Trouble (Dogwood Lane 3)

“It looks like it’s been closed forever.”

“Well, since I was seven or so, probably. When the big chain pharmacy came to Rockery, that place closed. They couldn’t compete. But everyone here remembers Bernie’s. Maybe you could include it in your mural somehow.”

My heart fills. He’s always thinking, always remembering things like my mural or shutting the door to the old library so Meredith’s dog doesn’t run out—even though he verbalizes his dislike for said dog constantly.

We venture down a little farther, taking in the stands selling homemade purses and trinkets for a dollar. A crowd cheers as a man overseeing a game hands a plastic baggie filled with water and a goldfish to a little girl.

I breathe a sigh that comes from my soul. This place feels like home, a place where you could start a family and be a classroom mom and bake cobblers for banquets.

I glance over at Penn. Maybe someday.

“Those remind me of Floater,” Penn says. “Most traumatic thing of my single-digit years.”

“Fun fact: I’ve never had a pet.”

He flinches, like I just told him I’m from Mars. “Never? You’ve never had a pet? Not a fish or a dog or a cat? Nothing?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. Not even a hamster.”

“I think you’d be a dog person, as much as you like to cuddle. Hamsters are boring. Cats are cool but more standoffish. They’ll let you pet them when they want to be petted, and you can go fuck yourself the rest of the time.”

I laugh. “Really? They’re that bad?”

“They’re really that bad.” He checks out for a minute, gazing into the abyss. “I’ve been thinking about building a cabin.”

He says it in a way that makes me unsure whether I was supposed to hear it or if I’m even supposed to comment.

“Well,” I say, “the paint at your place isn’t that bad. It’s fixable.”

He looks down at me and grins. “Yeah, but maybe it would be better to just forget it and start fresh. What do you think?”

“I—”

“Hey, Penn.” A loud voice comes from behind us and we whirl around. A man is making a beeline our direction. “How are ya, buddy?”

Penn slips his hand from mine. “Hey, how are you, John?”

“Hanging in there. You know how it goes.”

I step back out of instinct. The angle of Penn’s body and the loss of his hand makes me feel like I’m intruding.

“Who is this?” John looks me up and down.

“This is Avery,” Penn says. “Avery, this is John. I did some work at his place last summer.”

We exchange hellos before they turn their attention back to some construction talk. I glance around, wondering if there’s something I can go look at as a way to excuse myself, but there’s just children’s games and political booths.

“So, is this your girlfriend?” John asks.

“No,” Penn says. “We’re just friends.”

I watch Penn struggle with his words. His eyes dart to mine as if he’s not sure how to handle this question. I’m sure as hell not handling it.

It’s not that I expect him to call me his girlfriend, but it’s the almost offense he takes to the question that bothers me. As if calling me that stings.

“Avery is new to town,” Penn says in a flimsy attempt at changing the subject. “This is her first Dogwood Day.”

“It’s great.” I force a swallow. “It was really nice meeting you. Hey, Penn,” I say, turning toward him. “I’m going to go check out a booth over there.”

With as natural of a smile as possible, I back away and scoot over to the first booth.

We aren’t labeling this, I remind myself. We are still just friends. Even if I might be ready to settle on being exclusive, he’s not.

Could he be embarrassed of me?

I wish I had a friend to talk this out with.

My hand shakes slightly as I pick up a pin shaped like a die. Roll with it. That’s what I used to say.

Maybe this is a sign.

“How much is this?” I ask, holding up the black-and-white decoration.

“Two dollars.”

I fish out a couple of ones from my pocket and set them on the table. “Here you go,” I say.

The guy wearing a hat with a ponytail sewn on the back nods. “Thank you.”

I spin around and almost run into Penn.

He’s a wall of muscle and energy that blocks my way. It would be easy to slip my arms around his waist and to plant a kiss in the middle of his chest like I did all night last night. But there’s a strange vibe rolling off him that keeps me from it.

“I, um, just bought a pin. See?” I hold it in the air.

He checks it out but doesn’t move. “Cute.”

“Cute?”

“Awesome?”

“I hope you’d think so,” I say, stepping around him. “Since you have two printed forever on your arm.”

He follows me as I head back into the throng of people.