by Penny Reid
Trying to keep up, a million arguments came and went from my mind. But as I looked at her—really looked at her—I saw she was serious. She believed she needed this.
“This is what I want,” she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her eyes darting between mine. “And I know some people might think it’s a risk, but I don’t. I believe in Sienna, and I believe in me, and I think—”
I scooped her into my arms, unable to think past my excitement for her. “It’s going to be so great,” I said, spinning her around, so proud, so happy. “You’re going to knock their socks off and take over the world.”
Rae’s arms came around my neck and she held on, laughing, but she also sniffled. “We’ll, let’s get a few projects rolling first.”
The wobbly quality to her voice made me set her down, and I stole another kiss—this one slower, longer, savoring—before I pulled away so I could see her eyes. They were glassy with emotion.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m great. I’m so great.” She lifted a hand and then dropped it, making a smacking sound against her thigh. “Everything is wonderful. You’re wonderful, this thing with Sienna is wonderful—she’s named it Operation Latina Domination, but I have no idea what we’ll name the company—and the chocolate cake I ate today was wonderful. I’m just—”
She pressed her lips together, but she couldn’t stop the shaking of her chin or the tear that rolled down her cheek.
“What? What is it?”
“I’m happy!” she said, the words bursting out of her. “I’m so happy.”
“And you’re afraid it won’t last?” I stepped closer, trying to understand.
“No.” Another tear followed the path of the first even though she wore a wide smile. “That’s just it. I know it’ll last. I know Sienna and I are going to be successful. I know I’ll love living here. I know we—you and me—are going to last. And it feels overwhelming to know I’m at the very beginning of all this happiness.”
I thought about her words until I felt the truth of them, and then I too felt overwhelmed. We’re going to last.
She was right. We were. This wasn’t temporary. We were going to last.
“Jackson,” she said, her eyes soft and sweet, her hands lifting to cup my face. “I love you.”
“I love you,” I said automatically, still riding the wave of realization, acceptance of my good fortune.
I kissed her. She kissed me back. I touched her. She sighed, relaxing completely in my arms, like she knew they’d always be there to catch her, like she knew I’d never let her down. It felt too good to be true, but I didn’t doubt it. Because I didn’t doubt her.
I will see her tomorrow.
I will see her next week.
I will see her next month.
I get to hold her, and love her, whenever I want.
I knew Rae would always catch me too. Besides, it didn’t matter if I fell. With her, I could be both upright and fallen, serious and fun, easy and devoted all at once. I was absolutely, over the moon and stars crazy about her, and that was perfectly fine.
Rae was magic, and I would always and forever believe in Rae.
Epilogue
*Rae*
“I’m quite cool about my sex symbol image. It’s nothing to be proud of or ashamed of.”
Urmila Matondkar
*Several Years Later*
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Jackson whispered in my ear. “I got you.”
“I know.” I nodded, the movement jerky. I was definitely nervous. I couldn’t remember ever being more nervous.
Facing Lina and Harrison at my first film premiere post-faux-split? Whatever.
The initial day of filming on Sunray Productions’ very first project? No problem.
The red carpet Oscar walk for our first best picture nod? No biggie.
But this? I was a mess.
Behind me, Jackson placed his hands on my shoulders and smoothed them down my arms. “My mom wants you to call her when it’s over.”
“I know. I will.” Janet and I spoke almost every day whenever I wasn’t in town. Even if it was just a few text messages back and forth, we touched base. At first, it had been odd, having someone who wanted to know about me, every day, check in to make sure I was happy and healthy and didn’t need a cup of sugar or a random apple pie. She wasn’t pushy, not at all. Our relationship had just sort of . . . happened. We fell into the habit naturally, easily. I loved her.
I wouldn’t, however, be calling my mother about this. She didn’t even know we were in Miami. I wasn’t keeping it from her, but I knew telling her where I was and what I had planned would only make her angry. I didn’t want her to be angry.
Years ago, at the end of my first summer in Green Valley, my mom had called me when news of Harrison and Lina had made it inside her bubble of academia, several weeks after the story broke and the general public had consumed it, processed it, and wrote hundreds of op-eds about it.
She’d been furious on my behalf. I’d waited patiently for her to wear herself out, trying not to laugh at all her colorful Italian insults and phrases, before telling her the truth about my relationship with Harrison. This information had made her feel better—that I’d used him to further my career and now our agreement had ended amicably—but then I told her about Jackson and my plans to stay in Green Valley.
“I love him. I’m in love with him. I’m starting my own production company with Sienna Diaz, and I’m so happy,” I’d said.
She’d clammed up, told me I was responsible for my own life and choices, made an excuse, and hung up.
Our relationship continued to follow this pattern. Sometimes we chatted once a month. Sometimes six months would go by. Sometimes she approved of my news. Sometimes she didn’t, and she’d remind me I was responsible for myself.
But those words—You are your own person, your choices are your own—had stopped cutting like they used to, probably because they weren’t necessarily true anymore. I was my own person, but I shared myself with people who loved me. My choices were my own, but I’d surrounded myself with friends who cared enough about my choices to offer their opinion and wanted my opinion on their choices.
Obviously, my mother cared about me—in her own way and always on her terms. And that was okay.
Or rather, perhaps it wasn’t okay. Perhaps it was sad and unfortunate that I’d never have a real relationship with my mother as an adult. But something I’d learned from watching Jackson and his family, and from my friendships with Charlotte and Sienna and others, was that I couldn’t force her to be more than a spectator in my life.
If my mother wanted a relationship with me—a real one, not a shallow one, not a fake one—she had to want it. I would keep the door open for her, but it was up to her whether or not she ever walked through.
And besides, I didn’t want to think about her—or how she’d react—on today of all days. I was nervous enough.
A massive swarm of panic butterflies had me leaning back against Jackson’s solid chest, and I searched my mind for something, anything to take my mind off what was about to happen.
“So . . .” I started, stopped, then said the first thing that came to my mind, “Did you buy my latest movie on Blu-ray/DVD and streaming?”
“Really? You’re asking me this now?” He spoke against my ear, laughter in his voice.
“I’m trying to take my mind off my nerves. Answer the question.”
“You haven’t checked?”
“I didn’t want to snoop.”
“That’s a lie. You’re always going through all my drawers.”
My mouth fell open with mock-shock. “How dare you. Don’t make me out to be some sort of creeper. You know I go through your drawers so I can smell your clothes. Now apologize.”
He didn’t apologize, but he did turn me around and give me a toe-curling kiss, his lovely, long kraken tongue tangling with mine and making me breathless. Lifting his mouth, he trailed it along my jaw to
my neck, swirling it against the skin beneath my ear.
“I miss you,” he said, nipping at my ear. “I want to taste you.”
“I want to be tasted,” I said, my breath hitching as my mind tried to negotiate a new plan for this afternoon. Maybe we could find a nook or a cranny or a door with a lock and—
“They’re here.”
I stiffened, the panic butterflies swarming anew. “They’re here?” I croaked.
“Yes.” He straightened, looking down at me with his twinkly bedroom eyes. “How’d I do? Did I distract you?”
I nodded, now breathless for two reasons. “How do I look?”
“Perfect.”
I made a face, not yet ready to turn around. “No, I mean, how do I look? Do I look desperate? I want them to like me. Should I have worn—”
“Your brother and sisters are going to adore you. And if they don’t, I’ll arrest them.”
Unexpected laughter bubbled out of me, and I smacked him lightly on the arm. But his tactic had worked. I felt better. I’d needed that laugh.
“Okay, Sheriff James, calm down.”
He grinned. “Now—” he kissed my forehead, then leaned back to give me a supportive smile “—turn around, walk over there, and introduce yourself. You know I’ll be right behind you.”
I didn’t feel particularly brave, but I’d come this far, right? I could do this. I could introduce myself. “Okay, yes. I can do this.”
We stared at each other for a protracted moment, and Jackson’s smiled softened. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I whispered back, happiness and hope tugging at my lips.
“I’m proud of you,” he said, his tone sincere. “No matter what happens, no matter who they are, no matter how they treat you, it doesn’t change who you are.”
His words—much like his mere presence and every delicious, sexy, polite, patient, good part of him—a balm to my soul. Gathering a deep breath, I finally felt enough courage to turn around and face my half siblings, to face the fear and hope I’d been juggling in equal measure since making that first phone call three months ago.
With Jackson behind me, I knew I could face anything.
*THE END*
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About the Author
Penny Reid is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Winston Brothers, Knitting in the City, Rugby, Dear Professor, and Hypothesis series. She used to spend her days writing federal grant proposals as a biomedical researcher, but now she just writes books. She’s also a full time mom to three diminutive adults, wife, daughter, knitter, crocheter, sewer, general crafter, and thought ninja.
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Want more Penny Reid shenanigans? Read on for:
1. A sneak peek for Folk Around and Find Out, book #2 in the Good Folk: Modern Folktales series
2.A sneak peek for Truth or Beard, book #1 in the Winston Brothers Series
3.Penny’s Booklist
Sneak Peek: Folk Around and Find Out, book #2 in the Good Folk: Modern Folktales Series
*Hank*
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
Lewis Carroll
Of all the strip clubs in all of Tennessee, why’d she have to walk into mine?
I heard her come in.
Of course, I didn’t know it was her, the door opened and closed with the same sound it did normally, no matter who was coming or going. Still early yet for any of the dancers, and way too early for any customers, I thought maybe it might be Jethro Winston. He didn’t stay for the shows, but we were business partners—of a sorts—and he stopped by midmorning from time to time to shoot the shit.
But once she turned the corner, and I saw her, I recognized her immediately. I was not amused.
“Charlotte,” I said, crossing my arms, making sure I sounded as unfriendly as I felt. I stood behind the bar. She’d caught me restocking whiskey, and I was only half finished.
“Hank,” she said, not looking at me. But she did paste on a tight, obligatory smile.
I tracked Charlotte Mitchell’s slow approach, didn’t miss how she looked around. Her eyes weren’t wide, but they were curious.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, coming straight to the point. I didn’t have time for charity cases, and that’s what Charlotte was, Green Valley’s most infamously pitied citizen. A single mother of four disease vectors (children) whose dumbass husband had left her for a nineteen-year-old stripper.
One of mine, actually.
Charlotte continued her moseying, her head unhurriedly turning this way and that. “I’ve never been in here,” she said, her voice faraway, distracted. “It’s nicer than I thought it would be.”
I thought about that for a tick. “Okay . . .”
She made it to the bar and stopped in front of a stool, glancing at me like I was an afterthought. “Can I order a drink yet?”
“No.”
“You’re not open?”
“Not for you, no.”
She made a face of intense irritation. This was the Charlotte I knew best, so I relaxed, smiling for the first time since she’d come in. I then lowered to my haunches and resumed restocking the whiskey. She wasn’t anyone important. No need for me to pause work, especially when there was so much to do.
“Do you have a rule against serving female customers?” she asked, and I knew without looking up that she’d leaned over the bar to scowl down at me.
“No. Just you.”
“Just me.” She huffed a laugh, it also sounded irritated. “Okay, fine. Then just give me an application.”
My movements stilled, and I stared at the bottle of whiskey in my hand, the one I hadn’t quite finished setting on the shelf.
. . . just give me an application.
“Pardon me?” I looked up, and sure enough, Charlotte’s long auburn hair was dangling over me from above.
“I said give me an application and I’ll leave.”
I had to blink, and think. And I couldn’t think while I was on my haunches, so I stood. She leaned back, sitting on the stool, watching me impassively like she was actually waiting for me to fulfill her request, like she’d asked for a driver’s license application from the DMV and not an exotic dancer application from my strip club.
Which was likely why I asked the stupid question, “What do you want an application for?”
Angling her chin, Charlotte Mitchell lifted one auburn eyebrow, looking down her nose at me—even though she was the one sitting—and said matter-of-factly with just a smidge of southern tartness, “For a job, of course.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
I scratched my neck, my eyes drifting to the right. This had to be a joke. Maybe Beau was hiding with a camera somewhere?
She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Hey. Earth to Hank Weller. It’s not a difficult request to fulfill. Either you have applications or you don’t.”
“But . . .” I shook my head, unable to recall a moment in my life when I’d been as confused. This is a joke, this has to be—
“Hank Weller, let me spell it out for you. I want you—” she pointed at me, using her loud, slow voice, the one I’d heard her employ with her children “—to give me—” now she pointed to herself “—a job application—” now she mimed a piece of paper “—for the Pink Pony—” now she gestured to my club “—so I can fill it out.” She topped off her
little show by pretending to write with an invisible pen. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“For what job?” What the heck did she think she was going to do? I needed a bartender, an accountant, and a bouncer. As far as I knew, she had no experience with—
“A stripper,” she said, blinking her big green eyes at me. Before I could fully process this information, she tossed her thumb over her shoulder, indicating toward the way she’d come in, and said, “I saw the sign from the road, so I know you’re hiring. Now. . .” Charlotte put her hand between us, palm up, and demanded in a voice that brooked no argument, “Hand it over.”
*END SNEAK PEEK*
Pre-Order Folk Around and Find Out! Coming May 24th, 2022!
Sneak Peek: Truth or Beard (Available Now!)
by Penny Reid, Book #1 in the Winston Brothers series
~Jessica~
I pulled into the Green Valley Community Center parking lot and scared the crap out of five senior citizens.
Even though it was Halloween, inducing heart attacks in the geriatric population was not on my agenda. Unfortunately for everyone within earshot, while I’d dutifully stopped as they crossed in front of my vehicle, my truck made a ghastly, high-pitched whining sound. This happened whenever it idled.
The five of them jumped, obviously startled, and glared at me as though I’d commanded the truck to make the screech on purpose. Soon their glares morphed into wrinkled squints of befuddlement, their eyes moving over my appearance from my perch. It took them a few minutes, but they recognized me.
Everyone in Green Valley Tennessee knew who I was.
Nevertheless, I imagined they were not expecting to see Jessica James, the twenty-one year old daughter of Sheriff Jeffrey James and sister of Sheriff’s Deputy Jackson James, dressed in a long white beard sitting behind the wheel of an ancient Ford Super Duty F-350 XL.