twenty
Penelope expected the hotel ballroom to be filled with guests, bursting with balloons and excitement as the election results rolled in. But when she pushed open the side door to the party she’d planned weeks before, it was silent, empty. Sad.
The dais at the front of the room, cloaked in blue fabric, was dark. And a lone figure sat on the edge, head bowed and legs swinging. Tucker.
Her stomach did a flip complete with an unimpressive landing, and she wanted to run. But she’d worn heels and a sundress. This was supposed to be a party. Maybe the results were already in—and they were worse than she even imagined. After all, he hadn’t used the treasure to discredit Jepson’s claims and that terrible letter. He hadn’t plastered his face all over every television screen in the county.
As far as she could tell, he hadn’t used finding the treasure to help his campaign one iota. Which made exactly zero sense given their last conversation.
She slipped across the carpet, her shoes silent, the whisper of her skirt the only sound. Tucker must have been fully invested in whatever he was thinking about because he didn’t look up until she lowered herself at his side.
“PJ?” He nearly jumped up, then reached to hug her, stopping just before he touched her. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought there was supposed to be a party.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, like she hadn’t been craving his touch for days. His hug. His fingers locked with hers. His kiss. Any would do for the time being. Any rope could help a drowning woman.
He let out a dry laugh, his eyes focused on her face, the weight of his gaze like a gentle embrace. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s been four days.”
“It feels like forever.” He bumped her shoulder with his own. “You probably didn’t even notice.”
Oh, yeah. Like she hadn’t noticed the midnight crying jags that had interrupted her sleep each of those nights. She kicked his foot. “Not likely, Westbrook. Apparently you’ve become an important part of my life, and your nonsense is my nonsense.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
“So, where is everyone?”
“I canceled the party.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But you paid all those deposits, and everyone was planning on it. And how will you make your announcement? You can’t just cancel the party at the last minute like that.”
“Well, I did.” He shrugged. “And I returned as much money to my donors as I could.”
“Tucker?” She could barely get his name out. He sounded absolutely ludicrous. “What is going on with you?”
He looked away from her, facing the big, empty room. He leaned against his hands on either side of him, his body rocking ever so slightly. “Penelope, I’m not going to win the election.”
She didn’t know which was more shocking, his solemn resignation to loss or that he’d used her full name. “But you could have. Why didn’t you buy some ads? You had a plan. You could have beaten him.”
His head bobbed. “Maybe. But I thought about what you said, and you were right.”
“I was? Er, I mean, I was. But . . . I don’t understand what changed your mind. You were so set.”
He closed one eye and pursed his lips. “A truth bomb from Aunt Shirley definitely helped. And somewhere along the way, I realized that there was never a deadline on clearing my family’s name. I can do that after the election.”
“Shirley. She has a way of making it all so clear, doesn’t she?”
His chuckle was deep and echoed about the room, a sweet embrace. “She’s something else. She made me face the real reason I was running for office.”
“To help the people of this county?”
He cringed, his flexed shoulders stretching the fabric of his blue dress shirt, the color perfectly matching his eyes. “I told myself that so many times, I think I began to really believe it. But it wasn’t quite true.”
Reaching for his hand, she planned to give him a reassuring squeeze. Instead he flipped his hand over and captured hers, his palm warm and steady. It made her heart beat faster and her breath catch in her throat.
“Penelope Hunter, I’ve spent an awfully long time thinking that I had to do something to prove to you that I was worthy.”
“Of you!” He sounded surprised that she didn’t know. But he wasn’t making a whole lot of sense.
“Tucker, I mean—what?”
“Well, it started with my dad. I couldn’t back down and have him think worse of me. But then Winston came back into our lives.”
“Yes, but it didn’t mean anything. There wasn’t something between us again.”
“I know, but it was still enough to shock my system to remind me that you could end up with someone like Winston or Flynn Rutledge or any other guy—who wasn’t me. And suddenly I had to do something to show you and everyone else in our world that I was worthy. That I was better for you than all those other guys.”
His words were everything she’d longed to hear and couldn’t quite believe. She wanted to bask in them, to let them cover every wound she’d carried for so many years. But she couldn’t be sure this was God’s plan, and anything else was just another broken heart waiting to happen. “What does Flynn Rutledge have to do with any of this?”
Tucker waved his free hand dismissively. “Only that my dad said Flynn would be a good match for you.”
“And you think I’d take dating advice from your dad?”
“No, but I couldn’t risk staying friends—only friends. What if you suddenly realized how smart and successful those other guys are? They don’t need your help putting together a business plan or clearing their family’s shady name.”
“You think I didn’t want to do those things with you?”
“Someone else might be easier. They might make more money, have more clout.”
“Tucker, I don’t want those other guys. And I especially don’t want Flynn Rutledge. He’s prettier than I am.”
Tucker laughed out loud. Good. That’s what she’d been hoping for, but it didn’t let her off the hook for answering the question buried deep in his confession.
“I like being that person for you. I like helping you be the best version of you. Because you help me be a better me. You help me lay down my lists and live in the moment. You help me find adventure when I’d rather stay inside. But I’m scared.”
He squeezed her hand still trapped in his. “Of what?”
“There’s a line of guys who have chosen something or someone else instead of me. I’ve been afraid that you’d realize the same thing they did and walk away. I think I pushed you away before you could do the leaving. I’m sorry.”
“Penelope.” He breathed her name like a prayer, pulling the back of her hand to his lips. His kiss was gentle, chaste, and stirred something in her she’d only known with him. It was a longing, a promise for a future she couldn’t plan, dreams she had yet to imagine.
Cupping his cheek with her free hand, she ran her thumb over the tiny cleft in his chin, across all that smooth skin.
He leaned toward her, and she followed his lead until their breaths mingled, only light between them. She closed her eyes and held her breath and prayed to know that this was God’s plan, that this was his adventure just for her.
Suddenly a side door crashed open. She jumped back, and Tucker gave her a half grin. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, hopping off the stage and sliding his arms into the suit jacket that had been by his side.
“What’s going . . .” She looked toward the three party guests, only to realize they weren’t there for the party at all.
The man leading the pack carried a video camera on his shoulder, and the woman behind him was looking at her phone, thumbs flying over her screen. She didn’t even look up as they neared the stage. “Sorry we’re late. You ready, Mr. Westbrook?”
“I’m just waiting on one other—oh, there she is.” He leaned around to spot the last member of the procession. “You ready, Jordan?”
Jordan? The cameraman set down his tripod, and the woman—who looked vaguely familiar, from a local news channel maybe—picked up a microphone, stepping aside to reveal Jordan Park. She was wearing a soft dress and a wide smile, her hair curled and her makeup heavier than the last time Penelope had seen her.
“Jordan?” Penelope rushed forward, clasping her hands. “What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Westbrook asked me to come.”
“Tucker?” She looked over her shoulder as he straightened his tie and ran a hand over his hair—not that there was enough of it to be out of place.
He didn’t say anything. He just shrugged, the cameraman pointing to the spot where his light glowed.
“Both of them in the shot?” the cameraman asked.
“Yes. One on either side of me.” The newswoman took her place, freshened her deep red lipstick, and fluffed her ebony hair. Then she indicated where Tucker and Jordan should stand.
Penelope grabbed his arm before he moved to his mark. “Tucker? What is going on?”
With a wink and a smile, he said, “I’ve got an ace.”
Rats. She had a choice when it came to trusting him, and she did.
Taking a few steps back so her shadow was far from the camera angle, Penelope looked at her watch. It was almost six. Were they going live with this? Maybe it was a last-ditch effort to win the election. Except Tucker had sounded so certain he wasn’t going to win—almost like he didn’t care anymore. And none of that explained why Jordan had joined him.
She caught his eye, but there were no answers there, only a calm certainty.
Tucker had to fight the urge to loosen his tie or clasp his hand over his heart, which threatened to break free at any moment. Instead he found PJ’s gaze and held it. And he could breathe again.
The questions written all over her face would have been comical, save for the magnitude of the results. This had to work. It just did. He could not spend his life without her. He wouldn’t.
God, please let this work.
“Ready?” Anita Hickam, channel eleven field reporter, asked. Her movements were crisp as she addressed Jordan and him. “I’m going to start with Mr. Westbrook. Then I’ll ask Jordan some questions. Keep your answers concise. Remember this is live.”
Jordan nodded, her neck and shoulders strung tighter than a clothesline.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said to her. “You’ll be great.”
She didn’t look like she believed him, but he took a deep breath that he hoped would calm down both of them. He’d already had his face and every failing splashed across the local networks for the last few months. A disastrous interview couldn’t harm his standing in the community. But he didn’t care so much about that. He only cared about the woman standing a few feet away, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail.
The camera guy pressed a finger to his ear. “Ready to count down. Five. Four. Three.” He counted the two and the one on his fingers and then pointed at Anita.
As though on Broadway, Anita put on a show. Her smile dazzled, her eyes shone, and her dark curls seemed to gain volume. Pressing the mic almost to her red lipstick, she said, “I’m here with Tucker Westbrook, candidate for Chatham County Sheriff. Mr. Westbrook, the election results haven’t been confirmed. In fact, some reports have you within a few points of Buddy Jepson. Why are you making a statement so early in the day?”
He smiled despite the pressure in his chest. Losing wasn’t easy, even when it was his choice. Especially when he didn’t know how this would all turn out. “I called Buddy this afternoon and conceded the election.”
“Why’d you make that call so early?” She shoved the mic back in his face.
“Well . . .” He looked right into the camera. “While trying to disprove Mr. Jepson’s claims about my ancestors, I discovered a few truths about my family. It turns out they did steal smuggled goods during the Civil War, and they weren’t always on the right side of the law. But they left a pretty hefty treasure behind too.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace on loan from Jethro. Its stones sparkled and shone under the camera light, and Anita’s eyes grew huge.
“Where did that come from?”
“Toward the end of the war, the people of Savannah were struggling—hungry and hard up for hope. That’s when Josiah Hillman, a Confederate spy, asked Daniel Westbrook to help him steal a cargo that was intended to line the pockets of Confederate officers. You see, Josiah thought the goods could be put to better use—helping Savannah’s people.”
“Something of a Civil War Robin Hood?”
“Exactly.”
“Where did you find the treasure?”
Tucker kept his smile coy. “Right where Josiah left it when he ran off to marry my great-great-great-great-aunt Caroline.”
“And what will you do with it?” Anita’s even tone couldn’t cover her excitement.
“Josiah and Caroline were adamant that the money be used to help Savannah rebuild and recover. Well, we’ve pretty well rebuilt after the war, but we still have a lot of friends and neighbors who could use a helping hand. Like my friend here who runs Stepping Stones, a nonprofit that helps kids aging out of the foster care system thrive.” Tucker nodded toward Jordan, and Anita whipped her mic to her other side.
In the moment of silence, he heard a small gasp. PJ pressed her fingers to her lips, but he could still see her trembling.
“Jordan Park, tell us about what you do,” Anita said.
Jordan gave a brief summary of Stepping Stones, but Tucker didn’t hear anything she said. His focus was only on PJ, so beautiful in the halo from the warm light. He loved how much she cared about Jordan’s organization. He loved how her heart broke for kids she’d never met. He loved her.
“So, Mr. Westbrook, what are you going to do now that the election is over?”
Tucker forced himself to concentrate on what Anita said. “Well, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that the treasure we found is used for the good of Savannah’s people—especially the young adults in Stepping Stones. Then I’m going to offer five jobs at Westbrook Security to those in the Stepping Stones program. I challenge my fellow small business owners to help these kids get a strong start. If you have an open position, use it to set up one of these kids for success.”
Anita’s smile flashed toward the camera. “You heard the man. We have the Stepping Stones phone number on the bottom of your screen and on our website. If you’ve got a job for one of these young graduates, call Jordan today.”
No sooner had Anita made the invitation than the unmistakable ring of a cell phone echoed in the room. Jordan turned pink, fumbling in her pocket.
“There you have it,” Anita said. “Savannah is stepping up already and making good on a 155-year-old promise to help the people of this city rebuild and recover.”
Anita froze, and the cameraman gave her a wave of his hand as he shut down his equipment. “Good job,” she said to Tucker and Jordan. “I couldn’t have scripted the timing of that phone call any better.” She shook Tucker’s hand, smiled at Jordan, and wished them both luck before marching her two-person parade across the room and out the door, letting it slam closed in their wake.
The room felt suddenly dark in the absence of the camera’s light, yet somehow PJ shined brighter than ever.
“So? What’d you think?” he asked.
Her only response—a loud hiccup—made them both chuckle.
“Were you surprised?” Jordan’s cheeks were still pink, her smile a little hesitant.
PJ dropped her hand from her mouth. “Very much so.”
“But happy?” Jordan clarified.
“Very happy.”
Jordan spilled the beans about how Tucker had called and set the whole thing up. How he’d asked her to keep it a secret, how she couldn’t believe they were helping Stepping Stones, and how some guy named Jethro had donated his aunt’s old necklace and all those diamonds to her organization. And maybe now they’d have enough money that they didn’t even need a fundraiser.
PJ nodded as Jordan rambled on, but her gaze never left his, her heart shining in her eyes. He knew Aunt Shirley had been right. This was what it looked like to be courageous—to lay it all on the line for the woman he loved. And boy, had it been worth it.
The distinct ring of Jordan’s phone stopped her endless chatter. She glanced at the screen. “I think I better take this.” She darted toward the door. “Um . . . thank you both. I’ll talk to you soon.” Then she was gone, the crashing door the last reminder that they were alone. All alone.
Finally.
“Why did you do this?”
“PJ, I would do anything for you.”
“You did all this—for me?” Tears washed down her face even as she swiped at them.
“Aunt Shirley said if I wanted to win your heart, I’d have to be courageous. So this is me—just me, no badge or title or anything special—saying I love you.”
“Nothing special?” She punched him playfully in the arm. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you know that you’re the most special? Don’t you see how no one has ever—ever—given up something like that for me? Tucker, you are my best friend and the best guy I know.” Her gaze dropped to the tops of her pretty red shoes. “And I really like kissing you.”
He might not have been the smartest guy in any room, but he knew an invitation when he heard one. Scooping her into his arms, he pulled her flush against his chest. Arms around his shoulders, she played with the hair at the back of his neck, her fingers running a lazy path that sent fire all the way through him.
She chewed on the corner of her lip for a moment, still not meeting his gaze. “Can I assume that you do too?”
“Penelope, I like anything having to do with you—anything except fighting. And I promise I’ll be better. I won’t be such a knucklehead in the future. I won’t make you mad. You can win every argument. I never want to fight with you again.”
She must have liked something she heard because her fingers found their way beneath his collar, and she shivered in his arms. That was fine with him. Any excuse to hold her close.
Pressing his lips to her cheek right at the base of her ear, he whispered, “Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”
“Not fighting?” She arched her neck to give him a different angle, and he inhaled the scent of her citrus shampoo. “Definitely.”
“How about not fighting forever?” He pressed his lips in a trail down her jaw toward her chin, each kiss calling a soft mumble of appreciation from her.
“We’ll probably fight—sometimes.” She sighed the last word, her eyes closed and her head falling back. “Most friends do.”
Moving to the corners of her mouth, he kissed each side, the lightest breath, the softest brush. She tasted of raspberries and cream, she was better than cake and sweeter than frosting, and he wanted to drink her in. Every minute of every day. For the rest of his life.
If he could get her to understand that.
“I think you’re missing the point. What about the forever part?”
“Like BFFs? When did you become a twelve-year-old girl?”
“No.” He gave her waist a quick squeeze, and she squealed in laughter. “Not like best friends forever, or whatever. Like man and wife. Like I love you and I want to know if you’ll spend the rest of your life with me. If you’ll marry me.”
Her eyes flew open, her hands dropping to the front of his chest, resting over his racing heart. This was just one of those things that took courage. And for her—he’d find it every time.
Except her big blue eyes turned gray, clouded. “You—what? You want to marry me?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his great-grandmother’s ring, the one his dad had had in the safe. The one that reminded him of a family legacy of bravery and sacrifice. And love. Always love.
“Penelope Jean, I want to marry you tomorrow.”
“But we just started dating.”
“So what? You know me better than anyone. You know exactly what you’re getting if you say yes. And you know—”
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” The words came out in a rush, but he wasn’t about to give her a chance to change her mind.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes.
“Or as soon as you’d like.”
That made her laugh, and he pulled her closer, drinking in the sweet sound—the sweetness of her.
As her giggle faded, she looked right into his eyes. “So . . . that agreement we had about you kissing me?”
“About how I won’t kiss you again without prior written consent?”
“I don’t remember it quite like that, but yeah.”
“What about it?” He held his grin at bay, but just barely.
“Maybe we could suspend it, you know, indefinitely.”
She’d get no argument from him. He intended to kiss her every day for the rest of their lives. Spinning her around, he pulled her hand free and slipped the ring on her finger. “I love you, Penelope.”
“I love it when you call me that.”
Pressing his forehead to hers, he stared at her closed eyes, the fan of her black lashes making her cheeks even more porcelain. He whispered her name again, and she shivered against him. Fireworks brewed deep in his belly, his lungs ready to burst. Her hands on his chest were small and delicate and stirred an emotion that was anything but.
He’d never held joy and life and such a sweet gift all at once. Until now. How had he ever come to deserve such a treasure?
He didn’t. It was that simple.
Maybe that was the point. He wasn’t worthy. That’s what made it a gift.
She pulled back just enough to catch his eye. “Are you sure you want me for forever? You know Ambrose comes with me. We’re a package deal.”
Kissing her again, he showed her exactly what he thought. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he sure wasn’t going to let her go. Ever.