Page 47 of Rival Season
Bertie tuts. “The one and only Ella Fitzgerald, of course.”
“Sick. I’m adding Ella to Spotify when I get home.”
Bertie chuckles. “I didn’t understand a word of what you just said.”
Penn laughs softly beside me as Fisher and Bertie continue their conversation, Fisher turning up his charm and making the older lady cackle in delight.
“So,” I begin, keeping my voice low as I insert a pair of infant booties into my box and look up at my fake boyfriend. “How did you know we needed help?”
Penn rolls his full lips together, and my eyes track the movement, my body immediately remembering how it felt when he kissed me last night. “Well, Fisher and I ran into Chadwick at the supermarket this morning, and he mentioned it.”
I hum. “Ahh, sorry about that.”
“I was sorry to see him, too,” Penn deadpans. Then, after a moment, he asks, “Are you two…talking more lately?” His eyes flit away from mine as if he’s embarrassed by the question.
I stop what I’m doing and fully face him. “Penn, no. Not at all.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s cool if you are; I was just curious.”
He’s so boyish and adorable right now, I have to resist the urge to yank his face to mine for another kiss. “I avoid my ex at all costs. The plan hasn’t changed—I’m desperate to get rid of him from my apartment. But he asked where I was going this morning, so I let him know I was working and would be back late. I didn’t want to get locked out again.”
He tilts his chin down in a nod, his shoulders relaxing. “Gotcha. So, why didn’t you ask me for help?”
I blow out a breath, turning back to my box. “Honestly? I thought about it. But Chadwick never wanted to, and I thought you might not either.”
Penn drops a package of donated chocolates into his box, then his hand comes up to gently hold my chin. He tilts my face up so I’m looking at him. “I’m not Chadwick, Hazel. I’m nothing like him. Of course I want to help you. Not only because it’s a good cause, but because you’re my…” he pauses, trailing off like he doesn’t know how to sum up what we are. “You’re my friend.”
The wordfriendgives me a stabby sort of pain in my rib cage. “Thank you for coming, and for bringing your team. You have no idea how much time this is saving us.”
“Hey, Matthews,” Coach Anderson grumps. “Quit flirting and get to work.”
Coach Slater—clearly the easygoing one—laughs. “Yeah, man, you were the one in a hurry to get over here. I guess now we know why.”
Penn doesn’t react, I’m not sure he even heard them. His piercing blue eyes bore into mine for what feels like forever before he slowly releases my chin, the pad of his thumb trailing across my skin in a way that has goosebumps prickling along my arms.
He finally turns and smiles at his coaches. “Sorry. It’s Hazel’s fault; she can’t get enough of me.”
I roll my eyes and everyone around the table laughs, our private moment long gone.
Bertie is watching me; a curious line etched in her forehead. I glance away quickly before she sees too much.
The playlist switches to “Cheek to Cheek,” and Fisher starts to dance and move his hips. “This is such a bop, Bertie,” he says.
To my surprise, Noah joins in with his antics and both of them sway to the music as they pack their boxes. Noah places two children’s sweaters into his box and Fisher finishes his with some red-heart tissue paper.
“That’s a damn beautiful box, if I do say so myself,” Fisher announces.
Noah shrugs. “You’re the one with an eye for art.”
The comment makes me wonder if Fisher is the one who collects all the gorgeous art in their loft. There are several huge paintings on the walls that look like they belong in a gallery.
Soon, everyone is starting on their second box, and at this rate, we’ll be finished before dinner. What a relief. I could go on packing boxes all night, but Bertie’s back and legs would get tired.
Penn piles his items on the table for his next box. I glance at his sheet and see the box he’s working on has nine-year-old twin boys. There’s a soccer ball and two pairs of tennis shoes in the pile of items he’s collected.
He smiles to himself as he works. “There was a charity in Calgary that did something similar for foster families,” he muses, his eyes far away like he’s living in the memory. “Me and Cass looked forward to their deliveries every holiday. Especially when we weren’t in the…best placements.” He clears his throat, glancing at me from the side.
“That must’ve been difficult,” I say.
