We wander past the den with overstuffed bookshelves lining the walls, and then a pretty sitting room that reminds me of Pegs and how she’d invite me to sit on those deep cream-colored couches and tell her about my games.
The kitchen has been redone since I was here. Instead of being dark and brown, it now has white cabinets, marble counters, and a walnut wood island. A huge carved limestone mantelpiecethat looks like it came out of a French château surrounds the stove area. Skylights let light spill down on the counters.
“It’s slightly different than I remember,” I tell a silent Pen. “But I can still picture your grandmother here making those sweet orange breakfast rolls that she loved.”
“I can too. God, I’d eat so many, my stomach would ache. No regrets, though.”
“Not when it comes to those rolls.”
Along the back of the house runs a long hallway with iron framed French doors that lead out to the pool and central courtyard. We head for the main bedroom.
Pen stops just inside the big square room. There’s an adobe fireplace curving out of one corner and a set of stairs along the wall closest to us that leads to a loft room. This is the only area in the house that’s two stories and the ceiling is double height because of it.
“I left most of their things in the other rooms but cleaned out everything here,” she says.
“I’ve never been up there,” I confess, glancing at the loft.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it? Like we might get in trouble for snooping in their room.”
“I’m betting they’ll love it if we do.” With a waggle of my brows, I take her hand and lead her up. The loft is an office, probably Pops’s, given the big ash wood desk and leather executive chair. But the shelves have been cleaned out of books. A set of double doors leads to a Juliet balcony and a view of the garden. It’s a nice spot, sunny, away from everything.
“You could study in here,” I tell Pen. “Write your papers.”
She stands at the threshold of the room, just at the top of the stairs, hands clasped before her. There’s a look of such longing in her big brown eyes that my chest clenches.
“Penelope?”
She shakes herself out of wherever she went and blinks back at me before answering with exaggerated gravity, “August.”
“Cute.” A smile blooms but then fades to seriousness. “You should be here. This house is your place.”
She fits in here. Just as beautiful. Just as graceful. I see her growing old here. I want that for her.
“Sometimes we don’t get what we want,” she says, as if hearing my thoughts.
“And sometimes you can get help from your friend.”
Her nose wrinkles in confusion.
“That would be me. I’m the friend,” I add helpfully. We’ve been avoiding each other for years. Of course she doesn’t see me as a friend. That changes today.
“You want to help me.” She draws the words out as if she’s dubious.
“Yes.” And because I know she’s got more pride than she’s ever let on, I expand on my offer. “If you recall, I did propose earlier.”
Pink washes over her pale cheeks. Her full lips flatten. “Are we still on that?”
“Yes.”
“Bah.”
“Not the answer I’m looking for, Sweets.”
“I am aware.”
I lean a hip against the high pony wall that looks down on the bedroom below. “Being my fake fiancée is no cakewalk. If you do this, it’s going to be a huge hassle for you. Press can be ugly. So can some fans. I won’t ask without offering something.”
“August.” She sighs wearily. “What are you saying?”
