Page 113 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

“No. But you let me read it. And I loved it.”

“Maybe back then you did.” I think back to how Penny gushed over that story when we were still in high school. It was the first time I thought maybe I could really do this, that I could commit to writing full time. “Now I’m sure if you read it again you’d have a slew of critiques.”

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I don’t have one comment. I’ve loved it every time I’ve read it.”

“What?”

“You gave it to me for graduation, remember?”

I scratch at my neck; of course I remember. Penny raved about Swept Away after I gave her a personal copy on printer paper that I’d marked up with my notes. The sheets were coming apart at the sides but she managed to keep it together with an oversized rubber band, carrying it around with her at school, or around town.

Back then, she begged me to submit it to an agent but I knew it wasn’t the story I wanted to sell. It was a romance—the story of how Vovo met my grandfather. I’d written it for her when he was first diagnosed. Made him tell me every detail while he was still lucid enough to remember, so I could preserve it for us all. And then, that Christmas, he passed away and everything else seemed to fall apart.

I blow out a breath. God, that was a lifetime ago.

Looking back on everything now, Penny’s friendship was the only good and constant presence during that time. So, to thank her for sticking by me, I had Swept Away bound properly for her as a graduation present. I even had this whole plan of how I wanted to give it to her.

I wanted to ask her to stay in touch. Wanted to kiss her. That plan went up in flames right before graduation, when my mom got the job offer in New York. Suddenly, my mom and dad were separating, and I was leaving Hope Harbor for good.

I still gave Penny the book, but bit my tongue on the rest, refusing to give in to temptation.

“I read it every year,” Penny says now, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s my favorite book. Your grandparents’ love story, right?”

I nod as I run a hand over my mouth and try to remind myself to breathe.

“That’s how I know you can do this,” she continues. “You will write another bestseller, Monty. You’ll fill it with delicious chemistry, and prose, and banter, and”—she kisses her fingers and squeezes her eyes shut—“that perfect pinch of Monty.”

“Okay,” I say, grinning at her utter belief in me as I go to pull out my phone. I realize then that I must have left it in the car. I sigh. “I’ll email you what I have done and you can read it whenever you want.”

Penny throws her arms around me and squeals. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says between kisses she presses to my cheek, then my chin, and finally my mouth.

I could easily get carried away, but I can’t if we plan on eating tonight.

“Okay.” I laugh. “Go call Rosie and let her know I’m on the way.”

“Deal.”

I press one last kiss to her lips before leaving. “It’s really your favorite book of mine?”

“Not my favorite book of yours, Monty,” she says, leaning in close. “It’s my favorite book. Ever.”

***

In the car, I find my phone and see a few missed calls and texts from my mother. I immediately call her back but it goes straight to voicemail. Seconds later I get a text.

Mom: Took an earlier flight. Wanted to surprise you, but clearly that backfired. I’m grabbing dinner at Rosie’s. Want to meet me here?

Me: Actually on my way there now. See you soon.

I feel bad my mom couldn’t reach me, though I don’t regret a second of my day with Penny. Before setting my phone down, I go to my Google Drive and share the working document for my book with Penny.

I’m still on cloud nine when I pull up to the brewery. Even from outside I can hear a band playing “Sweet Home Alabama” and the happy chatter of customers. Inside, the dim lighting and overcrowded atmosphere make it hard to spot my mother straightaway, so I walk toward the bar hoping to find her on my way.

Rosie spots me first. “Heard you and Penny had a long day packing books. Want a drink? Your food should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” I say, glancing around again. “I’m actually looking for my mom, too. Have you seen her?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” she says, pointing across the bar. “Your parents got a table in the corner where it’s a little quieter.”