Chapter 192: Penny
I’m standing in front of my closet in nothing but a bralette and black leggings, twisting my hairbrush anxiously in one hand like it’s a baton I’m about to drop during a pas de deux. Dinner with the Hayes is in twenty minutes, and I still haven’t decided on a dress.
My reflection blinks back at me: sweaty palms, trembling jaw. It’s not as if Mom and Dad haven’t hosted Asher’s parents before–Christmas tea last year, a barbecue in July–but tonight? Tonight, I want so badly to be flawless. I want Asher to see me as… someone he can be proud to call his. Because I’ve almost convinced myself he already does.
1
I grab my curling iron and angle my mirror so I can see both sides of my face: a dusting of rose–taupe shadow across my lids, a quick swipe of gloss. My hair tumbles into soft, glossy waves, and I give it a hopeful shake. Then I abandon attempts at perfection and pull on the dark–green velvet dress I bought lant month but haven’t yet worn. It’s simple, knee–length, with sleeves that hug my shoulders. My stomach twists.
Tyler said he couldn’t come. Of course he did–he’d said it would be weird, awkward, for him to show up. I nearly offered to send him a fruit basket instead of potatoes for dinner. But what if he’s sitting at home, alone, feeling sorry for himself? The lingering guilt makes me want to text him, even though I know I shouldn’t.
Stop. Breathe.
I practice in my head: “Asher, I… I’d really like us to be-” No. Too formal. “I want to be your girlfriend.” Ugh. “I like you. A lot.” Better. Maybe.
A jingle of the doorbell sends my heart into triplets. I brush one last errant curl behind my ear and head downstairs.
Mom appears in the hallway in a scarlet wrap blouse and pearl earrings, Dad in a tailored navy blazer over a cream turtleneck. They exchange a quick, excited hug at the foot of the stairs.
Mom calls, “Well, open up!”
Dad swings the front door wide. Outside stand Mr. and Mrs. Hayes–his parents. Mrs. Hayes is radiant in a forest–green cashmere cardigan and a tartan scarf, clutching a bottle of Bonnechère red wine and a box of black–forest gateau. Mr. Hayes follows in a charcoal pea coat, hands tucked into leather gloves, beaming beneath silver–streaked hair.
“Hello, lovely people!” Mom steps forward for a hug. “Come in, come in.”
Mrs. Hayes hands over the cake. “For Penny, of course–and everyone else.” Her accent lilts around each word like a song.
Dad ushers them inside. The living room is warm, the scent of cinnamon and pine from the tree swirling with their coats.
I hover at the top of the stairs. Then… there he is. Asher in dark slacks and a soft cream sweater, collar neat, hair just mussed enough to look perfect. He glances at me, and my breath catches in my throat. He looks exactly like the man I’ve been dreaming of.
I can’t help it–I speed down two steps at a time, ready to scoop him into a hug, to tell him tonight everything.
And then–another shape at the doorframe. Tyler. Leaning casually in a charcoal overcoat, hair swept back, eyes wide when he sees me.
Time freezes.
My stomach goes icy. All the tidy sentences I’d rehearsed vanish. I stare at Tyler, at Asher’s face flickering between surprise and… anger? No. There’s something softer there when he turns back to my parents.
“Thank you so much for having us,” Asher says, voice warm. He steps inside, offering his arm to my mom. “Your place looks incredible. And the smell?”
Mom beams at him. Dad nods approvingly. When Tyler steps over the threshold, they exchange polite smiles–slightly cool “We’re glad you came.”
Tyler’s gaze drops to his shoes. He clears his throat, then looks up at me. “I… changed my mind.” His voice is quietly urgent.
Mom inclines her head.
I swallow. “Okay,” I whisper, heart hammering so hard I’m afraid it’ll break free. I follow them toward the dining room, shoulders tight.
As the table comes into view–white linen, flickering candles, plates piled with roast turkey and herbed potatoes–I realize I’m standing at a new threshold: one that might lead me closer to Asher… or drag me back toward the mess I thought I’d left behind.
