account, but she’d changed her settings to bounce his messages back automatically.
Short of hiring a skywriter or sending a singing telegram, he didn’t see what else he could do. He either had to get over her or come up with a better idea, one she couldn’t dismiss out of hand. He needed a gesture that would speak to his knowledge of her and her fierce, intelligent, fragile heart. Something that would tell her he loved her in a way she could believe.
And since he didn’t seem to be able to get over her, he had to figure it out. Soon. Before she forgot New Year’s Eve, that shining glimpse of what they could be together. Before he ran out of hope. Before his heart broke entirely.
12
“Enough,” said Angie. “It’s February, and you’re still moping around over Jack. You need to contact him.”
Penelope swiveled her chair in Angie’s direction, trying to figure out a way to deflect her friend for the millionth time since New Year’s Day. The door to the workroom was open. Maybe if she—
“If you try running to the workroom again, I’m unlocking the door and telling Freddie you want a kiss. A wet kiss.” Angie nodded toward the door, where they could see the young boy’s mouth pressed against the glass. He’d opened wide, alternately licking the painted letters on the glass and scraping at them with his teeth. “He seems talented. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
“He tries that anyway, even without your encouragement.”
Angie winced. “I know. I dealt with him those four Saturdays last month. I bathed in hand sanitizer those nights.�
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Penny had no sympathy. Taking those weekend shifts was the least Angie could have done, given how much the New Year’s Eve program had damaged Penny.
She’d left the library minutes after Jack had finally driven away that morning, making it home in a numb stupor. A quick shower hadn’t sufficed to wash the feel of him from her body, just as a few hours of sleep hadn’t worked to remove him from her mind. She’d lain under her comforter all day, unable to think about anything but Jack and their night together. Unable to do anything but hurt.
Since then, she’d found herself loath to leave bed in the mornings and was sleepwalking through her days. The pottery class hadn’t happened, at least not for her. She’d canceled and hadn’t even asked for a refund. She didn’t go out with friends. Not that she socialized much anyway, but still. She stayed on her couch at home more than normal. Even books no longer held her attention as they always had previously.
Her days at work had become an unending stream of tedium, punctuated by moments of anguish when she’d see someone who’d come to the event on New Year’s Eve. Tasha and Yolanda had arrived holding hands. Clarence had checked out a few books featuring the dread pirate Armando. Cologne Guy had dropped by a few times. The first visits he’d made alone, but recently he’d come accompanied by Skintight Dress. They seemed happy together, and Penny was glad. Even Red Tie had stopped in once, cornering her by the audiobooks to talk about himself for a few minutes.
If Brenda had visited the library, she’d come while Penny wasn’t working. And while Penny liked the older woman, her absence was a relief. Penny didn’t need any more reminders of Jack. She was having a hard enough time forgetting him without seeing his mother.
And, of course, there was the man himself. After a week of returning his letters and bouncing back his e-mail messages, she’d known he’d eventually arrive on the library doorstep. He was too stubborn not to try to change her mind in person. So when she’d seen that familiar figure walk toward the front door, she’d fled. Like an abject coward, as Angie had told her.
Coward she might be, but this coward knew her limits. Jack Williamson was dangerous to her. So much so that even the sight of him from a distance was enough to make her cry for hours when she finally got home.
She understood that pining over a man she’d known for ten hours—especially one she’d sent away—was ridiculous. But the sheer ludicrousness of her misery didn’t diminish it one bit. Instead, she felt foolish and miserable.
“Penny, you need to give that man a chance to make it up to you.” For once, Angie’s expression was completely serious. Grave, even. “He genuinely cares about you. I could tell when I talked to him. And God knows you need him too. You’ve been cranky and miserable for weeks now. Either you take him back or I’m going to put you down like Old Yeller.”
“Even if I could forgive him . . .” Penny closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not the right woman for him. He’s a handsome, bestselling genius who’s written some of the best-reviewed books of the last decade. He might think he’s falling in love with me, but he’s not. I’m not enough. And eventually he’ll realize it.”
“Trust yourself, honey,” Angie said. “And trust him. If he’s such a genius, shouldn’t he be able to figure out whether he really cares about you?”
Penny opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. “Time to open, Angie.”
Her friend strode for the door. Right before unlocking it, she paused. “Will you think about it? Please?”
Penny gave Angie a sad smile. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” Angie said. “I hope it was a productive moment of thought. Because Brenda is waiting outside this door, right beside Freddie and his mom. And I know she has something to say to you.”
Penny’s mouth dropped open, even as her heart began to race. With fear? Excitement? She honestly didn’t know.
Angie flipped the lock, opened the door, and walked outside. “Hi, Brenda. Hi, Marge. Hi, Freddie. No, Freddie, I don’t need a kiss. Keep that tongue away from me.”
“Where are you going?” Penny shouted after her.
“Outside. Thanks for watching the desk while I’m gone. Bye!” With one last wave, Angie disappeared around the corner of the building.
There was no time to hide under the desk before Brenda approached her. The woman looked more vivacious than Penny had ever seen her, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Happiness and . . . determination. Brenda was clearly a woman on a mission, and Penny seemed to be her primary objective.
Brenda didn’t bother with meaningless chitchat. “Penny, I wanted to thank you for hosting that New Year’s Eve event. Without that party, I’d never have met Carl. We’ve been dating ever since, and I couldn’t be happier.”
Penny exhaled in relief. If Brenda wanted to talk about her newfound relationship with Carl, no problem. Penny could handle it.
She smiled at Brenda. “I’m so glad to—”
“However, my son could be happier. Much happier. With you. And that’s why I’m here today.”
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“I know he lied to you like an idiot,” Brenda said, rolling her eyes. “I know you’re a reserved woman who probably wants nothing to do with a man who’ll always be in the media spotlight, no matter how much he tries to avoid it. And I know you haven’t talked to him since that night at the library.”
Unable to say a word, Penny just looked at Brenda.
Luckily, Brenda didn’t seem to require a reply. “But you need to forgive him. He didn’t want to lie to you. He tells people he’s an accountant to avoid media attention. Partly because he’s a private person, but mostly because he doesn’t want Casey growing up under scrutiny. So until he met you and figured out he could trust you, there was no way he could tell you he’s a writer.”
“Yes, but after we met—” Penny began to protest.
“He should have told you. You’re right. But it’s hard for him to trust people. His ex-wife gave an interview after their divorce, and she knew how he felt about publicity. She knew how much he wanted to keep Casey out of the spotlight.”
I remember that interview, Penny thought. Poor Jack. Poor Casey. And no wonder he said he found trusting people difficult. I can’t blame him.
Brenda added, “More than that, he’d already figured out you were shy. He wanted to have some time to get to know you before his work scared you away.”
Well, he certainly got to know me. In at least two ways. One biblical.
“I appreciate you coming here.” Penny’s brow furrowed. “What you’ve said certainly makes it hard to stay angry at him. But—”
“Oh, feel free to be angry,” Brenda said. “It was a stupid move. But then forgive him, Penny. He needs you. He’s been miserable since that night at the library.”
The rush of pleasure Penny felt at that statement didn’t say good things about her character, she was sure. But she couldn’t deny it, just as she couldn’t deny her fundamental personality.
“Like I said, I appreciate everything you’ve told me.” She forced a smile. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not the right woman for him. He needs someone who’s more confident. A woman who can handle the media attention.”
Brenda looked at her with assessing eyes. “Do you love Jack?”
Penny’s smile disappeared, and it took a long moment before she could make herself answer. “Yes,” she finally said. “I do. Even though I don’t think I’m the right woman for him.”
“Then read the dedication page in this.” Brenda held out a book, waiting until Penny took it. “I think it’s safe to say that my son doesn’t agree with you.”
“What is this?” Penny asked. “His new book isn’t coming out for a few months.”
“Advance Reader Copy. I put a note with Jack’s home address inside. He’s there writing today. Alone. Just in case you might want to visit,” Brenda said, and then turned for the door.
“Brenda—” she called, but the
woman just gave a wave and left.
Penny looked around the library, but the only patrons inside were Freddie and his mother, and they both seemed fully occupied at the moment. He was licking board books, and she was attempting to stop him from licking board books. They could survive without her.
She ducked inside the workroom, her knees weak with anxiety and hope. The book in her hand felt heavy. Plain and Simple, by John Williamson, bestselling author, recluse, and her one-time lover. Well, two-time lover, to be precise.
There it was, at the front of the book. His dedication page.
TO PC: YOU ARE NO BIRD; AND NO NET ENSNARES YOU. YOU ARE A FREE HUMAN BEING WITH AN INDEPENDENT WILL, WHICH YOU EXERTED TO LEAVE ME. YOUR WILL SHALL DECIDE YOUR DESTINY.
BUT I OFFER YOU MY HAND, MY HEART, AND A SHARE OF ALL MY POSSESSIONS. I ASK YOU TO PASS THROUGH LIFE AT MY SIDE—TO BE MY SECOND SELF, AND BEST EARTHLY COMPANION.
PLEASE. I’M BLEEDING INWARDLY. DON’T FORGET ME.
Penny closed her eyes. Jane Eyre. Jane fucking Eyre. Again. The man was hitting her where it hurt, and he knew it. He knew her.
Her eyes blinked open. He did. He knew her. And he still wanted her, even though she was shy, little, and obscure. Even though she’d made him leave and spurned his apologies. Even though she hadn’t responded to his declaration of love and had, in fact, declared it a lie. Even though he didn’t know she loved him back.
“Shit,” she said aloud in the workroom. “I’m going to have to break my goddamn New Year’s resolution again, aren’t I?”
When Jack’s doorbell rang, he groaned. His mother, worried about his state of mind, had taken to dropping by the house unexpectedly. While he loved Brenda and enjoyed talking to her, he also enjoyed solitude, time to write, and the opportunity to feel miserable without an audience.
He trudged toward the door. He hadn’t expected her to come so soon. She should have received an Advance Reader Copy of his book yesterday. Typically, when she did, she’d spend the next afternoon reading it and then call him in the evening to talk about it. But maybe she’d stayed up reading the whole night and decided to discuss it with him in person.