Page 36 of After We Fall

Meritorious? What word was she looking for?

“While it’s true that Finley deserves an award for her tardiness,” I say, settling back into my seat, “I think you meant ‘notorious.’”

Luke leans into me and murmurs, “Maybe she meant ‘laborious.’”

My lips twitch.

The director of the facility walks to the edge of the stage, his smile plastered on a little better than his black toupee. “Welcome to the annual Christmas tree lighting. We’re so glad you’re here. We’re also glad that Colorado Springs’ Mountain Nirvana Band is here, led by our very own Pearl Hellman’s grandson, to accompany our celebration for the third year in a row. Will everyone please stand? Pearl’s going to lead us in a modern rendition of ‘Joy to the World.’”

An electric guitarist, adorned in sleeves of tattoos and a Santa hat, opens the first few measures of the familiar carol. I whisper to Luke, “I think this song is going to be glorious.”

Amusement crosses his face, and he breaks out in laughter as we all rise. “That’s the spirit, kitten.”

Whatever bizarre happiness I gleaned from making Luke laugh whooshes out of me. That’s the second time he has used the odd nickname. “Don’t call me kitten.”

He stares at the ground and rocks back on his heels, shoulders shaking.

“And stop laughing.” I hiss my rebuke.

Luke carries an unapologetic air of freedom in his life that should be infuriating—except I find it alluring. After years of living a stringent life full of nearly suffocating rules, I want to breathe in the oxygen of the man next to me. I want to know the story behind those piercing eyes and how he found his freedom.

As if he knows I’m thinking about him, he glances down at me and flashes a dangerous grin.

I clear my throat and skitter my focus to my shoes. Shaking off thoughts of laughter, beauty, and green eyes, I bring my attention to Bianca.

Her lack of singing is not a surprise, but I follow the path to where she’s staring.

The drummer. The drummer in the band is a woman. With her eyes closed, she pounds out the rhythm, locked in her own world. She’s the mirror image of Bianca playing her air drums last night.

Perfect. More confirmation I need to research drum sets and lessons.

I pull a piece of scrap paper and a pencil from my purse and start a new to-do list.

While the audience transitions to the chorus, Luke leans over to me, pressing his shoulder against mine. Again.

And I like it. Again.

“Are you working?” he asks, his tone one of disbelief.

“No.” I jot down details about the drum set. Five drums, three cymbals, Yamaha brand. “Just making a note.”

“Does your brain ever stop?”

Turning to him, I lower my voice. “This week will be full of tying up loose ends, and I don’t want to forget anything.”

“Tying up loose ends?”

“When Meredith and Harlan return, I will explain how I lost Finley”—regret climbs my throat, and I swallow the uncomfortable lump—“and hand them my resignation.”

A look of surprise crosses his face. “Penelope—”

“It’s of the utmost importance to me to leave my job and Twelve Bluebells well organized. I want my exit to be seamless so I don’t give anyone an extra burden.”

“They might not react the way you think—”

“Meredith will want to know about Bianca’s interest in percussion.” I don’t pause in my explanation, and Luke releases a frustrated groan. “If my memory serves me, Meredith has a connection who might know how to get Bianca an inexpensive drum set and possibly place her with an instructor. Who knows? Down the road she could plug Bianca in somewhere as a music intern.” I’m liking this plan more and more. It’s a shame I won’t be around to see it to fruition.

He peeks at my list. “You forgot the high hat.”