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Chapter Text

Penelope Featherington was tucked into the far corner booth of the Yellow Butterfly Lounge like she was hiding from the world, or at the very least, from the ghost of bad dates past. She swirled the melting ice in her glass of peach Jack Daniels, which, to be clear, was not her usual first-date drink. But then again, most first dates didn't show up forty-five minutes late. Penelope would have walked out at the twenty-minute mark, no questions asked. But today wasn't normal.

She started off with a single glass of White Zinfandel, thinking it might help settle her nerves. Then came a second glass, accompanied by a text:

"I swear, I'm on my way now, I'm so sorry."

Mmm-hmm. 

That's when she gave up on politeness and ordered something stronger. If she was going to be stood up, she might as well by tipsy while it happened. Hence, the Jack Daniels. Strong, sweet, and not a terrible companion. Plus, after the way today went, she figured she'd earned it. 

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Earlier that afternoon, she received a call from her manager, Agatha Danbury, who- without so much as a hello, because she herself couldn't contain her own excitement; blurted out that The Queen's Quill adored her manuscript, and wanted to publish her debut novel. Publish. As in real book, real readers, read advances. 

"Holy Fuck, this is really happening now, huh?!" She thought to herself holding a shaky hand over her heart; hoping she could keep it from leaping out of her chest onto the floor. Because you know, THAT was possible....

Oh, and they wanted to make her the new face of their romance department. Casal. She nearly dropped her lunch and her phone, trying to process this life changing information. 

"Monday morning, Miss Featherington. Charolette will be meeting with you to finalize everything. Don't be late, young lady," Agatha said firmly, though there was a clear warmth behind her words; especially now that she'd managed to steady her own nerves after delivering the news. 

She paused, then added, her voice softening, "And by the way...I'm so incredibly proud of you. I've always known you were something special."

Penelope blinked rapidly, overwhelmed. "Th-thank you, Ms. Danbury,' she whispered, a few joyful tears slipping down her cheeks. "I won't let you down."

But no one knew yet, not even her best friends. This was the kind of news you announced over dinner with Champagne and a proper homemade meal; not over a group chat while eating leftover Thai food from her favorite food truck on the corner. 

And then there was the blind date. Yes, that blind date. Against every ounce of her better judgment, she let her well meaning co-worker/library sort-of-work mom Martha set her up with her visiting grandson. Apparently, he was smart, kind, and "so cute its criminal," which, coming from Martha, could mean anything from Ryan Gosling to a guy who wears tall socks with sandals and owns a drone. Still, Penelope hadn't been on a real date in months. Nearly a year without sex, but who's counting? (She was. She was definitely counting.)

She wasn't looking for a soulmate tonight. Just someone halfway decent-looking, kind, who could make her laugh, maybe flirt a little, and help her try and forget; just for one night, the inconvenient, impossible feelings that she still carried for her best friend's brother. The one that she's been hopelessly and possibly unintentionally devoted to since, well, forever it feels like. 

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But first, he had to actually show up. 

Penelope's stomach let out a small, low growl. She closed her eyes and sighed, shaking her head gently. She should've said yes to the breadsticks when the server offered them the first time. Or the second, when they came back with her whiskey and asked again, a little more hopefully. But she hadn't. 

She was hungry. No—she was starving. But she told herself it wasn't the right time to eat. Not right before a first date. Not when she was already a little nervous about how she'd look. She didn't need to give her body any more reason to bloat or feel heavy. 

She'd worked hard to love herself, to love the soft curve of her stomach, the way her hips flared, the fullness in her arms and cherubic cheeks. At five feet tall, her frame looked more hourglass than anything else, and she could see the beauty in it. She could even feel proud of her body most days. Her best friend Eloise always told her how crackin her tits are, and she has a delicious dump truck that anyone would want to back into; but she was more than just tits and ass. However, no one had stayed long enough to know that her body, her mind, her heart, her soul...had so much more to offer than a passing glance or a whispered what-if. 

And men? That was a different story.  The confidence always had a way of slipping through her fingers the moment a man entered the equation. 

They weren't exactly lining up to sweep her off her feet or ask for a charming Regency-style promenade. Not with flowers, or sweet words, or quiet intentions. Not for someone like her. More often than not, it was laughter behind her back or getting fetishized; approached only by those wanting to tick a box on their "fuck a fat girl" checklist. Chubby chasers, they called them. She called them exhausting. 

And so, she didn't eat. She smiled at the server, twice, and told them she was waiting for her date. Because deep down, there was a quiet, aching fear that he'd walk through that door, see her mid mouthful with a piece of their delicious buttery breadsticks, be disgusted by the sight, and leave. 

Because that's what they always did.

She glanced at the time gain. He was now pushing an hour late.

Penelope let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. All that nervous energy, the second-guessing, the internal pep talks she had given herself this last week; wasted on a date with a decently attractive man who apparently wasn't going to show up. Typical.

That was it. She was done waiting. She was going to order those damn breadsticks, and maybe those stuffed mushrooms she'd been eyeing earlier, too. She deserved that much.

Just as she was she was reaching for the menu again, the lounge doors burst open with a dramatic flair. A tall, slender brunette stumbled in, breathing like he'd either sprinted from six blocks away or barely escaped a fire. His button-down shirt was half-untucked, and he looked more frazzled than flirty.

The hostess glanced up from her stand, eyebrows arched. "Excuse me, sir, can I help you?"

Still catching his breath, the man ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it and gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah, I'm actually here for a date...with a hot redhead." He said it like it was a punchline, utterly unbothered, like he wasn't fifty-eight minutes late.

The hostess blinked. Then slowly turned to glance toward the far corner booth, toward Penelope. Her mouth twitched into a tight, apologetic smile. A small grimace really. It said, I'm sorry, this is the man that you've been waiting for all night.

Penelope stared back equal parts stunned and annoyed.

Meanwhile, the man, still apparently thinking he was some suave Romeo, started fixing his shirt and tucking it back into his pants; had begun winking at the hostess when she looked back at him. Winking.

God, Penelope thought. He's actually trying to flirt with her. While showing up an hour late for a blind date. 

The hostess cleared her throat, clearly swallowing the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh, yes, sir," she said flatly. "Right this way. She's been waiting for you."

As annoyed as she was, Penelope tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he was nearly an hour late.

Besides, Martha hadn't lied, and neither had his photo. He was, objectively, a decent-looking man. His chestnut hair was a bit longer than what she'd seen in the picture, curling slightly at the ends, like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. His eyes were blue. Not the kind of remarkable shade of deep sea blue that made your heart stop or begged you to drown in them forever, but they were still quite nice. They seemed kind, despite his earlier behavior towards the hostess. And when he smiled, it was....well, cute. 

Penelope slowly scooted out of the booth, running her hands down the front of her dress to smooth it out. 

She loved this dress. Emerald green, ruched in all the right places, it never failed to make her feel like the most confident version of herself. The sweetheart neckline tastefully showcased her generous curves, supported by the thin straps that framed her shoulders just right. The hem hit mid-thigh with a subtle slit over her right leg, daring maybe, but balanced by the peek of black lace beneath that added just the right touch of allure. 

She wore it with black tights and her favorite black strappy, chunky heels, shoes that made her feel powerful without demanding discomfort. A pair of gold drop earrings with small pearls that caught the light when she moved, adding an elegant touch without trying too hard. 

Penelope felt gorgeous. 

She stood tall, lifted her chin, and stuck out her petite hand to greet her date with a polite smile. 

The man's eyes dropped to her outstretched hand, lingering there far too long before giving her a firm shake, too firm. Penelope winced but tried not to show it. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, finally releasing her hand. "I'm Reginald Fife, but you can call me Reg." The smirk he offered didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"Penelope Featherington," she replied softly, pulling her hand back a little too quickly. Did he have to squeeze it like that?

"I'll go grab your table some breadsticks while you look over the menu," the hostess said, her tone professional but a bit clipped. "And I'll let your server know you're ready to order soon."

Penelope gave her a grateful nod as Reginald slid into the opposite side of the booth, his gaze trailing across her as he settled in. 

"Penny," he said with a grin, "I gotta say, you don't look like what I imagined from your photo."

She blinked. Penny. God, she hated that nickname.

"It's Penelope, please," she said, her voice calm but firm. 

He tilted his head, brow furrowed like her request was genuinely perplexing. "What? Are you one of those girls who insists on being called by her full name or something?"

Penelope hesitated. They'd known each other for all of three minutes, and already he was poking at her like they were old friends, or worse, like he was owed some familiarity. 

"Not necessarily," she replied evenly. "I've just never like the name Penny. I'm not some object left in a parking lot for someone to pass by and pick up."

Reginald snorted and leaned across the table, grabbing her water glass without asking.

"No, you're not," he said, chuckling before taking a long gulp. "Sorry, I'm parched and our waiter's dragging their feet. Figured you wouldn't mind. You're my date, after all." He winked, setting the glass down with a thunk. 

Penelope stared, her expression stiff. Her thoughts were scrambling, snagging on his earlier comment.

"I'm sorry, what did you mean when you said 'no, you're not'?" she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. 

He paused, then gave a lazy shrug. "Oh, you know. You said you're not a "penny someone could pick up"-" he made air quotes, like her words were part of some stand-up routine, "-and I'm just agreeing. You're not."

Before she could parse whether that was meant to be an insult or a compliment, or both, the server arrived, placing a basket of warm breadsticks between them and pulling out a notepad. 

"Evening," he said with a friendly smile. "Can I take your order, or do you need another minute?"

Penelope blinked, glancing down at her closed menu. Her appetite had vanished. 

Reginald didn't miss a beat, completely oblivious to the awkward air now hanging between them like a storm cloud.

"Yeah, I already know what I want. I come here all the time," he said with a self-satisfied grin. 

He turned to the server. "I'll have the 12 oz ribeye, mash potatoes smothered in brown gravy and onions, and steamed veggies. Oh, and bring me a beer, Coors Light, yeah."

"And how would you like your meat, sir?" the waiter asked, pen poised.

Reginald glanced sideways at Penelope, his eyes lingering too long. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

"This is only our first date," he said with a wink. "I don't talk about my meat just yet. At least wait until after dessert." He laughed at his own joke as he handed the menu over. 

The waiter froze, stunned by the rude remark. He glanced at Penelope, whose polite smile was quickly crumbling beneath an expression of visible discomfort.

"No sir," the waiter said, his voice flat. "I was asking how you want your steak cooked."

Reginald chuckled again, clearly unfazed. "Oh-right. Rare. I like my meat bloody."

Of course he does, Penelope thought, biting the inside of her cheek. 

She couldn't help but wonder how sweet little Martha, who always brewed her tea just right and once knitted her a cardigan because "you always look a bit cold in the library, dear" could possibly share DNA with this. Surely, if Martha had known what her grandson had become, she wouldn't have recommended him. 

The waiter turned to her, his tone gentler now. "And you, miss?" he asked, his eyes soft with concern.

Penelope glanced down at her hands, she had began fidgeting them in her lap, a nervous habit she's had for years. Her appetite had fled the moment Reginald opened his mouth. 

"Oh....I'm not very hungry at the moment," she said quietly.

Reginald snorted.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, sharp and unamused.

He coughed, poorly trying to mask the laugh. "Sorry. Tickle in my throat."

The waiter shot him a look that said you're the tickle, but kept his professionalism intact. Still, he wasn't about to let Penelope sit there on an empty stomach with nothing but wine, whiskey, and dread in her system. 

"May I suggest tonight's special?" he offered gently. "Stuffed ricotta and spinach ravioli in a bolognese sauce. It comes with a garden salad, might settle the stomach a bit."

Penelope appreciated the gesture, and the subtle care behind it. She didn't really want to eat, but...he was right. She probably should.

"That sounds lovely," she said with a small nod. "Ranch dressing, please. And may I also get another water?"

"Penny.."

She shot him another glare by the use of that name again.

"I mean Penelope, we can just share this one." Reginald suggested, pointing at the water in front of him. "After all, it was yours first."

"No, thank you Reg, I would like to have my own." Penelope said softly.

Reginald picked up the glass and took another big gulp, looking like he was just scolded, rolling his eyes to himself. The waiter silently stood wondering if he should speak yet or not, feeling rather uncomfortable himself, and he isn't even the one on this date.

He quickly cleared his throat for a moment, "Of course, ma'am," he said, collecting Penelope's menu. "Coming right up."

As he walked away, Penelope watched him go, grateful if only for the brief, wordless moment of kindness in a night that was quickly unraveling. 

The aroma of the breadsticks hit Penelope's nose, warm and buttery, and her stomach gave a soft twist in response. Even if her appetite had vanished emotionally, her body clearly hadn't gotten the memo. She reached into the basket, pulled one free, and took a bite.

It was heavenly. Buttery, soft with just the right crisp at the edge. The small pleasure gave her a momentary anchor. 

The waiter returned, dropping off Reginald's beer and a fresh glass of water for her, before slipping off again without a word. The silence at the table settled thickly between them, awkward and heavy. Penelope opened her mouth to say something—anything, but Reginald beat her to it.

"So, you work with my grandma at the library, huh? Funny, I thought only old people worked in places like that."

Penelope blinked. "Well....there are people of all ages at the library," she said gently. "It's not just for the elderly, despite the stereotype."

"She's nice, though. Not half bad. I mean, she did set me up with you," he said, flashing another one of those tired winks. "And your face? Pretty hot!"

"Umm...thank you," she replied, unsure what to do with that.

God, is that the only thing this man knows how to do. Was it "his move" to get a woman into his bed? Because if so, it is not working, in fact it is doing the complete opposite.

He reached into the basket for a breadstick and took a huge bite out of it, seemingly unaware of how uncomfortable his words were beginning to make her.

"She showed me that photo of you from your company picnic," he went on, tearing off another piece of breadstick, smacking his lips as he chewed. 

Table manners, non-existent with this man.

"As soon as I saw it, I thought, yeah, I gotta meet her."

Penelope frowned faintly. She remembered the picture, fifteen coworkers crammed together in a sunny group shot, smiling awkwardly under a banner that said "Staff Appreciation Day."

"I mean, I only saw your face," he said, "but you looked real good. So when she said you were single and I should take you out, I thought..why not?"

Penelope offered a polite smile, but her mind was already starting to drift. He kept complimenting her face. Only her face. Why did it feel like a warning bell?

Then came the next blow.

"But I gotta say," Reginald added, licking a bit of butter off his thumb, "if I'd known how big your rack was, I would've scheduled this date sooner."

He winked. Again.

That damn wink. Like it was his punctuation to every sleazy sentence he threw across the table. 

Penelope stared at him, stunned for a breath. Her gut reaction was disgust, but she didn't let it show; only set down the rest of her breadstick on the little plate, folding her hands in her lap, sat a little straighter, and said calmly:

"Do you talk to all women like this? Like they're just...things to be appraised and ogled?"

Reginald laughed, completely unbothered. "Oh, and you're sassy too," he said, grinning. "I like that in a woman."

Penelope didn't smile.

Not this time.

She was quickly realizing that this wasn't just a bad date; it was a window into exactly the kind of man he was. And no amount of charm or winks, or even Martha's well-meaning matchmaking was going to save it.

"I'm serious, Reginald," Penelope said, her voice steady, her eyes locked on his. "You've been nothing but improper and crude all evening. And from a man who was nearly an hour late to our date, I'd think you'd try a little harder to act like a gentleman."

Her words landed with weight, and for the first time that evening, Reginald looked genuinely caught off guard.

"Wow..okay. Yeah, I'm sorry," he said, his voice quieter, edged with something that might have been sincerity. 

Penelope didn't flinch. "Sorry for what, exactly?" she asked, her tone still calm, but firmer now.

He cleared his throat, eyes briefly flicking down to the table. "For all of it," he said. "For being late. For the comments about your rack, I mean your chest. We just met, and....I don't know why I acted like that. Please, accept my apology."

He looked at her, waiting.

Penelope studied him for a moment, trying to gauge the truth in his eyes. Maybe he was sorry. Or maybe he was just embarrassed he'd been called out. Either way, she didn't quite trust it. But she also didn't want to cause a scene; not here, not in a room full of strangers, and not when the evening could still be salvaged into something polite, if not pleasant. 

The people-pleaser in her, the part that had been trained over the years to smooth over awkwardness, to avoid tension, to give second changes, nudged her toward grace.

She inhaled slowly and gave a small nod. "All right. Thank you for the apology."

She didn't smile. Not yet.

But she reached for her water, took a sip, and silently agreed to let dinner continue, for now. If nothing else, it would be a story. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't get worse. 

The next fifteen minutes passed more smoothly than she'd expected. Reginald had even told a surprisingly sweet story about baking pumpkin pie with Martha when he was a kid; how he once dumped in salt instead of sugar and cried when it came out inedible. Penelope actually chuckled. For a brief moment, he seemed human. Maybe even....salvageable.

The food arrived shortly after, beautifully plated. 

"Everything going okay? Need anything else?" the waiter asked kindly, setting down their dishes. 

"No, it all looks great. Thank you so much." Penelope said, giving him a warm smile.

"Yeah, thanks, man. Looks good." Reginald added before immediately digging in.

Penelope stared down at her meal, still feeling unsure. The salad looked fresh, the pasta rich and comforting; but her earlier self-consciousness lingered like a shadow. The comment of Reginald still floating around in her head too. Still, she'd come this far, and dammit, she should just enjoy her meal. She took a few bites of salad, then grabbed a warm breadstick, dipping the end into the sauce.

"You think you should have another one of those?"

Reginald's voice cut through the quiet hum of the lounge. 

Penelope blinked, the breadstick halfway to her mouth. "I'm sorry...what?"

He didn't even look up, as if the question was as casual as asking for the time.

"The breadstick," he said matter a factly, shoveling a large bite of steak into his mouth. "You already had one. I was just asking if you think you should have another."

Penelope froze.

The warmth she'd just started to feel, the tiny sliver of goodwill, vanished instantly.

"I'm just saying," he went on, still chewing, "a woman with your figure should be mindful of how many carbs she's eating. Especially since you've already got that big bowl of pasta in front of you."

The silence that followed was sharp. The kind that cut. 

Penelope set the breadstick down slowly. Her heart thudded against her ribs, not from embarrassment; but from something colder. 

Anger.

Reginald, completely unfazed, scooped up a forkful of mash potatoes. "I mean, your face is hot, and that dress is doing a lot of work, still attractive, but you're kind of pushing it with what you ordered."

Then, as if that wasn't enough, he grinned. "You actually remind me of Fiona from Shrek. You know, after she turns into the ogre. Still kind of hot, though."

Penelope stared at him. Just stared. 

She wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or flip the table, but what she knew, without a shred of doubt, was that she was done.

Done being polite.

Done people-pleasing.

Done giving men like this even a moment of her energy. 

Penelope slide out of the booth slowly, deliberately, holding herself together like fragile glass. Her throat burned, her chest ached, but she blinked the tears back.

He doesn't deserve a single drop.

Reginald looked up at her with genuine confusion, as if he couldn't possibly understand what he'd done wrong. 

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked. 

"I'm leaving," Penelope said, voice sharp but steady. "This entire night has been a disaster. You've been nothing but crude and disrespectful since the moment you arrived: late, I might add. And I refuse to sit here and let you degrade me while somehow still thinking that you've earned the right to enjoy this date."

She gathered her purse, her phone, her dignity, every bit of herself she could salvage from the wreckage of this evening. 

"Come on babe." Reginald said with a shrug, utterly missing the point. "I was just stating the obvious. I told you your face was hot, banging even. Just saying you should watch your figure, that's all. A compliment and a little advice."

He said it like he expected gratitude. Like he was doing her a favor. 

Before Penelope could respond, the waiter appeared at her side in an instant. His eyes were sharp, protective.

"Are you okay, miss?" he asked, throwing daggers in Reginald's direction.

"I will be," Penelope replied, voice trembling but not breaking. "Thank you." She turned to him briefly. "I'm sorry for causing a scene."

She turned to leave-

And Reginald grabbed her arm. 

Hard.

"Hey, bitch." he growled, yanking her back a step, "where do you think you're going without paying for half of the meal?"

Penelope didn't hesitate. 

She grabbed his beer and threw it straight in his face.

The glass clattered on the floor, foam spilling across his shirt and dripping down his chin.

"You picked this place. You said you'd be paying. So do that, Reginald. And for once tonight, pretend to be a gentleman." She mimicked his air quotes with sharp, mocking precision. 

The waiter stepped in, his voice rising just enough to draw attention. 

"I'm going to have to demand you release her. Now sir!"

More heads turned. Murmurs began to ripple across the lounge. Reginald's grip loosened, and Penelope wrenched her arm free. 

He gave her one last look-smug and sleazy to the end.

"Pity," he muttered, dabbing his soaked shirt with a napkin. "I could've given you a real good time tonight. Always wanted to fuck a woman like you."

Then, that wink. Again.

It was the final straw. Penelope couldn't take another second. Her heels clicked across the floor as she stormed out of the lounge, the weight of humiliation, rage, and adrenaline crashing over her like a wave. 

She needed air. She needed to be anywhere but here. 

The waiter turned to Reginald, jaw clenched. "You should be ashamed of yourself," he said coldly. "No woman deserves to be treated like that."

He straightened. "And, you no longer have the privilege of dining here. Pay your bill and leave. Now."

Reginald scrolled, incredulous. "What? I'm not even done. Can I at least get a box?"

"Absolutely not," the waiter snapped. "My family owns this place. And I'll make sure you never walk through those doors again."

Reginald stood with a grunt, tossing his napkin on the table. "Fine. I'm leaving this shit hole, with its mediocre food."

The waiter didn't flinch.

"And don't forget to leave a tip. You owe it to the only person at this table who acted with class tonight."

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Penelope stood on the curb, arms crossed tightly around herself as she flagged down a late-night cab. The air had turned cool, brushing against her bare arms, but she barely noticed. Her chest still rose and fell with the echoes of the confrontation, her heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape the memory.

She slid into the back seat and gave her address to the driver, her voice barely above a whisper. The cab pulled away from the lounge, melting into the stream of city lights.

She stared out the window, watching the buildings blur and bend in the glass. She told herself she wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in the back of a taxi like some pathetic girl after a bad date.

But she was one of them, wasn't she? One of those women who tried. Who got dressed up. Who dared to hope. Who brushed on mascara and courage and walked into the night thinking maybe this one will be different. 

And now-she was just another heart quietly breaking on the ride home. 

Her throat tightened. The first tear slipped down her cheek, quickly followed by another. She turned her face slightly toward the window, hoping the driver wouldn't notice, but she knew she was already past hiding it.

It wasn't just the date. It was the months of loneliness that led to it. The effort it took to believe in herself again. The dress she wore because it made her feel powerful, only to have a man reduce her to a punchline, and a body part. 

She had felt beautiful tonight. Beautiful. And now she felt so small.

She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, forcing herself to breathe slowly, deeply. She could fall apart later, behind her locked front door, with the safety of blankets and silence. 

But right now, she just wanted to make it home.

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The key clicked in the lock, and Penelope stepped into her flat, greeted by stillness and the familiar creak of the floorboards under her heels. She stood there for a moment, just inside the door, not moving. The silence felt impossibly loud. 

Then she slowly closed the door behind her, slid the lock into place, and let her purse fall from her shoulder with a soft thud. 

Her shoes came off next-unbuckling the straps and setting them gently aside. The moment her heels touched the floor, she felt a sudden rush of relief and sadness all at once. The night was over. A day that should filled with so much joy and happiness, simply able to fall into the abyss with one single encounter with an ass hat from hell. 

She moved to the couch, sinking into the cushions like they might hold her together. Her dress, the emerald green one she once stood in front of the mirror smiling in, now clung to her like a cruel reminder. 

Without a word, she got up and walked to her bedroom, flicking on the light. She peeled off the dress carefully, slowly, as if the evenings weight was stitched into every seam. She folded it neatly and placed it on the foot of the bed. Not in shame. Just with care. She still loved that dress. It didn't deserve to be punished for the man who couldn't see it, or her, properly. 

She slipped into her favorite oversized sweater. Soft, worn, and safe. Moving to the bathroom, she quickly removed her makeup with her cleansing balm, and gave her face a good scrub clean. Too exhausted to do her full skin care routine, so she just finished it off with some moisturizer. Then padded into the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water with trembling hands. She sat at the counter, clutching the cool glass between her palms, staring at nothing. She let out a heavy sigh, and walked over to fetch her phone out of her purse. She had told Eloise she would text her when she got home, make sure she was alive and all. An earlier text from Eloise lit up the screen, she must have reached out after Reginald showed up.

ElBear: How's the date going? Is he dreadful or tolerable? 😬 need details and possibly a rescue mission.👩🏼‍🚒🦸

Penelope let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Of course her best friend, one of them, would already be planning her rescue mission should she needed one. God, she was really tired and just wanted to go to bed; but she needed to let her know she was home and okay. Her fingers hovered over the screen, then slowly she typed a reply. 

PenSunshine: He was worse than dreadful, El.😢He was the true definition of a fucking nightmare wrapped in a somewhat pretty boy persona.💔😭 He made me want to crawl out of my skin, and throw up at the same time.🤮🤢 Never have I experienced such a horrible first and last date before in my entire life. But I stood up for myself. I left. I am okay. Just tired and sad.🫥🫥

When Penelope hit reply to Eloise's text, she had actually hit the group button, and sent her last text to both Eloise and Colin. She texted them both so often, that it wasn't unusual to have both their individual messages right next to their group one, FeatherBridge Fools. The name was cheesy, yes, but it was them in a nutshell.

                                                ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

Colin lay in bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other holding his phone inches from his face as he scrolled mindlessly through reels, sports updates, and the occasional meme from Benedict. The room was quiet except for the faint buzz of street sounds outside of the soft blue glow of his screen lighting up his features. 

Then a notification pinged. 

FeatherBridge Fools

PenSunshine: He was worse than dreadful, El.😢 He was the true definition of a fucking nightmare wrapped in a somewhat pretty boy persona.💔😭 He made me want to crawl out of my skin, and throw up at the same time.🤮🤢 Never have I experienced such a horrible first and last date before in my life. But I stood up for myself. I left. I am okay. Just tired and sad.🫥🫥

Colin blinked and imminently shot up in his bed.

He read it again.

Then once more, slower.

His stomach dropped. 

What the hell? He hadn't even known she had a date tonight. When had that happened? And why did it feel like someone had just punched him behind the ribs?

But more confusing than the ache blooming in his chest was the fact that she'd sent the message...to him. To the group chat. To FeatherBridge Fools. Of course she had meant to send it to just El, as it was clearly addressing her. He should probably just ignore it. Act like he didn't see it. Let them have their private moment later and pretend the message never came through. That would be the polite thing. The subtle thing. The mature thing. 

But his thumbs hovered over the keyboard. His jaw tensed. 

And the thought of her curled up in her bed right now, hurting, feeling small, when she deserved so much better, made ignoring that feeling impossible. 

He read the message again. The words I stood up for myself. I left. echoing in his mind with a strange kind of pride. Of course she did. That was his Pen. Braver than most people gave her credit for. 

And still. She shouldn't have had to. Before he could second-guess himself, he started typing. 

ColBeeBlue: You shouldn't have had to deal with someone like that.😡Whoever he was, he's a bloody idiot. I hope he steps on a LEGO and then gets food poisoning.🪦

He paused. Watched the typing dots flash on and off. Then sent a second message.

ColBeeBlue: You didn't deserve that, Pen. Not even for a second.💙🫂

He stared at the screen, pulse ticking faster in his throat than he wanted to admit. 

                                            ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

Penelope had migrated to the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like armor, her legs tucked beneath her and her phone resting beside her hip. She didn't have the energy to rehash the whole wretched night, but she also didn't want to be alone with her thoughts. Not completely. 

She just wanted one good thing before the day ended. A thread of kindness to hold onto.

The screen lit up. Two messages. One from Eloise. One from...Colin.

Her heart stuttered. 

She reached for the phone with hesitant fingers, swiping it open; and her stomach dropped as she saw her own message staring back at her in the group chat. Not just to Eloise. To both of them. 

Her face flushed hot. "No, no, no..." she muttered, closing her eyes as mortification settled over her like a fog. 

How had she been so careless? She was exhausted, sure, but she'd meant that message for Eloise alone. She never-never- talked about her dating life with Colin. That was an unspoken boundary. One she'd help firm to for years. Because if she let herself hear about the endless stream of dazzling women he dated, or worse, saw the pity in his eyes when she mentioned her own failures, it would destroy her. 

And now? He knew. He knew. And she hadn't even told him by choice. 

Her thumb hovered over his name, reluctant, until she saw his reply.

—ColBeeBlue: You shouldn't have to had to deal with someone like that.😡Whoever he was, he's a bloody idiot. I hope he steps on a LEGO and then gets food poisoning. 🪦

She blinked. A laugh, small, shaky, escaped before she could stop it.

Then the second message came:

—ColBeeBlue: You didn't deserve that, Pen. Not even for a second.💙🫂

Her throat tightened instantly. Not because of what he said, but how he said it. So simple. No embellishment. No pity. Just...Colin. 

God, why did he have to be like this? Why did he always know the exact thing to say that unraveled her just a little more?

This was why she was in love with him. Not the smile. Not the charm. Not the way he looked in a long pirate-esque chocolate coat that flared behind him when he walked. But because of this quiet, unwavering care he never seemed to realize he gave so easily. 

She looked away from the screen for a moment, her eyes glassy but no longer from sadness. Just overwhelm. 

Then Eloise's message popped in.

ElBear: Hey babes, not sure why you wrote in our group chat about what happened tonight, but I can tell you one thing...That man better sleep with one eye open🪓 and he  better hope I don't find out where he lives, sleeping with the fishes would be too kind of a fate. Who does he think he is?😡🤬🗑✂

Penelope chuckled softly, wiping at her face. That was Eloise. Ready to throw fists and sharpen stakes in her name. She loved her for it. She took a breath, then finally typed back, to both of them this time. 

PenSunshine: Sorry for the accidental overshare, I meant to text just Eloise, but clearly I need sleep more than I realized.🥱 Lol I'm okay. Just feeling...small. But thank you. Both of you. Really.❤️

She hesitated for a moment longer...and then, just to Colin, she opened a private message.

PenSunshine: That meant more than you probably know. Thank you for being kind. You always are.💛💛💛

She stared at it. Re-read it twice. Then hit send before she could talk herself out of it. 

Penelope's fingers hovered over her phone as Eloise's message popped up, private now:

ElBear: Okay, now that it's just us girls, please tell me what happened. You don't have to go into detail, I know you're tired, but I can't just let this go. You know that.🚨 

Penelope let out a long, slow breath. Her body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry. But if there was one person she could be honest with right now, it was Eloise. She pulled the blanket tighter around her and started typing, her thumbs moving slowly but steadily:

PenSunshine: First, he was almost an hour late. No explanation. 🙄🙄 I never even got a chance to ask why. He flirted with the hostess like he thought it would impress me, and then...well. He wouldn't stop talking about how "hot" my face was, like that's the only part of me worth noting. Said I looked "fuckable", said my figure reminded him of ogre-Fiona from Shrek. Pretty sure it was because I was wearing my emerald green dress, but still...😭😭😭

She paused. Just typing it made her feel that sting of humiliation all over again. Still, she pushed through. 

PenSunshine: He kept staring at my chest and making jokes. When the food came, he told me I should "watch my carbs" because my dress was already "doing a lot of work." 🫥🫣🫤 I tried to stay calm, but I left. I told him off, threw his beer in his face, and walked out. 

Eloise, it was the worse date I've ever had.😞

The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.

ElBear: OH. MY. GOD.‼️‼️‼️‼️

Pen!!!! When I find this man, I am going to skin him alive. Slowly. And I am not speaking in metaphors.🔪🗡️☠️🪦

I can't even SEE STRAIGHT I am so mad for you!!🤬🤬🤬🤬

"Ogre Fiona?"???? Does he think he's Prince Charming?? From what you've described, he's more like a cursed footman who got turned into a fungus.🤢

Penelope actually laughed, a full belly laugh, startled by the sound that burst from her unexpectedly. Eloise always had a way of doing that. Even when the world felt bleak. 

Then another message came through. 

ElBear: The ONLY thing he got right was your tits babes, and you already know they are amazing,  but you are so much more than that, and anyone worth their salt would see it immediately.🫂

Penelope tried blinking back the tears that had found their way back into the corner of her eyes. Her throat tightened again, but this time from something warmer. 

PenSunshine: Thank you, she typed. I needed to hear that.🫂

Also...I threw the beer because....he grabbed my arm. When I tried to leave. Demanded I pay for half the meal.😕

Eloise's reply came with fire and fury:

ElBear: WHAT!?🤬🤬

He put his HANDS on you???⚰️🤬🔪

Oh, I'm going full Bridgerton-Mafia on this asshole!! The more I hear about this wanker, the more I wonder just how strong my families connection is in society, because I might need them to keep me from going to jail. Lol😤👮🪦

......I mean, unless you wouldn't be mad. Because I would happily go. I am serious though, I need to round up some pitch forks and hunt this asshole down. What kind of MAN thinks he can grab a woman like that? That isn't a man, it is a BOY. FUCK HIM PEN!! Did he leave a mark? He better not have. He doesn't know what kind of fury he unleashed!!🗡️🪦‼️🤬🔪

Penelope gave small grin and wiped the tears as they fell on her cheeks. 

PenSunshine: You're ridiculous, you know that right?! But I LOVE you for it.🥹🥹🥹 No he didn't leave a mark..well not one you can see anyway. I was really shaken up by the ordeal, but our waiter was really kind, and he came to my side and demanded he release me, he also kicked him out. Forever. Serves him right. Ugh, I was so embarrassed, so many people watched it go down.😣😣

But seriously, El, thank you so much for having my back, for wanting to ride at dawn for me. I feel awful, but not so alone now. Thank you for always fighting for me, even when I don't have the strength to do it for myself.💋🫂🫂🫂🫂

I'd be lost without you.❤️❤️💛💛

Another message from Eloise had popped up when Penelope was typing her latest message, she always had perfect timing.

ElBear: Okay, I know you're deep in the trenches right now, but this might actually cheer you up.😘  Have you heard the new Reneé Rapp, "Leave Me Alone"? First of all, it basically sums up your entire night, but there's this one line: "I line my lips just to match my nipple." I mean...iconic. 🙌🏼

Didn't we just talk last week about you wanting new lip colors? Now you have your method to find your perfect shade.💄 Science, art, and pop feminism all in one.

Penelope let out a surprised giggle, covering her mouth as it escaped. Of course Eloise would come in swinging with something so delightfully off-the-wall to break up the tension. She had a gift for finding levity in wreckage, and somehow, it worked. 

Penelope shook her head, amused, and typed back without thinking twice. 

PenSunshine: Actually, yes! I read an article a few years ago about how the perfect lipstick shade is the same as your nipple color. I never paid much attention to it at the time, but if our girl Reneé is saying it now, it must be legit. 👏🏻👏🏻💋

And honestly....I do need new lip stuff. 

Penelope set her phone down for a moment, pulling off her sweater so she could get a good look at her nipples. Not that she was going out to make a purchase this instant, but she was very curious all of a sudden.

PenSunshine: Looking at my nipples now, and I think the shade would actually be pretty cute.🫦🍈🍈🤌🏻

She hit send with a smirk, fully expecting Eloise to send back some wild emoji reaction or suggest a lipstick shopping trip immediately for her dear friend, Pen.

What Penelope didn't notice, yet again, for the second time that night, was that she hadn't switched back to Eloise's chat. 

No, her phone still sat open on her previous message thread. The one with Colin. 

And the message?

Went to him.

But Penelope had no idea

                                             ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

Colin had been lying back down, staring at the ceiling, replaying Penelope's private message in his mind over and over. His heart was beating faster than it had any business doing.

—PenSunshine: That meant more than you probably know. Thank you for being kind. You always are.💛💛💛

He hadn't responded yet. He was still trying to decide how or if he should at all. Whether it was better to keep it casual or admit that it had struck something deeper in him than he expected. What was that feeling? But before he could draft a reply, another message popped up.

From Penelope. 

Again.

He hesitated, thumb hovering just above the screen, unsure what to expect this time.

And then he read it. His eyes widen as he stared at the words flooding his screen:

—PenSunshine: Actually, yes! I read an article a few years ago about how the perfect lipstick shade is the same as your nipple color. I never paid much attention to it at the time, but if our girl Reneé is saying it now, it must be legit.👏🏻👏🏻💋

And honestly...I do need new lip stuff. 

Looking at my nipples now, and I think the shade would actually be pretty cute.🫦🍈🍈🤌🏻

Colin blinked.

Then blinked again. 

Sat up straighter, phone clutched in his hand like it might whisper something more if he just stared hard enough. 

He read it again, slower this time, his eyes tracing every word like they might slip away.

Looking at them now. 

Her nipples.

She was looking at them now?

His lips parted, a quiet breath escaping as heat punched low and deep in his stomach. His brain short-circuited. All attempts at logical thought-gone.

Because suddenly he could see it.

Penelope. Curled up on the couch in one of those damn oversized sweaters she wore like a second skin, the hem riding up her thighs, her hand brushing beneath the fabric, grazing the curve of her breast. 

Her fingers ghosting over soft skin, warm, and flushed. Checking the color.

Biting her lip as she tilted her head, curious. 

Unbothered.

Unknowing.

Or was she?

He dropped his phone like it had scorched him, running a shaky hand through his hair as something tight and electric coiled inside him. 

"Bloody hell," he whispered, voice hoarse. 

This was so not what he expected tonight. And definitely not what he should be thinking about. But the image was there now. Seared into his mind. Her smooth peaches and cream skin, her mouth, the sound she might make if...

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Stop. She is your friend. Your best friend.

Your sweet, smart, breathtakingly beautiful best friend who clearly...

Was playing with fire. 

And he? He was burning for her. Officially set a blaze by the pure beauty of Penelope Featherington. 

He locked the phone, set it facedown, and turned off the light, he needed to sleep.

But sleep?

Sleep was a lost cause.

Because now, no matter how hard he tried...

He couldn't stop imagining what shade she would be. And whether he'd ever get the chance to taste it.

He didn't mean to look again. 

But five minutes later, the screen was glowing against the dark, his thumb hovering, like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff, too close, too tempted, and too damn far gone to step back now.

Christ.

He imagined her saying it out loud. Looking at them now. Low, Playful. Her voice dropping just slightly on them like she knew exactly what she was doing.

And maybe she did. Maybe this wasn't a mistake. Maybe she wanted him to think about it, about her.

And if she did...?

Well, then he was already halfway gone. 

Stretching back against his yellow sheets and pillows, hand slipping beneath the covers, slow and deliberate. His chest rose, breath catching, as he let the image sharpen as he took himself in hand. He was already hard as a rock and starting to leak pre-cum at the tip.

He imagined Penelope sitting on the couch, looking like Aphrodite reincarnated. Sweater hitched up just enough to revel her bare thighs. No bra, just her knickers. Pillow soft curves and flushed pink skin, her nipples peaked under the knit fabric. She slowly lifts the hem up and over her head, nipples hardening against the cool air., causing her to shiver for a moment. Fingers grazing the swell of her breasts; large, full, and heavy. God, he wondered if they would spill out around his hands when he held them. She would lift one and check the color. A smile tugging at her lips. Not innocent, never innocent, but curious, teasing. 

What would they look like?

Would they match something rosy and warm? Something that would leave a perfect stain around his mouth if he kissed her there, really kissed her there?

His hand moving up and down his shaft, slowly at first, heat building. His hips shifted under the weight of it, a groan caught in his throat, as he rutted into his hand. She'd tilt her head. Look right at him. Baring her skin and daring him to look. 

And fuck, he would look.

He'd drop to his knees in front of her, grip her thighs and spread her open. Let his mouth follow every flushed path of skin, every place her fingers had lingered. He would worship her like the goddess she was. She was his Church, and he was her Sin.

She wouldn't say a word. Just watch.

Breathing heavy. Cheeks flushed. That knowing little smile tugging at her lips.

And when he finally held her in his arms, when he tasted that soft pink skin, swirl his tongue over her nipples, giving tantalizing bites, not hard, just enough to send bolts of electricity through her.....

He'd know exactly what shade they were. And it'd be his new favorite.

                                            ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

Penelope sat curled on the couch, wrapped in her blanket like a cocoon, still staring at her phone screen. She'd been waiting for Eloise's usual witty comeback, the kind that made her snort her tea out of her nose or shake her head in disbelief, but nothing had come yet.

It was late. Eloise had probably dozed off mid-text, phone in hand surrounded by half-read books, and a mug of cold chamomile.

Smiling softly at the thought, Penelope typed her final message to Eloise of the night.

PenSunshine: Thank you for making me laugh tonight and getting my mind off everything, even if just for a few minutes. 🥹💛 You're pretty magical like that. Thanks again for being the best. I love you. Sleep well, and I'll call you soon.🫂

She hit send and was about to put her phone down when...

Ping.

An immediate response. 

Penelope blinked. That was fast. She hadn't heard anything in a few minutes, so the reply caught her off guard. She opened the message:

ElBear: I love you so much, babes.💜💜💜 I'll always be here to make sure you know how amazing you are, and that any man would be lucky to have you in their life. You deserve only the best. I am sending you the biggest bear hug virtually.  You are everything good in this world Penelope Featherington; don't ever let anyone make you forget it, especially NEVER let YOU forget it!!👏🏻👏🏻 Good night babes, can't wait to chat soon. 🫂

Penelope smiled. The words wrapped around her like a hug. 

                                       ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

Colin was feeling slightly guilty as he came to the thought of his best friend, but wasn't regretting it either. It was the best orgasm he has had in well, he can't remember the last time he came so hard. It was like an out of body experience in the best way possible. After cleaning himself up, and settling back into bed, he picked up his phone one last time. He stared for a long moment, still thinking about the messages Penelope had accidentally sent him. And the fact she didn't even know about the last one. He wasn't going to tell her for he didn't want to embarrass her, or make her feel bad. She already had enough of that tonight.

Part of him wanted to still reach out to her though and check in, make sure she was really okay. Another part didn't know what to say without risking something....what, he wasn't entirely sure, nor was he in the right mind to find out either. 

But then he remembered something far simpler, something solid. Their coffee date ritual. Well, it was simple before...but, after tonight, what he did, he wasn't sure how he could possibly face her so soon. 

Get it together Bridgerton, this isn't about you, it's about Pen. You can do this.

Ever since he started traveling a few years ago, Penelope had suggested they make time for each other when he was home. Just the two of them. Since he was her other best friend, it was already hard enough to get her alone without Eloise around; let alone the rest of his family, who were constantly spending time with her whenever she was over, as they should be. But, they needed to have time with just the two of them. So the pact was made. Coffee date every time he was home, mostly on Saturday's but sometime other days, it became sacred. Rain or shine, busy or exhausted, they'd never missed one. Even if it was just fifteen minutes on a park bench with takeaway cups and yawns. 

So he sent the message, simple and gentle.

ColBeeBlue: Hey, are we still on for our coffee ☕️ date tomorrow? I know you had a rough night, and it's totally okay if you want to back out...but I'd really love to see you. Might make you feel a little better, yeah?💙

Penelope let out a long yawn and stretched her limbs. The heaviness of the day hit her body all of a sudden. Getting up from the couch, she folded the blanket, and grabbed her phone to head to bed. Before she left the living room though, her phone buzzed. She saw the message might up her screen and smiled. God, this sweet, sweet man. 

She had every reason to cancel. She was exhausted, emotionally raw and physically drained. She knew she'd sleep terribly, probably wake up with puffy eyes and a pounding head, and spend the morning wanting to hide under her duvet. 

But she had never missed a coffee date. And she wasn't going to start now.

PenSunshine: I wouldn't dream of missing it. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.☕️ But fair warning: I'm not putting in an ounce of effort to look cute. Pretty sure I'll be rocking full raccoon🦝 eyes and a hangover. If you don't mind sharing coffee with a gremlin, I'll be there. Good night, Colin.💛

Colin chuckled softly to himself as the message came through. She could show up in a paper bag, hair unbrushed, and pajamas inside out, and she'd still knock the wind out of him. He started typing, thumbs moving with instinctive ease.

ColBeeBlue: Even if you show up a mess tomorrow...you're my mess.🐝🦋 You always look gorgeous, Pen. No matter what. Please take some meds and drink water before bed, yeah? Don't make me bring you my hangover cure, it tastes like regret and old socks. Sleep well. Good night, Pen.💙

He stared at the message for a second before hitting send. Then leaned back against his pillows with a quiet sigh. Their coffee dates might've started as just tradition. But lately...it was the only part of his week that felt like home.

Penelope let out a long, hard breath that she didn't realize she had been holding in. Her day was one hell of a roller coaster; so many emotions in 24hrs, honestly surprised she is still functioning at the moment. Stopping into the kitchen, she reached into the cupboard to grab the pain killers to take, per Colin's request, and finished her glass of water. 

She still felt slightly hollow and heavy and humiliated, after the dinner this evening. Even after having a nice talk with the two people in her life she loved more than anything in the world. But, beneath it all, there was something else. Something small. Something solid. 

A kind of pride. 

Because she hadn't stayed. 

She hadn't laughed it off or forced a smile.

She had walked away.

Padding back to the bedroom, she flicked off the light, and crawled under her blankets, finally putting her phone down on the nightstand. A soft smile lingering on her lips. Despite the disaster of the evening, the ache in her chest had eased. Tomorrow, she'd see Colin. Their little ritual, constant and comforting, and suddenly felt more important than ever. As she curled beneath her duvet, the thought of his smile, his laugh, the way he always made room for her in his world, made her heart feel a little lighter. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day. With that thought tucked close, she closed her eyes and let sleep find her. 

Chapter Text

Penelope winced as the first threads of sunlight crept through her curtains, warm against her face like an unwelcome reminder that morning had come. She rolled over with a tired sigh and grabbed her phone—6:02a.m. Fantastic. She'd barely managed three hours of sleep, and none of that had been restful. 

She'd known last night would linger long past midnight. What she hadn't expected was the way her body would betray her-jerking her awake, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. The flashbacks had come without warning and though they were rooted in the past, they felt terrifyingly present. 

Fife grabbing her arm at the lounge hadn't hurt her physically. Not really. But the way his fingers closed around her, the tone in his voice, the way the room seemed to shrink-was too familiar. Too close to a memory she'd spent nearly two years trying to unlearn. Although looking down at her arm now, she noticed a small bruise forming where he had grabbed her. Fuck. 

She shook her head in frustration blinking back tears, it was way too early to be crying again. With a heavy sigh she pushed herself up and sat on the edge of her bed staring blankly ahead, lost in thought. 

She'd worked through so much with Rae, her therapist. They'd gone over the patterns, the trauma responses, the scars that still lived under her skin. And she had been doing better. Stronger. But Rae had always told her: healing isn't linear. One moment, one echo from the past could be enough to knock the wind out of her all over again. 

And God, she hated that Alfred still had that power. That he was still managing to haunt her, even now. 

Six months. That's all it was. But six months was long enough to unravel her sense of self. Long enough for her to lose her light. She had faded from her friends, made excuses to miss the Bridgerton Brunches, started wearing long sleeves even in the summer when the bruises were too hard to cover up. Colin had been away during most of it, off in Greece on a long travel assignment. She'd told herself that was a blessing. She could't bear the idea of him seeing her like that.

Eloise had tried, of course; texting, calling, pushing her in the way only Eloise could, but Penelope kept the truth locked up tight. It had been easier to pretend than admit what she was going through. What she was allowing to happen. 

Because she had stayed. 

She hated the shame, the way it twisted inside her when she admitted, even now, that she had stayed. That she didn't leave after the first slap. Even after the second. But he always apologized afterward, didn't he? Brought her flowers, sometimes even her favorite peonies, but usually just whatever they had on sale at the store. A new book sometimes. Promised he loved her. Said she just had to stop doing the things that "made him mad."

But love shouldn't leave bruises. 

Love shouldn't leave you afraid to raise your voice or meet someone's eyes. 

It had taken one last, vicious night—a cut lip, a fractured wrist, and a bruised tailbone for her to finally walk away. And she had walked away. That was the part she clung to.

Nearly two years later, she was proud of the woman she'd become. She went to therapy. Poured her soul into her writing and finished her manuscript. She was going to be a published author, for crying out loud. She'd fought hard to reclaim her life. 

Which is exactly why last night shook her so deeply.

The moment Fife grabbed her arm, her body reacted before she could stop it. She hadn't thought- just thew the beer, saw red, and then panic set in. She told herself that he probably wouldn't have hit her. But her mind didn't believe it. Her body definitely didn't. 

And so once her arm was let go, she ran.

Because if she didn't, if she stayed frozen there even a second longer-

She didn't know what might've happened next. 

And she wasn't willing to find out.

                                                       ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

Penelope swung her legs back and forth on the bed for a moment before pushing herself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, the weight of the night still clinging to her like a fog. She twisted her hair up into a messy bun, there was no way she had the energy to do her usual hair routine this morning; reached through her curtain and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up. A nice little body shower would do just fine this morning, after all, Colin wouldn't mind her not looking put together. She even warned him last night she would be more of raccoon status than anything else.

As she peeled off her clothes, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked wrecked.

Tired eyes, puffy lids, the faint streaks of dried tears still carved into her cheeks. Her skin looked dull, almost fragile, like it was carrying the echos of last night on its surface. She sighed, shoulders sinking under the familiar weight of disappointment. She had worked so hard.

Years of rebuilding. Therapy. Self-love. Learning to be louder than the voice in her head that tried to convince her she wasn't enough. 

And yet, all it took was one blind date with an arrogant, misogynistic idiot for that voice to sneak back in-whispering that maybe she was stupid for saying yes. That she should've known better. That this mess was, in some twisted way, her fault. 

It was a voice she recognized. 

Her own. 

But also...her mother's.

Portia had said as much after she finally broke up Alfred. When Penelope, bruised and broken, fresh from getting out of the hospital from the final fight, finally admitted the truth to her mother, she expected to be taken into a warm embrace. Of course it wouldn't be all sunshine and perfection, but she assumed a motherly love would envelope her, and be the comfort she so desperately needed in that moment, after everything. What she didn't expect was the absolute cold shoulder and damn near robotic response from Portia. 

"Well, what did you expect, Penelope?" Portia had said, barely looking up. "You stayed after he hit you the first time. You knew who he was. I thought I raised you to have more sense than that."

That had stung more than the fracture on her wrist. 

Portia, with her biting tongue and cold perfection.

She hadn't taught Penelope how to love or be loved. No, those lessons came from Violet Bridgerton, from novels tucked under her pillow, from watching her friends start families, raising their children with tenderness and truth. Portia had only taught her how to hide. How to stay silent. How to starve herself for acceptance and never cry where anyone could see.

She didn't even realize she was crying again until her reflection blurred in the mirror. Her hand flew up, wiping quickly at her cheeks.

Enough.

She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water hit her skin. Maybe it wouldn't fix everything. Maybe it wouldn't silence the voice completely. But it was a start.

She stood beneath the warm cascade of the shower, letting the water soak into her skin, easing the tension in her shoulders. The thought of seeing Colin for their coffee date stirred something inside her, a slow, aching warmth that spread through her chest and curled lower. She'd missed him more than she'd let herself admit, and the idea of feeling his arms wrapped around her again, especially after how last night had wrecked her, felt like salvation.

She closed her eyes, turning to let the stream hit her back, the steady pressure working into her muscles, loosening the tightness that had settled deep. She reached for her Dove soap bar first, lathering her body in soft, familiar suds. Then grabbed her favorite body wash and loofah, the scent was intoxicating  with vanilla and cinnamon; she started circling over her chest, curves, and legs until her body glowed. Suddenly, she felt her breath hitch. 

It shouldn't have turned her on, she'd been crying not long ago, for fuck's sake—but the anticipation of seeing Colin had her butterflies going wild. She'd gotten good at hiding her feelings over the years, reining in her excitement whenever he was near. But now, knowing she'd soon be wrapped in his warmth, hearing his voice, getting that long over-due embrace...it lit a fire in her.

And gods, she was horny.

It always happened before seeing him, this simmering need she couldn't explain. She liked to take the edge off beforehand, give herself one good orgasm to stay grounded. It usually helped. Usually.

She imagined his face—those manly features framed by dark chestnut waves, the way he smiled without even trying. Her mind wandered lower, to that perfect tan chest, broad and sculpted, with abs like carved marble. She remembered glimpses of him in tank tops during those lazy summers at Aubrey Hall, chest hair just peeking out-teasing her, tempting her. She wondered how it would feel under her fingers. Would it be soft like the hair on his head? Not that she'd ever touched it, but oh, how she wanted to.

She bit her lip, her hand drifting higher to cup one breast, squeezing, teasing her nipple until it was stiff and aching. Her other hand trailed downward, slow and deliberate, across her quivering belly and lower...until her fingers found that sweet, throbbing spot between her thighs. 

"Mmm, Colin..." she moaned, head dropping back against the tile. Her touch was light at first, slow circles over her clit, building the pressure until she was panting through parted lips. She slipped one finger inside, tight and slick already. Then another. Her knees nearly buckled.

"Fuck, yes...just like that baby," she gasped, fucking herself harder, faster, pretending it was his fingers buried inside her. Thick and perfect, working her just the way she liked. Her body bucked against the rhythm, chasing the edge like she was starving for it. "Your fingers feel so good in my pussy, stuffing me nice and full."

She could see him so clearly in her mind-his mouth on hers, his hands all over her, that rough chest against her nipples, his cock grinding between her thighs as he growled her name into her neck.

With a sharp cry, she came hard, back arching off the tile, hand clutching at the wall to keep from sliding down. The pleasure hit her like a wave, moaning his name so loud it echoed in the bathroom. Her thighs trembled, pussy pulsing around her fingers as she rode it out, shivering under the heat of the water and the afterglow of her release. 

For a moment, she just stood there, body buzzing, bottom lip slightly swollen, heart thudding, waiting for her body to float back down to reality. 

Once her legs stopped trembling and her breath came easier, Penelope let the water rinse the last traces of soap and sweat from her skin. Her muscles felt loose, her body humming in that satisfied, spent way only a truly toe-curling orgasm could give. She cleaned her face, twice always, then stepped out of the shower, water dripping down her curves as she reached for a towel. 

                                                      ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

She moved through her morning routine slower than usual, the afterglow still clinging to her skin like a secret. Taking her vitamins and birth control, brushing her teeth, massaging her serums and moisturizer into her face, each little act grounded her, but the heat simmering under her skin hadn't fully left. 

Back in her room, she grabbed her phone and opened Spotify, letting her favorite playlist shuffle to life. She didn't understand how anyone could get ready in silence, music was a must, or at the very least, background noise. Even though she wasn't putting effort into getting fully ready today, she was still going in public after all, she wanted to be presentable at least. The rhythm of the music was lifting her mood higher than it started when she got up. Not that it needed much help after the orgasm that had just rocked her world. There was nothing quite like that kind of high. 

She slipped into a matching black bra and panties, still warm from the dryer. The fabric hugged her skin like a lover's touch. Next came her favorite pair of cut-off jean shorts and a soft, fitted lilac tank top that clung to her chest just enough. Just a flick of mascara, enough to look alive without over thinking it. She wasn't trying to impress, right? .....Right.

Her eyes flicked to the small bruise on her arm, blue and purplish against her skin. She sighed. She didn't have the energy to cover it with makeup, and she definitely didn't want to explain it. That conversation could stay buried. 

Instead, she opened her drawer and dug around until her fingers brushed against soft cotton. She pulled it out and smiled.

His hoodie.

Colin hadn't exactly given it to her-he'd left it behind after a movie night almost a year ago. She just....kept it. Forgotten to mention it. And he'd never asked for it back, either. Maybe he knew. Maybe he liked the idea of her wearing it? Probably not, but she could imagine because she sure as hell did.

It was her favorite for a reason. Oversized, lived-in, smelling faintly of his cologne—cedar wood and musk amber, and something undeniably him. She slipped on the giant hoodie of his six foot and one inch tall frame, the entire thing instantly swallowing her hands and body; but it was like he was wrapping himself around her. Warm, safe, comforting, and also entirely maddening. Because she wanted to the real thing. She wanted his arms, his mouth, his everything. But, she could never have that, so settling for his hoodie would have to do.

She caught her reflection in the mirror and tilted her head. "Well, this is as good as it's gonna get," she muttered, half-laughing at herself. 

It was 8:30a.m.—Just enough time to walk to the coffee shop and meet him at 9:00a.m. She needed the air. Needed to move before she started overthinking every little detail. She slipped on her sneakers, grabbed her purse and phone, and stepped out the door, heart thudding just a little harder than it should. 

Because Colin was going to be there. And she had no idea how she'd keep it cool after everything she had just done in that shower with nothing but his name on her lips. 

                                                      ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

The morning air hit her like a soft kiss, cool against her flushed skin, the breeze slipping under the hem of her shorts and teasing her thighs. Penelope wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, happy that she had grabbed his hoodie after all. Her mind was swirling with a roller coaster of emotions from the last 24hrs, trying to compartmentalize them into their own categories for her to unpack and deal with when she had time; but they kept bleeding into one another. It was frustrating to be honest, because she prided herself on being able to wear different faces for situations. One of them being able to put away her horny thoughts of her best friend's brother at the far end under lock and key. Colin's name however, still hummed inside her like a secret melody, replaying the way her fingers had moved between her legs. 

Dear God, Featherington, get it together woman!

The streets weren't busy yet. Just the usual early risers: dog walkers, joggers, commuters nursing takeout cups, other's waiting for their buses to arrive. By the time she turned the corner and spotted the familiar awning, her heart was pounding harder than it had any right to. She paused just outside the glass door, casting her reflection. His hoodie hung off one shoulder, loose and cozy, and her nipples were slightly visible through her think tank top, thank god he wouldn't be able to see them, she hoped anyway.

She pushed the door open. The soft jingle of the bell overhead made her pulse jump. And there he was.

Colin.

Sitting in the corner booth, legs stretched out in worn jeans, white T-shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. The bastard had no right looking this good first thing in the morning. He didn't even have to try, just effortlessly charming and handsome from the crack of dawn. Unfair. One arm draped lazily over the back of the bench, the other tapping the table softly. She wondered how long he had been waiting already. His head lifted, and when his eyes met hers, he smiled.

"Hey," he said, rising to his feet. 

"Hey yourself." Her voice came out low, soft, and maybe just a little breathless. 

He stepped towards her, arms opening for a hug, and she went straight into them—melting into his chest, pressing her face against his chest, but not too much of course. His scent hit her instantly, warm and familiar, laced with coffee and soap he used that made her want to lick his skin.

"I see you're still holding my hoodie hostage," he murmured into her hair, one arm tightening around her waist. 

She laughed softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Finders keepers."

"You always were a little thief."

His hand slid down her back, just a little lower than friendly, just enough to make her thighs clench. But that was just Colin. Just friendly, over touchy, beautiful fucking Colin, and she loved it.

"Well," Colin said, flashing her that crooked smile that always made her stomach flutter, "shall we get our coffee and first breakfast?" He offered his arm toward the line like a true gentleman. 

"Yes, please," Penelope replied, her voice laced with teasing hunger. "The coffee smells so good this morning, it's calling my name."

Colin chuckled, his eyes dancing. Of course he laughed. He loved food with a passion that rivaled anything else in his life. If the world ever forgot he was a globe-trotter or loved writing, they'd still remember one thing: Colin Bridgerton could eat. And suddenly, Penelope found herself thinking about just how he might devour something a little more intimate than breakfast.

She clenched her thighs together subtly as they moved up the line. She'd heard stories—hell, read stories, about what it could feel like when a man truly went down on you. Explosions behind the eyes. Stars. Toe curling. The kind of pleasure that made women see the pearly gates of heaven before their legs stopped shaking. 

But that wasn't her story.

Alfred had ruined that for her. The one and only guy she had ever tried it with. He simply stated that he "didn't really enjoy it." He treated it like an obligation; sloppy, half-hearted, more interested in avoiding the mess than giving her pleasure. He complained how it got all over his beard and kept stopping to wipe his face off, said he would rather just fuck her with his fingers than his mouth. It was still early into the relationship, before the first hit, assumed it must be normal for most men. He licked like he was trying to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, never actually hitting her clit, and then promptly gave up halfway through. After everything that had happened, any sex with him after that just felt mechanical, at times forced, bruising, forgettable. 

She wondered, almost wickedly, what Colin's tongue would feel like instead. Where the fuck did that come from? She hadn't brought it up to the few sexual encounters she had after Alfred, but she is thinking of it now? Something told her it wouldn't be anything like Alfred's. Colin loved flavor, texture, the sensuality of food. He savored things. What would it be like to be savored by him?

"Pen. Did you hear what I said?"

She blinked, snapping out of the memory, and found Colin watching her with a gentle curiosity. Damn. She hadn't even realized they were already at the front of the line. 

"I....sorry. No, I didn't catch that."

"I asked if you wanted a croissant and strawberry jam with your vanilla and brown sugar latte," he said, brow raised. "I'm ordering for us now."

"Oh. Yes, please," she said, cheeks flushing. She hated that her voice came out small. Embarrassment curled in her belly. She was suppose to be enjoying this moment, present with him, not lost in bitter flashbacks and dirty fantasies.

Colin placed the order, adding a ham and Swiss sandwich for himself, in addition to his own croissant with jam and Americano; and led her towards their favorite booth, the one tucked away under the stained-glass window that bathed everything in soft jewel tones.

"You doing okay?" he asked as they slide into the booth. "You seem a little....off this morning."

"Yeah," she said, forcing a smile. "I just didn't sleep well." Not a lie but not the whole truth. "I'm okay though. Thank you."

She could see the doubt in his eyes the way he almost pressed further, but he let it go. For now.

Their coffees and food were ready, and they settled in. The comfort of the booth, the familiarity between them, it all softened her. Grounded her. 

"Thanks for getting our order this morning. How much do I owe you?" she asked, slipping into their usual rhythm.

"Pen," he said, leaning back with a knowing smirk, "it's on me. Always is. We've had this conversation every coffee date."

She giggled, relaxing fully for the first time. "I know. I just figured one day you might slip up and let me pay you back. Or be the one who pays in general."

"Never, Featherington. Not a chance. He said, lifting his coffee to his lips. "You'll just have to accept the fact that I like treating you."

She blew gently on her latte before taking a sip, her eyes meeting his over the rim of her cup. The warmth slid down her throat, easing the last of her tension.

"It's delicious," she said softly. "Just what I needed."

They dug into their breakfast, slowly, savoring the moment. Outside, the world moved on, unaware. But in that booth, beneath colored light and unspoken thoughts, something was simmering under the surface, slow and burning. 

The sunlight poured through the cafe's stained glass window behind Penelope, scattering crimson and gold across her skin like something holy. It wrapped around her shoulders, kissed her cheeks; lit up the loose tendrils of hair that had slipped from her messy bun, around her cheeks and the nape of her neck. Even undone like this —especially undone— she looked like sin wrapped in autumn sunlight.

Colin stared, dazed. He'd always known she was beautiful. Always felt that quiet ache when she laughed too loudly or brushed his arm without thinking. But after last night, after finally giving in to the longing he'd tried so hard to suppress, seeing her now—really looking at her, felt like a punch to the chest. Penelope Featherington had ruined him. Completely, irrevocably down bad. 

"Colin," she said softly, pulling him out of his trance with her honey-smooth voice. "You're looking  at me kind of funny. Do I have something on my face?" She giggled, licking a smear of red jam off her fingertip, slow and lazy.

He nearly choked.

"N-no.." he stammered, clearing his throat and very nearly his soul. "You got it. I was just, um...admiring the glass behind you."

She turned, giving him a brief reprieve, though not really, because the curve of her neck was somehow worse. He wondered how her skin would feel against his lips: soft, warm, maybe trembling just a little under the heat of his mouth. 

"It is beautiful," she said. "Looks like something out of Beauty and the Beast...just magical."

"Yeah," he muttered. "But not half as beautiful as you."

The words slipped out before he could catch them. Her head turned slowly, her lips parted slightly, and her cheeks flushed a deeper red than the jam still lingering on her plate. She looked down at her coffee cup like it held all the answers in the world. She lifted it towards her lips without saying a word. 

Colin downed his own coffee, then his entire glass of water in a desperate bid to cool himself himself off; or maybe pray the floor would open up and swallow him before he said something even worse. A bead of sweat slid down his temple as he fought to pull himself together, pulse pounding so hard he swore Penelope—and hell, maybe everyone in the cafe, could hear it. When he finally dared to look back at her, it felt like dragging his gaze over fire.

Penelope, the ever sweet and kind soul she was, simply watched him carefully. She tried masking her reaction, even as his words sparked a pulse of heat low in her belly. Quickly crossing her legs, trying to discreetly shift in the booth as her pussy instantly pulsed around nothing. 

Fuck, get it together Featherington. 

Setting her cup down, eyes dancing as she tilted her head with a small shy smile. 

"A little thirsty, are we?"

Colin nearly choked on the last gulp of his water, coughing lightly as Penelope's question hung in the air. What the hell? Did someone crank the thermostat up? Or was it just her voice, that sweet mix of curiosity and sweet warm honey, that suddenly had his collar feeling way too tight?

He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool, even as his elfin ears turned pink. "Yeah, I was, uh...just a little thirsty." Smooth. So smooth.

He could feel the heat crawling up his neck. Judging by the amused look in Penelope's eyes, he wasn't hiding it well. 

Then, for some godforsaken reason, his brain betrayed him further. 

"Are you..thirsty?" he asked, voice a little too hopeful.

Seriously? That's what you came up with? Smooth move, Bridgerton.

Penelope tilted her head, a curious little smile tugging at her lips. "Umm, not at the current moment, no...but thank you for asking." Her giggle was soft, and a bit shy, but it tugged something deep in his gut. Something far less innocent than coffee and croissants.

"Oh. Yeah. Right, right. Of course. If you were thirsty, you'd..."

"I would take a drink."

"Exactly. Okay then."

"Yeah...okay then."

They stared at each other for a moment, the silence between them thick with something charged. Their eyes danced, playful and unsure-like they were standing on the edge of something neither of them was ready to name.

"Would you tell me more about your date?" he asked at the same time she said, "How are things going with you?"

They both blinked, then burst into laughter. 

"I'm sorry," Colin chuckled. "You go first."

"No, you please."

"I insist."

"Okay," Penelope said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she softened. "I asked how are things with you?"

Colin smiled at her, soft, almost shy, as if what he was about to say wasn't monumental. 

"Things are good, I guess. But I'm planning on staying in London..for the foreseeable future," he said casually, like it wasn't the single most unexpected sentence to come out of his mouth. 

Penelope froze, eyes widening. "Wait..what? Are you serious? You're staying?"

"I am." He nodded, as if to anchor it. "That's why I got the flat when I first came back four months ago. I needed a shift...something real. And I'm finally doing it."

She just stared at him, blinking, trying to process what he'd just said. Colin—her Colin—was always on the move. He never stayed in one place longer than a few weeks, always chasing the next city the next story the next mountain top or coastline or alleyway cafe. But now...he was grounding himself.

"But...I thought you loved traveling?" she asked, voice soft, almost hesitant; like if she questioned it too hard, he might vanish again.

"I do. I always have, and always will," he said, leaning in slightly. "But it hasn't felt the same lately. It's started to feel more like I'm running than exploring. Like I'm always out there searching for something I left behind."

That hit her hard. Deep. She sat quietly, eyes on him, heart thudding in her chest. She'd dreamed of this moment a thousand different ways. But none of them compared to hearing him say the words out loud. 

"What about your blog?" she asked gently. "You've poured everything into it...I know how much it means to you."

"I'll keep it going," he said with a quiet confidence. "I can manage it from here, do shorter trips now and then. But I want a home base. I want roots, Pen."

Her heart swelled so fast it almost hurt. "Colin...that's incredible!" She reached across the table, her fingers wrapping around his, unable to stop herself. "I'm so happy for you. Truly."

Their hands met, warm, firm, lingering. The contact sent a soft jolt up her arm, and she saw something flicker in his eyes. For a moment, the air between them changed. Became....heavier. Brighter.

Then he spoke again.

"Now that I've dropped my news, I want to ask you about your date last night." His voice gentled. "I've been worried since your text, but I didn't want to push you more last night and make you more upset. Plus, it didn't feel right to ask over text."

Penelope's fingers slipped from his like quick sand, her whole body subtly retreating. She started fidgeting with her hands, eyes on her lap.

"It wasn't a big deal Col. Really," she said quietly. "Not worth talking about."

But she knew better. Knew he wouldn't let it go so easily. A Bridgerton trait, one that she loved and hated in equal measures at times. Relentless, compassion wrapped in stubborn charm. 

"Pen," he said softly, reaching out again over the table, his long arms finding her fingers to brush over. "I know it was more than just a bad date. You don't have to pretend with me. We are best friends, are we not? I'm always going to be here for you. Let me be that outlet for you. Please."

His touch was light, but his words hit her like thunder, cracking something open that she'd held shut too long. 

"I just..." she whispered. "I don't want to ruin this morning. It's the first time I've felt light in a while."

"You won't ruin anything, Pen." he said, holding her gaze. "You couldn't, even if you tried."

Penelope stared at him a moment longer, searching his eyes, gathering herself. Then she inhaled deeply-slow and sharp-and let it all out in one breathless rush, like ripping off a bandage before the pain could sting. 

"So...one of the gals I work with, Martha, set me up on a blind date with her grandson. Reginald Fife." Her voice was tight, brittle. "He was an hour late. Kept flirting with the hostess and waitstaff. Said that if he'd known I had a 'huge rack', he would've shown up sooner."

She pushed forward, faster now. "Then he said I shouldn't eat so many carbs because I am already fat. Called me Fiona-as in the ogre-because I was wearing a green dress. Said I might bust out of it if I wasn't careful."

Her eyes flickered down to the table.

"That comment was the last straw, and I got up and tried to leave. I wasn't going to allow him to keep humiliating me like that. But when I tried to leave, he grabbed my arm and yanked me back. Told me I should pay for half of the meal."

Her voice cracked, just slightly. 

"But don't worry," she added quickly, trying to mask the tremble. "I threw his beer on him. The waiter stepped in, told him to let me go. They kicked him out and banned him, I got a taxi home."

By the time she stopped talking, she was out of breath, heart pounding like it was trying to leap from her chest. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she tried to hide them in her lap, folding into herself like an armor. 

Across the table, Colin was silent.

His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. His knuckles were white where his hands rested on the table, and his eyes, usually so warm and full of laughter, were dark. Steely. Dangerous. 

He was staring at her, but it was like he was looking through her and directly at the memory of that man, Reginald Fife, filing away every horrible word, every cruel comment, and locking it inside a part of himself that was ready to burn. 

He blinked, finally, and let out a slow, controlled breath. But his voice, when it came out, was rough around the edges. 

"Penelope...Jesus Christ."

She gave a weak shrug, eyes downcast. "It wasn't a big deal. I'm fine."

"No!" He voice was low, but fierce. "It is a big deal. That is—God, that's fucking awful, Pen! That fucking wanker said all of that to you?"

She nodded, barely. 

Colin leaned forward, elbows on the table now, his face fully crimson, like he was grounding himself just to stay seated. Like the only thing keeping him from storming out to find Reginald Fife, to give him that ass beating of a lifetime, was the fact that she needed him here. 

"I should've been there," he said quietly. "I should've shown up the moment that man put his hands on you! We need to find out where he lives, Pen. He needs to fucking pay for how he treated you. I can't even fucking see straight right now. That bastard deserves to be six feet under, do you hear me? No woman deserves that kind of treatment. But especially you, Pen." His breaths were coming out hot and shallow, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"Colin," Penelope said gently. "You didn't need to be there, it was just a blind date. No one could have imagined it would turn out the way it did. And Eloise is already ready to ride at dawn for me, but I had to stop her too. There is nothing you two can do for me now, it's over. I just didn't think-" She stopped herself. Bit her lip. Swallowed the hurt. 

But Colin saw it. Every inch of it. The way she curled in on herself. The way her shoulders dropped like she was used to shrinking down, making herself smaller so men didn't throw words like ogre at her. 

He wanted to break something. Preferably Reginald's smug, fucking useless face.

"You didn't deserve any of that," he said, voice shaking now with everything he was holding back. "None of it. You hear me?"

She looked up, finally, and met his eyes. 

Penelope nodded slowly, rolling up her sleeves as she reached for her coffee. The ceramic mug felt grounding in her hands, and she took a long sip, letting the warmth coat her throat, trying to lose herself in that comfort for just a moment.

But then his voice cut straight through her like a blade.

"Penelope," Colin said sharply. "What the hell is that on your arm?"

Her body froze, mug halfway to her lips.

Fuck.

She'd forgotten about the bruise. The deep purple/blueish shadow blooming on her forearm was now completely visible. Why the hell had she rolled her sleeves up?

"Oh...it's just a bruise," she said casually. "It's fine."

"Did that asshole Fife do that when he grabbed you?" His voice was low and tight, rage simmering just beneath the surface. 

Penelope gave a weak smile, trying to retreat into herself. But there was nowhere to go, not in this booth, not from him. So instead, she lifted the mug again like it was a shield and said, as breezily as she could, "Ummm...yeah. But like I said-it's fine. I've had worse."

The words slipped out before she could stop them. 

And as soon as they did, she realized her mistake. 

Colin sat completely still. His silence was more terrifying than anything else.

She clung to the hope, pray he didn't hear it, just keep drinking, act normal, don't breath, maybe he'll let it go...

But his voice came again, softer now, but lethal. 

"I'm sorry—what was that?"

She didn't look up.

"You said...you've had worse than this?"

Her heart pounded against her ribs. She didn't answer.

"What the fuck, Penelope." His voice broke, cracked open with disbelief. "What do you mean, 'worse'? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, still not meeting his eyes. "Forget I said anything. Let's just, get back to our date, okay?"

"No. No. Pen." he snapped, leaning forward. "You're going to tell me, right now. Did someone hurt you?"

His voice wasn't just angry. It was devastated. 

She could feel his eyes boring into her, full of fury, but even more full of worry. And she knew, there was no getting out of this. No lie or redirection would work. She'd said too much. She'd cracked open Pandora's box, and now she had to open it all the way.

Her fingers found the hem of her sleeves, pulling them back down as she stared at them like they could save her from having to look into his eyes. 

Then, the tears came, quiet and unrelenting.

She finally looked up, and what she saw behind Colin's fire undid her: pain. No just for her but with her.

And that broke her.

She took a deep breath, voice trembling. "It happened about two years ago. I've never told anyone. Not really. Just my therapist..."

She paused, eyes closing for a moment. 

And then, slowly, achingly, she told him everything. 

Thirty minutes of truth poured out like blood from an old wound. The emotional abuse, the physical bruises, the way Alfred chipped away at her until she couldn't recognize herself. She told him about the fear, the guilt, the way she convinced herself it wasn't that bad-until it was. She told him how long it took to leave. What finally pushed her over the edge. And the worse part, her mother's reaction. The disbelief. The blame that came from Portia. 

By the time she finished, her voice was raw, her hands shaking. She couldn't even look at Colin anymore. 

But she didn't have to.

Because he was no longer across from her.

He'd moved beside her at some point, and now, without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. 

She broke in his arms, sobbing silently against him, and he held her tighter. His own tears fell quietly into her hair as he kissed her crown, over and over. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so fucking sorry, Pen. You are such a good person, with a beautiful heart and mind. Gods, you didn't deserve any of that. I wish I was there to stop him and protect you, I should have been there. Please forgive me for not being there to shield you from that pain and hurt," he said softly as he rocked them back and forth.

She didn't speak at first. She just clung to him; grateful, aching, and safe. 

For the first time in a long time, she felt like she wasn't carrying this weight and guilt alone anymore. She felt like she could really breathe.

Penelope leaned back slightly in Colin's embrace, her eyes searching his face. Her hand found his chest as she steadied herself, and she whispered. "Please don't blame yourself for any of it, Col. You didn't know. I didn't tell anyone. You couldn't have known."

Colin's jaw flexed, his brow furrowed in pain. "Still...just knowing you went through all of that...alone...I hate that I wasn't there. That I didn't see it."

She reached up and touched his cheek gently. "I love you for saying that. For wanting to be there. But I'm okay now. I survived it. It's in the past."

She gave a small, watery sniff, then grimaced as she realized her face was a mess. "Oh God," she groaned, wiping under her eyes. "I've got mascara and snot all over you. I'm so sorry."

Colin let out a soft chuckle and reached up with his thumb to gently wipe her cheek. "As I've said before, Featherington...you're my mess."

That crooked grin pulled at his lips, but there was something else in his eyes now, something heavier, something electric. Something that made her breath catch.

She smiled back at him, her heart full, and cupped his face in both hands. Then she leaned forward and pressed a linger kiss to his cheek, right near the corner of his mouth. 

When she pulled back, neither of them moved. Sparks danced silently between them, their eyes locked, tension vibrating in the stillness like a live wire stretched between two hearts too afraid to admit how deeply entwined they already were.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything. Truly. You're the best."

Colin's gaze flicked down to her lips for half a second before he forced himself to nod, saying nothing. 

She laughed softly and pulled herself out of his embrace, brushing the wrinkles from her hoodie. "Okay, I'm going to clean myself up before I scare the barista into giving me a pity latte refill."

He chuckled as she walked off, still watching her as she disappeared around the corner to the restroom. 

                                                 ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

As he turned to their table, brushing crumbs off the surface and cleaning up their used napkins, an older woman approached. She'd been sitting near the window, and her eyes twinkled with knowing warmth.

"She's a lucky girl," the woman said softly, nodding toward the restroom. "To have someone who loves her so fiercely like you do. It's a rare thing, love like that."

Colin blinked, caught off guard. His mouth opened, ready to correct her...we're just best friends...but the words stuck in his throat. He realized...he didn't want to say them. 

So instead, he smiled. "Thank you, ma'am," he said gently. "But truth be told, I'm the lucky one."

The woman smiled, giving him a warm nod as she headed for the door. "You two take care of each other, alright? That kind of bond deserves protecting."

"We will," Colin said, watching her go. "Thank you. You have a good day, ma'am."

As she disappeared out the door, Colin sat back in the booth, staring at the empty seat across from him. 

My mess, he thought again. And then, softer..my Pen, my girl

Penelope returned to the booth looking refreshed, her skin glowing softly now that her tears were washed away and her energy had settled. She slid into her seat with that gentle grace he always found himself watching..and today was no different. 

Colin was caught mid-stare when she raised an eyebrow at him. 

"If you want the hoodie back," she teased, tugging at the oversize sleeves, "you only have to ask, silly."

A crooked grin tugged at his lips. "No chance. It looks way better on you than it ever did on me."

She giggled softly, eyes sparking again. The air between them was lighter now, like the storm had passed but left something warmer in its wake. 

"So..." he leaned forward, casually. "What are you doing after this?"

Penelope sipped the last of her coffee, giving a thoughtful hum. "I need to head to the mall. I need a new dress, and to pick up a few makeup things before my meeting on Monday."

"A meeting, hmmm?" Colin's brow quirked. "Please tell me it's not another date. Don't break my heart like this, Pen."

He said it with a grin, but there was a flicker of something that made her stomach flutter at his words. Don't break my heart? What did he mean by that? She thought.

"It is an important date," she began, pausing just long enough to catch the subtle flash of tension in his eyes.

Then she burst into laughter. "Oh God—no, not that kind of date! Definitely not." She shook her head, amused. "I'm meeting with a publisher. My manuscript's been accepted. I'm going to be a published author, Col."

She said it casually, far too casually for something so monumental.

Colin stared at her, jaw falling open in a stunned silence before joy overtook his face. "What?!" he practically shouted, scrambling to get out of the booth before she could stop him.

"Colin—!"

But he didn't care.

He reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet, then lifted her off the ground and spun her around right there in the middle of the coffee shop.

"Penelope Featherington you genius! You goddess! This is bloody fucking incredible!" he exclaimed, grinning like a fool as he held her tight. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? When did you find out?"

She laughed breathlessly as he set her down, the world tilting for a second as she caught her balance. "I found out yesterday, actually, right before the disaster date."

Her smiled softened into something more private. "I was so excited, but...everything after just sort of overwhelmed me. I wanted to tell you and El in person. Promise you won't say anything to her yet?"

Colin raised his hand in a mock scout's oath, eyes still shining. "Cross my heart. Your secret's safe."

She beamed. "I meet with Charlotte Monday morning to sign the contract and make everything official. That's why I need the new dress, it feels surreal; like I need to look the part or to won't feel real."

Colin just stared at her for long moment-like he was seeing her for the very first time; which was silly because he has known her for ages now. As if a thunderbolt from the sky sent from Zeus himself, struck him down, right here in the middle of this coffee shop. Aquamarine eyes that called to him like a siren through stormy seas, luring him toward the jagged cliffs where she waited; ready to let it all break for one taste of her forbidden desire. 

Is this what love feels like? Wait. What? Do I love her?

Then he smiled, slow and sincere. "Pen, I'm so damn proud of you."     

"Thank you Col, I'm really proud of me too. After everything that I went through with him..."she said softly, "my book was the one solid piece of hope I had that wasn't broken, wasn't tainted, and I could nourish and allow it to rebuild me. Part of the old and new me." She turned back to their table, leaning over to grab her cup and finish the last of her latte.

Damn, this woman was everything wasn't she? Fuck, he didn't want to get too emotional again, so he quickly changed the topic. 

"So makeup," he blurted out.

That made her spin back around and look at him curiously. "Makeup?" she nervously giggled out.

"Ummm..yeah, you had mentioned it earlier."

"I did, yes."

"Well, what kind of makeup do you need to get?" Colin asked with a cheeky little smirk. "You already look gorgeous without it, you know that."                     

Penelope rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. "You flatter me, Mr. Bridgerton. But I need to restock on a few things; new concealer, blush, and lip liner mostly."      

She said it casually as she finished the last of her coffee and carried her mug to the counter. Colin nodded along, pretending to be completely unfazed—but the moment the word lip liner left her lips, his brain short-circuited.             

Lip liner.

Her lips.

Fuck.

His cock twitched in his jeans, completely betraying him.      

No. Not now. Not in the middle of a damn coffee shop.

He scrambled to think of anything that would kill the incoming hard-on: Anthony's hairy ass when he fell at Pall Mall and mooned the entire family...Grandpa's sponge bath at Aubrey Hall that one summer when he was a boy in leading strings....anything except Penelope's perfect mouth wrapped around a lipstick tube...or his cock...or what color her nipples might be under that hoodie...or how soft her lips would look smeared with the shade of her perfect perky-     

Nope. Not helping.

His face twisted into something between constipation and existential agony.

Penelope turned back to him, concern in her voice. "Colin? Are you okay? You look like you're either in pain or about to pass out."

He snapped upright, eyes wide. "Me? Oh—yeah, no. I'm great. Totally fine. Breezy. Just-uh, breezing through the day."

She let out a laugh, quickly bringing her hand to cover her mouth, trying to hide it, while she gave him a skeptical look, but not pressing him further.

"Anyway," he cleared his throat and tried to reel in his rapidly crumbling composure, "I was going to ask if I could tag along. To the mall."

Penelope gave his arm a small push, "Surely you jest," she huffed out. "You want to come with me while I shop for makeup and try on dresses?"

"I mean-only if you'll have me," he added quickly, trying to keep his eyes on her face and not the soft curve of her waist or the way her ass moved in those tiny jean shorts. "It's just...I'd really love to hang out with you a little longer today. Boring mall stuff and all."

Penelope tilted her head and smiled at him sweetly. "If you really want to, of course you can. Just don't say I didn't warn you when I drag you into a lingerie store or something."

Oh fuck.

He nearly groaned out loud. 

But instead, he just swallowed hard, shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled.

"I think I'll survive it. Let's go, yeah?"

As they headed out the door, all he could think about was lipstick, dresses...and praying to every god that she does drag him into a lingerie shop.

                                                   ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

The tube ride to the mall started off...awkward.

Colin was still dealing with the aftermath of him slightly going crazy at the coffee shop. The half-hard situation he was sporting hadn't exactly gone away, and he was doing everything short of thinking about tax forms to get it under control. 

Then they got on the train.

And spotted a woman eating ice cream-with her toes.

Yes, actual toes.

Colin blinked. Penelope blinked. They turned to each other at the exact same time, identical looks of horror on their faces, then burst out into laughter.

Loud, uncontrollable, belly-deep laughter.

That moment snapped the tension in half and brought them back to their usual rhythm, Colin and Pen, best friends who had seen the weirdest shit London had to offer.

By the time they reached the third stop, they were giggling over their personal "top five tube horrors," when the train jolted violently to a stop. Penelope lost her balance and stumbled, smacking straight into Colin' chest. His arms shot around her waist without a second thought, steadying her as the crowd shifted around them. 

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice soft, warm against his chest. 

"Of course," he said, his arms still firmly around her.

She didn't move. Neither did he. Staring at one another, chests rising up and down slowly, as the world around them buzzed around. Finally, Penelope turned back to face the front of the tube, still wrapped in his arms. And for the rest of the ride, Colin's arms stayed exactly where they were. Penelope didn't ask him to let go, and he sure as hell didn't offer.

                                                  ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

The mall buzzed with the usual Saturday crowd; families juggling shopping bags, teens chasing each other around the food court, the faint smell of cinnamon pretzels in the air. Colin walked beside Penelope, trying to act like this was totally normal. No big deal. Just a casual mall trip with his best friend who also happened to be wearing his hoodie and bouncing beside him in tiny jean shorts that should've been illegal. Those thighs...

"So, where first?" he asked, forcing his eyes upward, above the neckline, Bridgerton, don't be a perv.

She tapped her chin. "Hmm..lets start with the dress first. I don't want to accidentally get anything on the clothing when I am changing in and out of dresses."

"Sounds good, Featherington. Lead the way." he gestured, swinging his arm out in front of him and bowing slightly.

"Such a dork," she chuckled, but gave a small curtsey before leading the way.

As fate would have it, and not in Colin's favor either, they passed right by Delacroix Lingerie, full of lace, strings, bows, and all the delicious sinful desires one would hope to find in a lingerie store. He glanced back at Penelope wondering, hoping, that maybe should would want to stop by, maybe slip on a lace piece or two.

Nope.

She didn't even glance at the storefront display, just walked right on past it without a care in the world. On a mission to head straight for the boutique. 

Welp. A man could wish right? 

"So what kind of dress are you looking for exactly?" Colin asked as they stepped into Season of Diamonds, the boutique Penelope always turned to when she needed something beautiful and didn't want to be forced into styles that screamed mother of the bride just because she wasn't a size four. 

"I'm not sure," she said, scanning the rows of elegant fabric. "Something that makes me feel pretty and confident, but not like I'm trying too hard."

She led the way to the racks. "It's tricky, though. Most brands assume if you've got curves, you don't get to enjoy fashion-or feel sexy." She gestured to her body with a soft sight. "Woman like me can't just pick a dress off a rack without trying it on first, or click add to cart, without worrying it'll look awful."

Colin frowned, not liking the way her tone dipped into something quiet and self-deprecating. He reached out and gently stopped her by the elbow.

"Pen, you're gorgeous," he said, serious now. "You know that, right?"

She gave a tired shake of her head. "Colin, don't say things you do not mean."

"I'm not." He stepped in front of her. "I mean it. Don't think for one second that your body isn't wanted—desired."

Their eyes locked. The air shifted.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed. Their eyes growing slightly darker as the moment drug on.

Then Penelope blinked and turned back toward the dresses, letting the moment pass-barely.

A few minutes later, she'd chosen a small armful of options and led Colin to the back. He took a seat just outside the fitting room on the bench, glancing around awkwardly as she slipped inside .

"Umm..is it weird that I'm here?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Not unless you think it is," she called out, voice muffled as she wrestled with hangers.

"No, no-just making sure you're good with it."

He adjusted in his seat, trying to ignore the idea of her on the other side of the door, undressing. Trying things on. Sliding fabric over that skin he couldn't stop thinking about. 

Keep it together, Bridgerton.

"Okay," she said, "coming out with the first one. It's nice but maybe too formal."

She stepped out in a floor-length midnight blue velvet gown, fitted with a scoop-square neckline and an empire waist that skimmed her figure. She spun in a circle, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen from her bun. She looked radiant. Confident. Soft and strong, all at once. 

He blinked, hard. "You look..."

Like sin, Like a goddess, Like I want to bury my face between your thighs and thank the stars that you exist. 

"...incredible," he said, voice low.

She smiled, soft at first, then brighter when she saw his ears turning red. 

"It's really pretty, but it feels like I'm heading to a black tie gala, not a publisher's office. Plus it is way too long." She giggled, trying to lift the hem to find her feet.

Colin stared at her like she'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting. He managed a strangled, "Yeah, it's too long. But...wow."

Penelope laughed. "I just said that."

"Right. Sorry. Yeah, it's pretty but not the right one." He gave her a helpless little smile and thumbs-up. Idiot.

She disappeared again.

After a few minutes of getting lost in his thoughts as he chewed on his nails, a terrible bad habit of his he's had since grade school; he looked up and noticed there wasn't movement coming from the fitting room anymore. Huh.

He called out, "Pen, everything okay in there? You've been in there a while now."

Her voice drifted out after a beat, "Yeah, I'm okay. It is just this dress." she said with a sigh.

"What about the dress?"

"Well, this dress has a much higher slit than I realized. And the neckline is.."

"Is what?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

"Not exactly publisher-meeting appropriate," she muttered, still staring at herself in the mirror. The dress was stunning-deep burgundy fading into black, with lace over the chest and a low-cut sweetheart neckline. It hugged every curve like it was made for her. Her tits looked incredible-as Eloise would say, crackin'. She felt sexy. Exposed. Powerful. 

"Come out and show me," Colin said.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I know you've got in on," he teased. "Let me see."

"Colin," she groaned. "I told you, I'd get banned from the building if I wore this to the meeting."

He laughed. "I just want to see it. You like it, don't you?"

She hesitated. 

She did. She loved it.

"Yeah," she admitted softly. "I feel...really beautiful in it."

"Then come out."

She took a deep breath and opened the fitting room door, slowly making her way to the platform.

And holy, fucking, hell.

This dress was....dangerous. 

Colin forgot how to breathe.

She looked like temptation personified-like the universe had sculpted this vision just to test his self-control. Every line of the dress, every inch of exposed skin, screamed TOUCH ME.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, his jaw clenched, lips parted slightly, eyes dark. Her stomach flipped. 

He hadn't said a word.

"Colin?"

His head jerked up. "Huh?"

Penelope met his eyes in the mirror. "I know, I know, it's a bit much, its showing a lot of curve, and-"

He blinked. "I think I'm going to die."

"What?!"

Colin shook his head for a moment, trying to wet his mouth that has all of a sudden been sucked dry of every particle of saliva. "What I meant to say is, you look breathtaking." he let out, voice rough and thick. 

She glanced down at the floor, eyes blinking. Her skin flushed to match the dress, blooming across her chest, her cheeks, even the tips of her ears. 

Her eyes flicked back up to his and he was smirking.

"Alright, Bridgerton, out with it," she said, bringing her arms to her hips as she turned.

"What?" he asked, innocent.

"I know that look, Col. That's your 'Chaos Colin' face. You have it when you are thinking of a scheme or off the wall hind brain idea..." she said, a small smile of her own now forming on her lips.

He chuckled. "Guilty as charged." Throwing his hands up in the air as if he had been caught red handed, which he suppose he had. "Just thinking...if you can't wear that dress to work, maybe you could wear it out tonight?"

"Tonight?" she asked, brow raised.

"Yeah. Tonight. You can come to my place, for dinner."

She stared at him, confused but intrigued. She motioned her hand for him to continue.

"You got amazing news yesterday about your book deal, and then had a shit date right after. That dress deserves to be seen. You deserve to be celebrated. Let me cook for you. You wear the dress because you love it, and we can properly celebrate your incredible news."

Her heart thudded. This man. This ridiculous, thoughtful, beautiful man.

She should say no. She should be careful. 

But her heart answered before her head could.

"I'd love that, Col. Thank you."

He stood and walked toward her, taking her hands gently in his. "You deserve every good thing, Pen. And your asshat, wanker of a date? He doesn't get to be the memory attached to your big news, yeah?"

She smiled, soft and glowing. "Okay."

Penelope stepped back into the fitting room, and Colin returned to his seat, grinning to himself.

"I've got one more to try, something for the actual meeting, as that is what I actually came here for," she called out.

"Another dress? Such a shame," he grinned. "How did I ever get to be the luckiest man alive to witness another dress from, the Penelope?"

"Oh hush, you," she said through a giggle.

She stepped out in the final dress, black, fitted at the waist with a slight flare to the skirt. Quarter-length sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, a bow at the back, and a low scoop that revealed just enough back skin to be elegant and a little bit daring. 

As she twirled slowly on the platform, Colin's grin stretched wide.

"That's the one. It's perfect, Pen! Charolette is going to love you!" he said, leaping up and spinning her in a hug.

"Yeah? She will love me because of this dress?"

"She'd be a fool not to."

Penelope stared at him a beat longer, her heart fluttering.

"Alright," she said softly. "Let me get changed so we can go pick out my makeup and head out."

                                              ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

When they stepped into Sephora, Colin immediately looked like a lost puppy in a jungle of highlighters and perfumes. Penelope noticed the way he was fidgeting with his fingers, his eyes darting around the store like he was bracing for a sudden attack of a rouge mascara wand.

"If this makes you uncomfortable, Col," she said gently, turning to him, "you don't have to come with me. You can wait by the door. I won't be long.

His head snapped toward her a little too fast. "What? No-no, I'm good. Totally fine. Just, uh, taking it all in."

He forced a smile. Too happy. Dial it down Bridgerton, don't be weird.

"I want to shop makeup with you," he added, trying again, this time a bit smoother.

"Okay," she said, amused, and led him toward the concealers.

They picked out her shade quickly, then moved on to blushes. She started swatching a few on the back of her hand, humming thoughtfully.

"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning over just enough to watch her delicate fingers swipe color onto her skin.

"Just testing a few shades," she said. "Sometimes colors that look good in the pan make me look half-dead on my face. It's the curse of being pale and porcelain."

She giggled softly, swatching a warm pink this time.

Colin watched the motion-her gentle touch, her soft skin-and before he could stop himself, the words slipped right out of his mouth.

"I think your skin's beautiful, Pen. More like a peaches and cream, if I had to be specific."

Her hand paused mid-swatch. She turned and looked at him.

Shit.

"Not that I've, uh...thought about your skin color or anything," he said quickly, ears turning pink. "I just mean, you know...it's very...it's nice. Pretty. You're—pretty."

She blinked, and then her lips twitched, just slightly.

"Oh," she said, her voice light. "Well. Thank you. I don't think anyone's ever compared me to dessert before."

"You're welcome," he muttered, now staring hard at a row of foundations like they might rescue him. 

"I like it," she added casually, turning back to the blushes, but he didn't miss the slight smile curving at her mouth.

Good God, Colin thought. If I don't get my brain and my dick under control, I'm going to propose to her in the middle of Sephora like a lunatic. Wait! What? 

"Just wait here a sec," Penelope said already turning to the aisle before he could figure out what the fuck his brain was thinking just now.

Colin watched her go, head tilted in confusion. What was she up to now?

Then she came back with eight slim sticks fanned between her fingers.

Lip liners.

Fuck.

He stared at them like she'd just handed him a loaded weapon. Or maybe a live wire he very much wanted to wrap around his own neck. 

"I've got a few favorite brands," she said casually, oblivious to the war erupting in his brain. "Figured it's easiest to just grab the shades I'm considering and swatch them all at once."

"Like you did with the blushes?" he asked, doing his best to sound unaffected while his dick started to press harder against his zipper.

"Exactly. I'm looking for a very particular shade..." Her voice trailed off for a split second. Too quick for most to notice, but Colin caught it.

She covered it quickly. "I just want to find my perfect shade."

She popped the cap off the first pencil and raised her hand to start swatching, but before she could move, Colin blurted, "Wait!"

Penelope blinked at him, startled. "What?"

"Uh—let me." He cleared his throat, trying to backpedal and not sound like a man who was way too invested in lipliners. "Let me help you. With the swatches."

He held out his hand toward her, palm down.

"You...want me to swatch them on you?"

"Yes," he said, trying to sound confident. Definitely not like someone who was mentally screaming DON'T SAY NIPPLES, DON'T THINK ABOUT NIPPLES.

She gave him a suspicious look, her brow arched. "Colin...you're not going to wear these. Why not just let me swatch them on my own hand?"

Shit.

He had to think fast.

"You already used one hand for blushes," he said, powering through the lie. "And you've got eight different colors here. You'll want to see them all side by side, right? And your hands are tiny.." shitshitshit "—I mean, delicate. Elegant. Small. I've got more...surface area."

He gave her what he hoped was a charming, not-totally-manic smile.

"I'm just being practical."

Penelope stared at him for a long, quiet moment, clearly weighing her options. It was weird, yes. But it was also...oddly sweet. And persistent. And she was kind of curious what had him suddenly so eager to play beauty assistant. 

Finally, she sighed with a tiny, amused smile tugging at her lips. "Alright. If you really want to."

"Yes. Please," he said, maybe a little too enthusiastically, as he held out his hand like it was a gift.

She uncapped the first pencil and leaned in close.

And Colin knew—knew—this was going to kill him. 

Because she was about to draw right across his skin, one soft, sensual stroke at a time, while he tried to keep his thoughts away from the one thing he couldn't stop imagining:

Which one of these matches the color of your nipples, Pen?

And would she ever let him find out for himself?

Penelope grabbed his hand, her fingers soft but sure as she held his palm steady. Then came the first swipe of lip liner across his skin; cool, smooth, deliberate.

Colin, let out a quiet moan.

It just slipped out.

He immediately followed it with a rough cough, like it would erase the sound from existence.

Penelope paused, brow lifting.. "You okay?"

"Me?" he croaked. "Yeah, fine. Just a little tickle in my throat. Keep going."

Please don't stop.

She didn't question it further, thank God, and went back to work. Methodical, calm, completely unaware of the absolute hell she was putting him through.

Every swipe was another nail in his imaginary coffin. Pale pink, soft mauve, warm rose, dusky nude. Each line she drew only added to the question tormenting him:

Which one is it?

He knew she was trying to match her lip shade to the color of her nipples, while she was blissfully unaware that he had any knowledge at all what she was doing. She didn't know that he saw the text meant for Eloise, and only Eloise.

And now? Watching her test shades on his hand while looking for that match was the kind of mental torture that would make a monk crack.

Was she doing it on purpose?

No. She couldn't know he knew.

But fuck, why were there so many shades?

He was so lost in the spiral of thoughts that he didn't realize she was done until she capped the final pencil and gently turned his hand toward her, bringing it closer to inspect. 

Too close.

His hand hovered just above her chest, and he swore he could feel the warmth of her skin through his hoodie.

He cleared his throat again, voice barely steady. "So...any favorites? Did you find your perfect shade match?"

She studied the swatches a second longer, then nodded. "Yeah. I think I found it. And maybe two others I really like. I'm getting all three."

She released his hand, letting it fall by his side, completely unaware that he was staring at it like it held the meaning of life.

Three? Not even two were close to the same shade.

Well, fuck me sideways. Now he had three goddamn nipple shades in his brain; and no clue which one was real.  

She returned a moment later, holding the final three liners like trophies. "I'm all ready to check out now. Come on."

He followed, dazed, every nerve in his body buzzing. 

And the longer they stood in line, the worse it got.

Penelope looked radiant in his hoodie, skin flushed from shopping, completely unaware she was destroying him. Meanwhile, Colin kept looking down at his hand, then at her mouth, then...oh no.

His cock was hard again.

The lip liner swatches had officially given him a fucking public boner.

He tried to shift, casually crossing his arms, his foot bouncing like mad. His shirt was sticking to his back. Was it hot in here?

"Colin?" Penelope turned slightly, "You okay? You look a little pale."

He could feel the bead of sweat forming at his hairline. Shit. She'd noticed. 

"Yeah. yeah, I'm good," he said quickly. "I just um, forgot. I need to go grab some things for dinner tonight that I don't have at the house."

Penelope tilted her head. "Col, we don't have to do dinner tonight if you don't have all the ingredients you need. We can always pick another night-"

"No, no, we're doing it tonight!" he blurted, waving one hand. "I mean...we can do it tonight. It's no sweat. It's not a big deal."

He closed his eyes for a moment. Come on, Bridgerton. 

"I want to," he added, this time more gently. "To celebrate your book deal. Properly. Let me cook for you, yeah?"

Penelope smiled, touched. "That's really sweet of you. Okay, Col. I'll see you tonight, let's say seven?"

"Seven, Right. Perfect." He leaned in for a quick awkward side hug, definitely keeping his hips angled away, then practically sprinted for the exit. 

"Be safe, Colin!" she called after him. 

He threw his hand up in a farewell as he power-walked through the sliding doors, silently praying his dick would please calm the fuck down before he ended up banned from Sephora for indecent behavior. 

                                          ────ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋💄👄🍒───

Colin had never left a shopping center so fast in his life.

His entire body was on fire; tight, aching, painfully hard, and it had nothing to do with Sephora's warm lighting or the fact he'd been surrounded by a thousand scented body sprays. No, the reason for his current state was swatched on the back of his hand...and walking around the store like she wasn't setting his entire nervous system ablaze. 

Penelope Featherington.

His best friend.

His undoing.

The moment he stepped onto the tube, he forced himself into some kind of meditative focus, anything to survive the ride home without someone clocking the very obvious situation in his pants. Every bump of the train, every sway of the crowd, was just one more test of his self-control. It felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life.

Finally, after another ten minute very brisk walk from the stop, he was back home, at his flat.

Safe. Alone.

Hard.

His erection had dulled just enough for him to make it inside with dignity intact, but once the door shut behind him and the quiet settled around him, that low, pulsing hunger returned.

He stumbled into his bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, groaning into his palms. What the fuck was happening to him?

Penelope wasn't just his best friend, she was his person. The one constant in his entire life. And now, she was all he could think about. Not just her laugh or her brilliance or how fiercely she protected the people she loved, but her lips. Her curves. Her eyes looking at him while—

He sat up with a frustrated grunt, dragging both hands through his hair. His gaze dropped to the back of his hand. 

Eight shades of lip liner.

The swatches had faded slightly, but they were still there, soft and smeared, but enough to bring the memory back in vivid color.

His cock twitched hard in his jeans. 

He exhaled, slow and shaking. Tried to look away.

He wondered what his spend would like on the shades?

He couldn't.

Which one is it? Which one matched the color of her nipples? Which one would stain her lips when she wrapped them around him, so pretty and pink and perfect?

His cock throbbed in response. 

There was no stopping it now.

He stood, yanked his jeans and boxers down in one desperate movement, and fell back onto the bed, groaning as his hand gripped his aching shaft. His other hand-the one with her colors-pressed gently to the base as he began to stroke.

"F-fuck...Pen..." he whispered, hips lifting off the mattress.

In his mind, she was there; naked and flushed, lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes locked onto his, teasing and hungry. Her mouth slick with him. Her lips painted in one of those shades. His cum dripping over the color, down her chin.

"God, yes..just like that," he gasped, stroking harder, faster, chasing the vision. 

He imagined her moaning around him, tongue swirling, her body trembling as she got off on the taste of him, the feel of his hand fisting her hair. 

"Beautiful...you're so fucking beautiful," he groaned, breathless now, every nerve in his body lighting up brighter than the Griswold's family Christmas movie. 

His climax hit hard, white-hot and endless. Thick ropes spilled across his hand, his belly, his chest, streaking over the fading colors she'd left behind like she had claimed every part of him already. 

He lay there, panting, staring at the mess he'd made; at the way her shades were now smeared with him.

And all he could do was smile.

He didn't care which one she picked.

It didn't matter.

Any of them would look perfect on her.

Because she already looked perfect to him.