cared about girl versus boy labels. I grew up in a luxury car garage with a bunch of gruff mechanics who chewed tobacco and would make sailors blush with their swearing. At an early age, my dad introduced me to sports—soccer was his favorite. He taught me to play between car bays, using makeshift goals made from tires and engines.
“One of my fondest memories is of being in the stands, cheering for the Pythons while my dad and the guys alternated between encouraging the team and swearing out the ref. George Elliston was our hero, and when he came near, my dad lifted me onto his shoulders so I could see him better. As he passed by, I called out his name and waved for all I was worth.”
Penelope’s chin quivered, and I gripped the armrest of my chair, doing my damnedest to lend her my strength. “Then George freaking Elliston ran up to the stands, shook my dad’s hand, and pounded my fist. I thought ‘This is it. My life will never get better than this moment.’
“My dad died later that year.” A tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. “A lot of people would insist that getting emotional is a bad thing when it comes to doing business.” She shrugged a shoulder and infused her voice with the sentimentality hanging thick in the air. “Maybe it is. But when I designed this complex, I thought back to that little girl on her father’s shoulders. I considered the kids who refer to the players on the field as heroes, along with those who’d use that term on their parents. I also thought of family members who struggle to connect.”
Shit. Was that a lump rising in my throat?
A quick glance around the room revealed that Jill, Scott, Mario, and Doug were all struggling with their own emotions, clearing their throats and dabbing at their shiny eyes.
“I considered the friends who toast to their team’s victory or order drinks to drown their sorrows. The thought of all those people, connecting with neighbors, family, and even strangers in the stand fills me with such hope and joy. It’s amazing that a game can bring a whole community together.”
Penelope pointed at the part of her blueprints where she’d placed a nail salon. “I almost didn’t put this, because it’s a”—she made air quotes—“girl thing. But what’s wrong with female bonding? If men don’t want to go get their nails done, fine. What about the daughters of single mothers? Or friends who’ve had a hellish week? Do they not deserve a place to go because there’s a soccer game going on as well?”
After hitting a few more highlights and emphasizing her passion over adding beauty and pride to our city and providing a place to go for people from all walks of life, it became crystal clear that she didn’t need me to give her strength.
Nope, if anyone came up short, it was me.
“As you make your decision today,” Penelope continued, “I hope you’ll ask yourself if you want to be so focused on the bottom line that you fail to dig deeper and provide more to your community? Or if you want to successfully build your franchise while giving every member of our community a place to relax, cheer, eat, and create memories that’ll live on long after we’re gone.”
30
Archer
“Okay, that’s it,” Izzie said, slamming her textbook down on the desk where she was studying. I jumped at the noise, which led me to think about someone else who did that, and so much misery deluged my system I didn’t understand how there was room for anything else.
It’d pumped through me for four days, and yet the supply never dwindled. Never got any better. In all of a month, Penelope’s life and mine had become so intertwined that everywhere I looked, all I saw was the absence of her.
Izzie leaned over the back of the couch, her gaze never leaving her phone. Typical, but lately I wanted to yank it away and demand she talk to me or entertain me. Anything to distract me from the torment that involved replaying my time with Penelope. Some days it was the highlights, and some the lowlights. Both caused equal distress, so it didn’t much matter.
“You’re miserable and grumpy, and all I can say is that you brought this on yourself.” Izzie tapped her phone screen and shoved it right next to my ear as Taylor Swift started to blare a sad