“Of course I am,” she countered.
Winnie laughed. “No, dummy. That’s his name. Sirius. Like the radio.”
“Oh.” Odd name.
“Hey, what are you reading right now?” Always changing the subject, that Winnie.
“Acheron,” Penelope told her, referring to theDark Hunterseries by Sherrilyn Kenyon.
“Swoon. I’m going to have to reread that one next.”
“What areyoureading?” she inquired.
“The Warden herself,” Winnie said with a chuckle.
“Black Dagger BrotherhoodorFallen Angels?”
“BDB. It’s delish.”
That it was.
“God, it’s good to talk to you,” Penelope admitted. Though they hadn’t spent much time together since she’d moved to Vegas, she and Winnie had remained friends. Long-distance, but they talked on the phone often. Winnie was the only person Penelope could open up to, share her thoughts with. She was hoping to make friends like that here but had yet to have the time.
“Likewise. One of these days I’ll have to get out that way. Have you show me the town.”
“I will. In a heartbeat.”
For the next half hour, they chatted about the show. When it was over, they said their goodbyes, promised to catch up next week.
Once again, Penelope was left sitting alone in her apartment, her thoughts instantly drifting to Obsidian.
As she stared around the quiet space, reliving the kiss they’d shared, she remembered she needed to make a grocery store run. Her gaze swung to the window, to the sunlight peering in through the blinds. It was still early, so the best time to avoid most of the shoppers.
With a sigh, she got to her feet.
Time to do that whole adulting thing again.
Half an hour later, Penelope was perusing the grocery store aisle, tossing a few things into the cart. More Lucky Charms, a half-gallon of two-percent, grapes, a Hershey bar. She didn’t have a long list because she didn’t spend much time at home. Most of her meals were on the go in the form of granola bars or yogurt. They were quick and easy and didn’t require dirtying up a bunch of dishes to make a meal for one.
That was one of the downsides of living alone. Probably theonlydownside, though.
Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually cooked.
She made a trek down the freezer aisle, stared through the frosty glass in search of some comfort food.
Lasagna. Yum.
Penelope snagged one of the boxes of frozen goodness and set it in the cart. If anything could comfort, Stouffer’s would do the trick.
Plus garlic bread. Homemade.
Well, not completely homemade. She wasn’t exactly an overachiever, and making bread from scratch required the trait she lacked. Fortunately, the bakery would have exactly what she needed.
Feeling eyes on her, Penelope paused near the rack of freshly baked goods, glanced around. There weren’t many people there at this time of morning. A little old lady testing the softness of a loaf of bread before delicately setting it in her cart as though it were a newborn baby. A guy behind the bakery counter, pulling what appeared to be donuts out of the oven. She’d passed others in the aisles, but only a couple of people, none having exerted any odd energy.
Still, Penelope searched the area, trying to find the source of the weird feeling, but ended up with nothing.
“Get a grip,” she mumbled under her breath, dropping some sourdough into her cart and heading toward the front.
