“Bad reception, but I’m okay. I’m inside and safe. But tonight’s events?—”
“Cancelled,” he interrupts, and relief blooms in my chest.
“Ask about a plow,” Penn murmurs quietly, his hand brushing mine for a fleeting second, sending a little spark up my arm.
“Is that Penn? He’s with you?” my dad asks, his voice tight with worry.
“Yes,” I answer, smiling.
“Thank God.” Relief floods his tone and hits me square in the chest like a snowball. “Okay, Jaylynn, I’ll see what I can do about a plow, but they’re busy. It might not be until morning. Really, I don’t want you guys on the roads tonight. I want you both to stay safe inside… and keep warm.”
“Okay, thanks Dad. We will. Give everyone a hug for me, and we’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I lower the phone and catch Penn’s gaze. His shoulders slump just a fraction, a quiet, almost faint exhale. He must have heard a part of the exchange—the relief that my dad knows he’s with me. It’s touching him more than he’s letting on. I have no doubt that this amazing man wants to belong, to be trusted, to be welcomed.
“Dad was relieved to hear you were with me,” I murmur, reiterating what I’m sure he heard, as I lightly brushing my arm against his.
“He said that?” His voice is low, almost hesitant, as he eyes me, needing to hear it again.
“He’s been trying to call, worried about us.”
“Worried about you.”
“Worried about you too, Penn.”
“Yeah?” The word is soft, vulnerable.
My chest tightens. “Yeah… he cares about his family. And you’re family, Penn.” I press my hand against his chest, feeling the solid warmth there. His throat works as he swallows, and I add gently, “He wants us to stay inside… warm.”
I watch him shift, taking in the library around us—the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the fireplace that could swallow us in its glow, the snow-dusted windows framing the world outside. His expression softens, something tender threading through the mischievous spark in his eyes.
“Well, it’s still early. How should we pass the night away?” he asks, that familiar twinkle there again.
14
Penn
“First things first,” Jaylynn says, clapping her hands. “We should get a fire going and find some blankets.”
I shake my head so fast it probably looks like I’m trying to rattle my brain loose. “I am not going back down in that basement.”
Her lips twitch, and then she laughs at the sheer terror written all over my face. “Yeah, me neither. Not unless you want to re-enact every horror movie ever made. But…” she taps her chin thoughtfully. “I bet we can find some stuff by the stage. Costumes, blankets, who knows. And if all else fails, we’ve got those big ugly Christmas sweaters in the car.” She folds her arms and rubs them like she’s already half-frozen. “Honestly, I’d like to ditch this coat and get a little more comfortable.”
I nod toward the large fireplace. “Maybe we should light the fire downstairs instead. A little less flammable than a room full of books, don’t you think? What genius thought a fireplace in a library was a good idea?”
“Right?” Her eyes go wide in mock horror. “Can you imagine if I burned down a library? #GobbleGate would be old news. Everyone would be talking about #FictionFriction.”
“Or #HotOffThePress.”
She gasps, then collapses into a fit of laughter, bending at the waist. “#Overdue inferno!” she manages between giggles. “Get it? Like overdue books but—” She snorts. “On fire. Oh my god, I kill myself.”
“Nothing wrong with being your own biggest fan.” I bump her shoulder with mine, grinning. “Although, for the record, I’m a fan too.”
That earns me a smile that feels like its own brand of heat.