Penelope's POV
I can still feel the heat from the fight clinging to my skin when I wake up the next morning. My throat's sore from shouting, my head aches from wine and tension, and Andrew's side of the bed is cold.
For a second, my chest tightens– did he leave? But then I hear the steady sound of something hitting wood.
I walk quietly to the living room and find him at the small workbench he set up in the corner, hammer in hand, jaw tight.
"You didn't sleep," I say.
He doesn't look up. "I didn't feel like it."
The tension between us is still there, coiled and sharp. In my head, I can't stop replaying the video Savannah sent, even though Andrew swears it's been edited. I want to believe him. God, I really do.
"Andrew…"
He finally looks up to meet my eyes. "I didn't kiss her, Penny. I'm not going to say it again."
"I know," I whisper. "It's just… she's not going to stop, is she?"
His silence is answer enough.
****
