Page 76 of The Score

Pen and I kissed again, yes. It was an Earth-shattering moment. But she and I reached an understanding. We got swept up in the fantasy. If her kiss reminded my body I enjoy sex, and it got all mixed up inside of me, well, that's a problem.

She stops in her tracks. "You don't get it, Leon. You're the best friend anyone could ask for."

She's dead serious as she says this.

We stop outside the church in a cute garden at dusk. The skies are pink and purple, and stone pathways lay at our feet. Some students go past us to places we'll never know, but it's like Pen and I are alone in our own little corner of the world.

Yes. Friends. I'm her friend, above all. That's what she trusts me to be.

We're holding hands, but I come closer. I put a hand on her face. "What is the point of everything I have, if it's not to do these things for you?"

She shakes her head. "I'm serious. Do you feel I've done enough? Am I giving enough back?"

"What do you mean?" I frown.

It's a genuine question.

"You put all these gifts at my feet and, what do I do to make this fair?"

"Where is this coming from? Of course you do, Pen."

"No, be concrete. What do Ido? You marry me, and I… what?"

"If you want a list, then sure." I raise an eyebrow. "Over and over again, you invited me into your life. Twenty years, we've known each other. Now you choose me. You make time for me. You entertain my shows, even my fanfic sometimes, despite how little interest you actually have in them. But you've gone as far as reading them to me when my hands are busy, and don't forget the little collectibles you've gifted me for every birthday in the past few years."

She gives me a small smile. "I'm so proud of finding that episode-worn hat, and that poster signed by the two leads."

I nod. She put the detective hat from that eighties show and the signed poster on a shadowbox, and now they're prominently displayed in my office.

"And not only that," I say. "You're there for me in my career. You made friends with my friends. But I don't think about us in terms of what we do for each other."

She doesn't ask, but she looks at me with clear, wide eyes. It works the same.

I let a small smile take over my mouth. "Friendship isn't about checks and balances— or I don't think that's what matters the most. I'm not friends with you for what you do for me. Friendship is like any other bond between two people. It's about having a history together that makes you care, makes you rely on the other person, and makes you want to be someone they can rely on."

She sighs and closes her eyes, listening to my every word.

I'm listening too. These words need to be recorded and enclosed in an envelope with a red wax seal. Those old ones where you kept royal decrees and new laws. I hope my heart is paying attention, because it's crucial I remember all of this, too.

My thumb makes arches on her face. "We bonded over games and silly conversations in your backyard. We laughed together and argued about many things. We relied on each other as we became teenagers and went off to college. When we struggled in our careers. When we succeeded. I want your happiness like I want my own. I know you do, too. Isn't that enough? Because to me, it's perfect. Our friendship is perfect, Pen."

Everything else will get jailed within my ribcage. Or the king shall send the cavalry and trample over the threat at the edge of town.

Pen sighs and gives me a small smile.

"I want your happiness like I want my own," she whispers. "Okay. Yeah. I can go with that."

That's enough. That's everything. At least, this I do believe.

I smirk. "So let's go find a pub with a sit down dinner. I may need to get you a little drunk before I try to convince you to skip the next bucket list item I planned."

"You know me too well to think you'll succeed at that." She hooks her arm with mine, and we take the path leading out of the property.

I smile. "It doesn't mean I'm not going to try…"

The pub we're in fits every cliché you might see in a movie. A small plaque in the front said this place has been here for a couple of centuries, and it looks like it. Some stone work, some plaster work, and all the wood shines like it has been touched and polished a million times. Old newspaper clippings hang framed on the walls, and a few trophies I have to assume are for local sporting events. It's packed, the smell of beer is all over, and that's all it took Pen to convince me to order fish and chips, too.

"How about this," I say.