Page 29 of Penn

“Aprons.”

He frowns before laughing. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s… never mind. Whiskey or beer?”

“Beer,” he says.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the check I’d written before getting out of my car. “Here. Before I forget to give it to you.”

He takes it and opens the folded paper while I grab a mug and begin pouring. Penn likes draft beer, not bottles. He’ll never admit it, but I know it’s because it becomes too tempting to use a bottle as a weapon when shit goes down in here. Something about Penn is that he likes to stay in control of himself. Not in a controlling way like many of the other men. He’s just that reserved with himself and who he shares with the world.

I kind of admire it about him. It’s rare to meet someone who has that much self-awareness.

“What is this?” he asks.

“It’s a check,” I say, setting the mug in front of him. “It’s a dent in the amount you spent on the clothes. And to help with rent and food. Basically everything you pay for that I don’t.”

The silence between us spreads, and everyone falls quiet around us. The air is electric, and if we were outside, I’d swear a thunderstorm was brewing. When his gaze meets mine, it’s not gratitude I see. It’s anger.

“Take it back,” he says, sliding it toward me.

“Penn, please. I can pay—”

“I don’t want your money,” he snaps.

It’s the angriest I’ve seen him. Especially toward me. “I’m not a charity case. And you’ve been more than generous, but I never expected—”

“I didn’t offer to help to get a check in return,” he says. “I’m not looking to collect a return on investment.”

“It’s not like that,” I say, my own anger mixing with confusion. Who the hell wouldn’t be relieved to get some of their money back after taking care of a pregnant woman who isn’t carrying his baby? “It’s about respect. I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“Owe me?” he says, standing up. “You think this is a transaction? That you’re just a tenant?”

What else am I? I have my own room, a bathroom to myself, and a kitchen where he keeps everything stocked. Greatest landlord ever, but still not more than a temporary situation.

“I’m trying to be fair, Penn.”

“I don’t want your money, Dixie,” he says, tossing a bill on the counter, and letting out a long, slow breath before he moves toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I need some air.”

Nancy walks over and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t take it personally.”

“How else should I take it?”

“When men like Penn help someone, they don’t want anything but a thank you in return.”

“It’s not like I expected him to support me financially. He’s helping me out. That’s it.”

She gives me a placating smile, and I hate it. I’m not simple. It’s not like this is a hard situation to understand.

“I get where you’re coming from, but trying to repay a man like Penn with money is nothing but a slap in the face. Or maybe a kick to the balls.”

That puts it in a slightly different perspective. “That’s not what I’m trying to inflict.”

“I know. And I think he does, too. Deep down. But he won’t take your money, sweetheart. It’s just not how he’s wired.”