Page 3 of Chasing After You
Don’t fight with Bailey.That’s my mantra for the night. I can’t forget it.
Penelope beams at me when she spots me, her dark hair now cut short since the last time I saw her. “I swear you get prettier every time I see you.”
Well, damn. If that doesn’t do something for my ego. I hug her tightly. “You’re the best.”
Chris laughs, attracting my attention. “What? I don’t get a hug too?” I smile at him, hugging him next before taking a seat on the other couch.
It’s only been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen them, but they go to France a couple times a year to visit Penelope’s family. She met my mom there during her year abroad in college, and they’ve been friends ever since.
Mom walks into the living room with two glasses and a bottle of white wine. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming down,” she teases, smiling as she sits down next to me.
“My hair was super knotted after surfing today. It took half a bottle of detangler to get it out,” I say, groaning.Just kidding, I was preparing myself to see Henry.
“The boys are down by the water with Kaitlyn looking for shark teeth from that storm yesterday, but you’re more than welcome to hang up here with us adults.”
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, looking around, noting that he and Henry are both absent from the room. It’s less weird if I ask where Dad is, though.
She pours the wine into the glasses, passing one to Penelope. “Still in the kitchen. Henry wanted to talk to him about football. I’m sure they’ll be out here in a couple of minutes.”
“Gotcha,” I say, curling my legs under me.
“Mira, are you ready for your internship with the Panthers? When do you start?” Chris asks, smiling proudly at me.
“Two weeks,” I say. “I’m free a little bit longer, and then I’m a working woman with the rest of the population.”
Penelope shakes her head, her face scrunching in mild disgust. “Work is overrated.”
Mom laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Pen, we’re literally in business together, you can’t say that.” Penelope helped Mom open her first gallery in Charlotte, and since then, they’ve opened locations in Paris and New York. When Mom isn’t showcasing her own work, she rents out the gallery space to up-and-coming artists to give them an opportunity to get their work out there.
“And? Your daughter has already accomplished more than the three of us in this room combined, and she’s onlytwenty. She got Bash’s work ethic, and your stubbornness. Personally, I think Mira should travel the world, not be stuck in some office job,” Penelope continues, taking a large sip of her wine. This is why Penelope is one of my favorite people in the world. She’s like my own personal hype squad.
“I want to work,” I insist. When I wasn’t at the gym, I spent the rest of my childhood traveling with Mom to all the corners of the world. She’s kind of a badass. Marrying my dad, she didn’t have to work, but she wanted to have her own identity apart from him, and I’ve always respected her for it.
“How was surfing today?” Mom asks, redirecting the conversation.
“It was good, I caught some good waves. I think I’m going to go out early in the morning.”
Dad picks that moment to walk in, his amber eyes full of laughter. “Just make sure you don’t wake up Bailey. I’d hate for him to steal another one of your waves,” he teases, sitting down on the other side of Mom, his hand falling to rest on her knee.
My rebuttal sticks in my throat as Henry walks in the room. His lips quirk upward into an amused smirk as he looks at me. “You two still fighting with each other all the time?”He’s smiling at you, don’t make a fool of yourself.
“No,” I protest quickly, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Not all the time—just when he’s being an annoyance.”
“So all the time,” Henry says, laughing.
“Pretty much. Believe it or not, it is nice having all of them under the same roof again, at least for the next week,” Dad says as Mom groans.
“Speak for yourself, we never have any hot water. I love my kids, but I’m excited to take a hot shower again. You didn’t give Chris this much trouble, did you?” she asks, eyeing Henry.
“I never used all the hot water if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies with an easy smile, crossing his arms over his chest. I don’t think he intended for the movement to show off his muscles, but now I’m wondering what it would be like to have him hold me with them. My eyes go straight to his sleeve, an intricate collection of black artwork. I used to think I didn’t like tattoos until Henry started getting them, but then again, Henry could do just about anything, and I’d probably end up liking it.
I’m hopeless.
“No, you just spent every waking minute eating, sleeping, and breathing football to attend Duke and get drafted,” Chris says, but his proud smile says it all. “Bash, I think you hijacked my kid. Instead of following in my footsteps, he’s a quarterback like you.”
The thing about Henry is that my parents adore him. They’re his godparents, and they’ve always loved him like he was one of us. I remember when Henry was in high school, he went to a party and ended up wasted. His designated driver bailed, so he called my mom. She drove out to get him, leaving me in charge of my brothers, since Dad was out of town for an away game. After letting him stay in the guest room, Mom chewed him out but then hugged him, telling him she was glad he called her.
The day Henry was drafted to the Panthers, my dad was so proud I think he shed a few tears along with Chris.
