her haul in a three-piece set of matching luggage, I know there’s no way I can let her stay on the futon in the great room.
“Take the bedroom,” I say, grabbing her garment bag from her hands and carrying it into the small bedroom. I hang it up for her in the tiny closet while she follows me, protesting.
“That’s not necessary. You had the cabin booked before I did; it’s only fair.”
I shake my head and hoist her matching suitcase onto the bed, the old springs creaking in protest under the weight of it. The sound of bed creaks brings to mind dark thoughts of scooping up this woman and tossing her on the mattress, climbing on top of her, getting lost in her curves, nestling myself between her legs while we create our rhythm on those springs…and then wrapping her up and settling in to sleep, adjusting our bodies until we’re both comfortable, my hand blanketing the dip of her waist as she lies on her side, pressed into my chest.
The images pinging around in my head make my throat dry. “No,” I rasp. “My bed at home is so shitty, that futon will be an improvement.”
This is a lie, of course. And my king-sized bed at home will look good with her in it.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Listen,” I say, showing her my palms to signal I want the arguing to stop. “Let’s dispense with the Midwestern politeness and get to the heart of the thing. I’m a dude, and I can’t let a woman sleep on a futon. If that irks your feminist sensibilities, then you’re free to drive an hour to Whitefish Bay and take a souped-up deer blind with no electricity. I’ve got no more than a duffel bag with me for luggage; I can stow my clothes in the bathroom.”
She gives a sly smile and finally relents, coming over to me. “Fine.” For a second, I think she might be coming over to hug me, and I suck in my gut and flex my abs because I’m an idiot whose lizard brain thinks chicks will fall for that. But she’s not coming to hug me. She’s just unzipping her suitcase. Still, she’s close enough that I can smell her scent, mixed with her laundry detergent. Something strangely familiar and nostalgic settles into my nostrils and calms me. I’m probably just feeling some kind of way about being at the same place I used to visit in the summer as a kid. I’m probably feeling lucky on so many counts: snagging a last-minute reservation and having a gorgeous woman more or less forced on me.
I leave her to it, and she adds, “Just so you know, you’re not a ‘dude.’ You’re a real mensch, Joshua.”
Weird, I don’t remember telling her my name. But maybe I did.
I turn back toward her. “Thanks…”
She beams at me. “Penny.”
“Penny,” I repeat, knitting my brows together. Some vague memory is trying to get my attention. When I was a kid, there was a Penny…but that’s not her. That Penny used to run around this place in her rainbow two-piece swimsuit, hair perpetually up in wet pigtails, hands covered in colored chalk dust, mouth always painted with a Kool-Aid mustache.
But this woman has the same eyes as that kid. But no. There’s no way it’s her.
“Penny…have you ever been here before?”
She smiles and nods, not saying anything.
“As a kid?”
Another nod, and if I’m not mistaken, her eyes are welling up.
“Wait…did you have a sister?”
She laughs. “Still do.”
I return the laugh. At my silly question and at the overwhelming coincidence that’s happening to both of us.
“You remember me?” Don’t freak out, Josh. Be cool.
“Of course I remember.” Her voice drops to a whisper. She blinks a bunch. Oh shit. Did I say something to make her cry?
“I’m remembering more stuff now. You were like, always in the water. Or fighting with your sister.”
Penny’s cheeks flush, but I don’t know what she might feel embarrassed about. “Is that all you remember?”
Honestly? Yes. But I feel like there’s more and I’m wracking my brain because I know she’s wanting me to say it so she doesn’t have to.
“I feel like such a crazy fateful reunion calls for a hug or something,” she says, biting her bottom lip.
“I…I agree,” I say, hesitant only because I’m not great with hugging, and I don’t want to mess this up.
I breathe in slowly and hold open my arms while she walks toward me. It only lasts a second,