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WHEN PENNY WAS SEVENTEEN, she thought Kent might kiss her one evening.
He’d just graduated from high school, and it was the beginning of the summer before her senior year. They’d spent one Friday afternoon painting in the sunroom at Holiday Acres, and then Kent had stayed to have dinner with her family.
Back then everyone in her family had liked him. He’d never been charming or charismatic or a real people person, but he’d always been funny and sincere and sweetly earnest, never doing the normal guy thing of hiding how he felt or pretending to be cool.
After dinner, she walked with him to his car to carry the leftovers her mom had insisted he take home while he carried the canvas he’d done the week before. He’d placed the canvas behind the driver’s seat of his pickup truck, and then he’d turned to take the leftovers out of her hands.
She’d been laughing at something he said. (She couldn’t remember what it was anymore.) And for a moment they’d stood there, both their hands on the plastic container, and something had happened in their shared gaze.
It changed. Deepened. Kent had leaned forward slightly.
And Penny had thought in that moment that he was going to kiss her.
He didn’t. He’d made some sort of funny comment about them fighting over the leftovers, and she’d finally released the container so he could take it and leave.
The moment was over as suddenly as it had begun.
Penny had been popular in school, but she’d never been one of those girls who got asked out by all the best guys. She was happy with her body now, but she hadn’t always been confident back then. She always had dates for dances, and her dates were always nice guys. But they weren’t guys who got her excited.
Guys like Kent could have gone out with any girl they wanted. They didn’t go out with her, and they certainly weren’t going to kiss her on a random Friday night.
So she’d called herself stupid on that entire walk back to the house for getting her hopes up for even just a moment. It wasn’t like she really had a crush on Kent. She’d known Kent all her life, and she’d never expected to be anything but friends with him. She didn’t even daydream that something would happen, although she’d always thought he was as attractive as any guy she’d ever known. She’d always been afraid daydreams would taint what they had, even just in her mind.
She didn’t think she even secretly wanted their friendship to change, which was what upset her the most about her reaction to not being kissed that evening.
She hadn’t been waiting, hoping, praying for a kiss from Kent. The moment had just happened out of the blue. So she shouldn’t be so crushed that nothing had come of it.
Everything had been exactly the same between her and Kent as it had been an hour earlier, when it never would have crossed her mind that Kent might kiss her.
A little part of her was annoyed that he’d gotten that look in his eyes. If she hadn’t seen it there, she never would have had kissing on her mind at all.
She remembered that disappointment from years ago vividly now as she teased Kent for getting turned on by his old flannel pants because she was experiencing something very similar.
It had never occurred to her that Kent might be attracted to her. It wasn’t something she was secretly hoping for. So she’d been genuinely shocked when Kent admitted he was. But then she’d experienced an immediate rush of hot excitement. Maybe Kent wanted her body the way she was starting to want his. Maybe the ways in which they matched each other went beyond friendship. Maybe now that his resentment was fading, something could finally happen between them.
She hadn’t known she wanted it, but maybe she did.
Maybe he did too.
But then he’d told her that his reaction was just because he was physically deprived. He hadn’t had sex in so long that he could get turned on by anyone of the female variety.
She had no reason not to believe him. Kent had been perfectly open about everything he was feeling since she’d arrived in his cabin. And when he was younger, he’d never tried to hide his emotions like most of the guys she knew. Once, when he was fourteen, he’d come over to her place after a bad fight with his dad, and he’d cried as he told her about it.
She’d loved that about him. That he wasn’t working that emotional repression that was so common with men she knew.
But it meant he almost always said what he felt.
There was no secret meaning she could hope to find underlying his words.
He might be aroused, but it wasn’t personal.
It wasn’t her he wanted.
Which meant that weird burst of excitement had to be immediately contained before it got out of control and ended up hurting her.
“Do you have any candles or flashlights?” she asked, needing to think about something practical rather than about Kent and their history and the current condition of his body.
“Yeah. Of course.” He stood up and walked (just a little stiff) over to a closet, from which he pulled out a large flashlight and a couple of candles. He lit the candles and set them around the room, and they added a flickering illumination to the dim light coming in through the windows. It was just after five now, but the snowstorm had blocked out most of the sunlight.
Penny got up to grab the flashlight and take it into the bathroom since there weren’t any windows in there. She took a minute after she went to pull herself together, reminding herself who Kent was, who she was, and what they’d always been to each other.
She felt better as she came out.
“Do you have a sketchbook or something?” she asked. “Or plain paper? This evening is going to go on forever if I don’t have anything to do.”
“Oh. Sure.” He’d just sat down in one of the chairs at the table, but he stood up again. He paused for a minute, evidently thinking, and then he went across the room to open the doors of the television stand.
She could see the shelves were crammed full of books and papers, and from the mess he pulled out a large sketchbook. He found a set of colored pencils, a collection of pens and some charcoal, and he brought the armful back over to the table. He cleared some space by the simple expedient of pushing one of the piles already there out of the way.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile, reaching for the sketchbook and pulling a few sheets of large, thick blank pages out of it.
Kent looked at her for a minute, as if assessing what she was doing, and then he picked up several piles of his work stuff from the table and set them on the floor, leaving half the table completely clear.
This gave her much more room, so she smiled at him again.
He brought all three candles over to the table so she could see better.
“You should draw too,” she said, glancing up when he just stood beside her, looking down at the first few lines she’d drawn with a pencil.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It might be good for you. And you used to enjoy it.”
He didn’t reply. Didn’t move.
She looked up to meet his dark eyes. “What else do you have to do?”
“Nothing.” He sat down across from her, grabbed the sketchbook, and chose a pencil out of the pack.
Penny was smiling as she continued to draw.
It felt like old times again.
***
THEY WORKED ON THEIR sketches for almost two hours, occasionally saying something casual but mostly focusing on what they were doing.
Finally Penny realized she was hungry, and it was well past her normal dinner time.
She’d been working on a sketch of Kent, trying to capture the rugged lines of his strong face and thick beard. She wasn’t entirely happy with it yet, so she turned it over so he couldn’t see it. “Do you have anything to eat?”
“What? Oh, yeah. I guess it’s time. The oven and microwave won’t work, but I have sandwich stuff if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s just fine.” She stood up and went over to the refrigerator to investigate. Then she realized she was leaving the door wide open so all the cool air was coming out. Without power, that was the way to spoil all the food. She closed the door quickly again.
“I’ve got ham, turkey, roast beef, salami, swiss cheese, cheddar cheese, Monterey Jack, provolone, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, mustard, mayonnaise, and this pesto spread that’s really good.” Kent came over to stand beside her as he ticked off the items as he thought about them.
“Wow,” she said, her eyes widening. “How often do you eat sandwiches?”
“Almost every day.” He gave her a quirk of a smile.
Giggling, she said, “Well, I’ll have turkey, provolone, tomato, and that pesto spread.”
He opened the refrigerator and quickly pulled out the ingredients before closing the door again. Then he opened a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of thick-cut honey wheat bread.
When she saw what he’d gotten, she said, “What about you?”
“I’ll have the same as you. Sounds good.”
They made their sandwiches, and Penny actually had a good time, eating and watching Kent, who was watching her too.
They didn’t have to talk. They seemed to understand each other.
And it didn’t matter that he wasn’t really attracted to her. He was still her friend.
She was finishing up her sandwich when Kent blurted out, “I’m sorry about your mom.”
Her eyes widened, surprised by the suddenness of the comment. “What?”
“Your mom. I know she died last year, and I know how close you were to her. I’m really sorry.”
Penny swallowed, hit with a wave of grief that still came to her unexpectedly when she thought about losing her mom. “Thanks. It was hard. It’s always hard. Last Christmas was terrible—without her, I mean—but I think we’re doing better now. It’s... it’s different than when Dad died.”
Kent was watching her closely, quietly. “Is it?”
“Yeah. We loved Dad. Of course we did. And you know how sudden and terrible and random it was when he and your dad died. But it felt different when Mom died. Like I felt her absence every moment in a way I didn’t when Dad died. I don’t mean it to sound like...”
“I think I understand. I know you’re not saying you didn’t love your dad. I never knew my mom, but if I did, I probably would have felt the same. Things with Dad were so... so conflicted. It was hard to grieve the way I thought I was supposed to.”
She reached out to cover his hand on the table. “Things were conflicted with my dad too. He was never... never mean to us. But he was also never as close as he could have been. And then afterward, when we found out he’d lied about the fight with your dad. When we found out he’d cheated your grandpa out of the share in Holiday Acres... It’s hard not to be angry with him, at the same time I miss him. If that makes sense.”
“It does make sense. I feel the same way. I’m still so angry with my dad for how he treated us. For all those times I had to work all day to try to take care of the house and Phil and Scott instead of going out and playing like other kids.” He cleared his throat, his hand moving until he was holding hers in his strong, warm grip. “I’m still angry about it. And then I feel guilty. Because he was killed so senselessly. He was barely over fifty. He still had time to... to change his life if he wanted to. I always thought maybe... And then he was dead. Just dead.”
Almost five years ago, their fathers had been at a town council meeting—fighting as they always did—when a tractor trailer lost control, plowed through an intersection, and smashed into the wall of the building.
Both men had died instantly.
It was one of those tragedies that define a town, a community, a family, a life.
And they were all still dealing with the aftermath.
Penny’s eyes were burning, and she squeezed Kent’s hand. At least she’d known her dad loved her—even in his distanced way. She couldn’t imagine how Kent felt with a dad like he had.
“He never even told me he loved me,” Kent murmured hoarsely.
A tear slipped down Penny’s cheek. “Oh, Kent. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not going to be that way. I’m not going to let myself. He hurt Scott and Phil over and over again by not giving them love. I saw it. I couldn’t do anything about it, but I saw it.”
“Kent, he hurt you too.”
“Yeah. I’m never going to be like he was.” He cleared his throat and seemed to shake something off. “If I can’t do it... right, then I’m not going to do it at all. Anyway, I didn’t mean to start talking about myself. I was really sorry to hear about your mom. I... I thought about you a lot.”
She shook her head, realizing that she needed to respond to his change in mood. He needed to move on from the emotional intensity of the moment before, even though she still thought there was more that needed to be said. “Well, if you were thinking about me, you could have given me a call to let me know. I would have been happy to hear from you.”
“You would?”
“Of course I would.” She finally pulled her hand away and took the last gulp of her water. “I’ve never been able to hold a grudge, even when I wanted to. Olivia and I used to get into fights, and I was always so jealous of her that she could stay mad forever when I would always get distracted by something else and forget about the whole thing.”
“I think that’s a pretty good characteristic to have.”
She smiled at him, and since the conversation seemed to have petered out, they got up to clean up the sandwich stuff and then returned to drawing.
Penny didn’t finish her artwork until almost nine o’clock. She was almost satisfied with her drawing of Kent, wearing his flannel shirt and standing outside against the woods. A light snow was falling on him, and he looked big and masculine and as attractive as she knew him to be. But there was also something vulnerable in his face, something that made her chest clench as she assessed her finished work.
“Is it done?” Kent asked.
She glanced up quickly, surprised since neither of them had spoken in almost an hour. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Can I see?”
She pulled the piece of paper closer to her. “Can I see yours?”
“Show me yours first.”
She gave him an exaggerated scowl. “Why should I have to show you mine first?”
“Let’s swap them. Same time.”
“Okay. Deal.”
She didn’t know why she was nervous about it. It was just a drawing. It didn’t reveal anything too dangerous. He wouldn’t see in it more than she wanted him to see.
She handed him her drawing at the same time he handed her his.
She stared down at what he had drawn.
She’d always drawn by instinct, guessing at scale and placement, while Kent had always been much more careful, his lines almost delicate and perfectly judged. He could have drawn in pen if he wanted. He never made mistakes like she did.
His skill hadn’t changed over the years. She would recognize his work anywhere. But she was still shocked as she stared down at the piece of paper.
He’d drawn her. Her. Sitting at his table, leaning over a drawing she was working on, her hair falling over her shoulders, the lines of her face and neck much more sensual than they were in real life.
She looked pretty. More than pretty. She looked deep, full of something rich and warm. She looked like herself but also more than herself.
She couldn’t believe that this was how Kent saw her.
“This is... amazing,” she managed to say. She was breathless, and her cheeks were hotly flushed. There was no reason for it, but her heart was racing.
Kent didn’t answer. He was still staring down at her drawing.
“Kent?”
“You... drew me.”
“Yeah. I did. Just like you drew me.” She tried a casual smile but wasn’t sure she was very successful. “Nothing else to look at right now.”
“Oh. I guess so. This is fantastic. I’m not really...” He cleared his throat and evidently changed his mind about what he was going to say. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “This is how you see me?”
“Well, yeah.” She suddenly wondered if he saw in the drawing the same thing she’d seen in his—something more than who he thought he was.
Had she revealed more than she’d known in the lines of that sketch?
She wondered what it was.
“I’ve never drawn a beard before. It was harder than I thought.” She was pleased that her voice sounded almost normal.
“Oh. Yeah.” He was staring down at the drawing again. “Can I... can I keep this?”
“Sure. Sure, you can. As long as I can keep this one.”
“You want it?”
“Of course I do. It’s amazing. I didn’t know... I didn’t know anyone saw me this way.”
He took a strange little breath and didn’t meet her eyes. “I do.”
She had no idea what to say to that, and it felt safer not to say anything. So instead she stood up. “Well, it’s still early, but there’s nothing else to do and there’s no way I’m getting out of here until tomorrow, so I might just go to bed if that’s okay.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He finally seemed to have recovered from his distraction over the drawing. He scowled at her. “You will not sleep on the couch. I’ll sleep on the couch. You’ll sleep on the bed.”
“But—”
“But nothing. What kind of guy do you think I am? I’ve got some clean sheets to put on. I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch.”
She started to argue but gave up when she saw he was wearing his stubborn face. If he wanted to give her the bed, she wasn’t going to complain. The couch was big enough he’d probably be fine on it for one night.
Together, they remade the bed with clean sheets, and then she went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she kept in her bag, washed her face, and brushed out her hair. She stared at herself in the mirror. She was still wearing the huge sweatshirt, and it was getting hot now since the woodstove was heating up the room so well. So she took the sweatshirt off.
There. She looked ridiculous in the long T-shirt and rolled-up flannel pants, but that was fine.
If Kent was interested in her body, it was only because her body was convenient. She didn’t want to be merely a way for him to relieve pent-up tension. She would hate that, and it wouldn’t be good for either of them.
So it was just as well her body was safely hidden away beneath the baggy clothes.
When she came out of the bathroom, Kent was putting more wood in the stove. “I’m going to grab a water,” she said.
“Sure.” He’d put the sheets they’d taken off the bed on the couch. It looked like he’d be comfortable enough. “Grab one for me if you don’t mind.”
She did, setting his on the table and taking hers over to the nightstand. She felt a little awkward as she climbed into bed while he was standing not very far away.
“I’m going to take a quick shower before bed. When I come out, I’ll blow out the candles.”
“Sounds good.”
She listened to the sounds of him in the bathroom until she started to feel a little strange about it and turned over and tried not to hear.
He was in the shower for longer than she’d expected. She wondered what he was doing in there for so long, but then she decided she was probably better off not knowing.
When he finally came out, the smell of soap wafted out toward her. It felt strangely intimate.
“Did you have any hot water?” she asked as he blew out the candles.
“A little. It was lukewarm.”
“Oh, sorry! I forgot about my clothes in there drying out.” She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d thought about finding her underwear hanging in the shower.
“It’s fine. I moved ’em.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She rolled over, hardly believing she was going to sleep in the same room as Kent Matheson. “Good night.”
“Good night, Penny.”
She listened as he walked over, lowered himself to the couch, stretched out, and covered himself up.
Occasionally she could hear him breathe.