Shaking the thoughts from my head, I turn toward Gloria. “And what exactly is your nephew doing here?”
“Oh, he’s in town for a while. Taking care of some personal matters,” Gloria says, giving Dominic a pointed look. Hearing this, his body tenses up and his jaw tightens. “So I offered him a job here. With all those young hooligans causing trouble at the local shops, it would be wise to have a man around the store. Especially on the evenings when we’re open late.”
Wait, so my childhood crush and first kiss, Dominic, is now my coworker at our romance bookstore? The butterflies in my stomach are flipping and doing somersaults. There's no way this is happening.
TWO
january
DOMINIC
It’sa bit embarrassing to be staying with my aunt and helping out at her romance bookstore. Not that I don’t love Aunt Gloria— she’s my godmother and one of the most interesting people I know— but the fact that I’m here and not there, surviving and not thriving… it’s messing with my head.
I could rant for hours about Midwest winters. The temperature has yet to rise above freezing this month, and we've been hit with a few unexpected inches of snow in the past few days. I yearn for the familiar freeze of the Kentucky winters that I've grown used to over the years. Having only ever spent summers here, the term “polar vortex” was foreign to me until now, and I wish I could go back to not knowing it existed.
I’ve been here for two weeks and working at the bookstore for one. I’m sure Aunt Gloria had mentioned that Pen was working here at some point, but I honestly forgot until I came barreling out of the storage room last week.
It’s been a long ass time, but I never forgot about Penelope Elizabeth Adams. Or, as I had affectionately nicknamed her when we were kids, Pea. She was always a bright, positive forceof nature. She constantly tried to put a smile on my face, no matter what was going on in my life. But that was a long time ago, she hasn’t been Pea to me in fifteen years.
As a child, all the big and important events seemed to occur during the summer for me. It all started when we first went to visit Aunt Gloria; I suppose it was my mother's way of taking a break from my father, although they never called it that. My mom and I would spend a few weeks with her sister while "Daddy had to work," as she put it. But I didn't really care who came along; all I knew was that I was only seven years old and missing out on valuable summer playtime with my friends back home.
It was at that first summer barbeque at Aunt Gloria’s house where I met Penelope. Never one to be shy, Pen squealed in excitement when we were introduced.
“Oh my goodness! We’re like, the same age!” She was jumping around, as if the excitement were ready to simply burst from her skin. “Wait, I have to know, which Pevensie throne would you occupy?”
Was she even speaking English? I remember glancing at my mom with a “help me” look, but she waved us off. “Go have fun, kids!” And her, Aunt Gloria, and Pen’s mom disappeared into the backyard with drinks in hand.
“Did you hear me?” Penelope had asked again, stepping closer and closer into my personal space.
“I don’t know what that is,” I mumbled.
“Stop it! Are you telling me you haven’t readThe Chronicles of Narnia? Come on, you can’t be serious?!”
Penelope prodded at me the entire party, following me around everywhere, describing the world and plot of this book series she was apparently obsessed with. I couldn’t escape her— she even waited outside the bathroom door when I had to go, talking louder so I could hear her while I took a piss.
After several hours, when Pen’s mom came to collect her to leave, she said, “Will you be at the next barbeque?”
Her mom had patted Pea on the head, saying, “Of course he will. They’re in town for a few weeks.”
One week later, Pen strolled right up to me at the weekend barbeque and handed me a well-read copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. “Here,” she’d said, shoving the book into my hands. “I need you to read this.”
I was kind of afraid to tell her that I wasn’t that great at reading yet, so I simply nodded. She looked at me expectantly, so I reluctantly took a seat in a lawn chair and started reading. She sat down on the ground next to me, occasionally glancing over at the book to see where I was at and commenting on what was coming up next. It was a little annoying, but, if I’m being honest, it was nice not to feel so alone. And she didn’t mock me for my slow reading pace either.
That summer, I tore through the first few books in that series. It shocked my mom, who had never seen me show interest in anything other than video games, and it pleased the shit out of Aunt Gloria, whose love for books was deep. By the following summer, I had caught up with the books and, all pretenses aside, delved deep into debates and discussions about the series with Penelope.
It’s funny looking back on that time now, considering how impactful that series was to my adolescence. I clung to it like a lifeline when my parents divorced the following year and again when my dad died a few years after that. I never had a chance to properly thank Penelope for introducing me, not only to those books, but to the world of reading in general.
But something happened in the fifteen years since I last saw her. She looks different. Of course she does. Thirteen-year-old Pea was gangly and awkward, with a mouth full of braces and frizzy hair. Now? She’s a woman who has learned how to tameher hair, has a stunningly straight, white smile, and curves. God damn, does she have mouth-watering curves.
Her energy is the same— vibrant and positive to the point of being annoying. Passionate about so many things, but especially books. It’s like she always knew what she wanted to do in her life, and she’s fucking doing it. Pen doesn’t see her job as simply “assistant manager of a bookstore.” No, she sees her job as a guardian at the crossroads of endless worlds, guiding others to the stories that will change their lives. Penelope is doing what she does best— connecting people with the words that awaken their dreams and keep the magic of imagination alive.
Or something like that. And despite all these changes, she still possesses that intense and passionate spirit that takes my breath away.
Every time I work with her, I get a sense of déjà vu.
“Okay, but have you read this?” Pen plops a book with a raven on its cover down on the counter in front of me. “It’s about love, loyalty, sacrifice?—”
“And a mysterious society? Yeah, I’ve read it.”
