Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“All I can say is that it was enchanting to meet you”

Taylor Swift – Enchanted

🎇

Penelope didn’t know many things.

She didn’t know who her biological parents were, nor in which hospital she had been born.

She didn’t know if the coppery shine of her hair was a trait inherited from a long family lineage or merely a whim of fate, meant to make her stand out among others.

She didn’t know her last name.

Or rather, she didn’t know her real last name.

On April 8, 1998, Rae, her adoptive mother, opened the door of the semi-detached house in the London suburbs and found her there, along with a short, hastily written note.

“Please take care of Penelope Anne”

Those words were all that remained as a link to a life that might have existed, a life beside people with whom she shared blood. And yet, she never allowed herself to hope for more than that.

From an early age, she learned she was different.

So, when Rae called her into the living room, held her hand, and revealed that she was adopted, there was no shock or disbelief. Only the confirmation of something that had already been pulsing inside her.

What truly marked her, in fact, was the story that came along with it.

Her mother was fifty years old when a baby was left at her doorstep. She had never wished for children or dreamed of having a family, but something in that moment, something she herself said she couldn’t explain,  kept her from closing the door.

Rae chose her. And for that, Penelope would always be grateful.

Her childhood was shaped by the best Rae could offer.

She remembered fondly the days when the two of them went to the playground, and she would run free, laughing among other children. Even after growing up and feeling embarrassed to be seen on the slide, she still accompanied Rae, almost as if she were preserving there an untouched piece of childhood.

Because, despite not knowing many things, there was one unshakable certainty: Penelope loved children.

She loved them when she was one, and she continued to love them as she grew older. Perhaps it was that very affinity that led her to choose pedagogy, followed by a specialization in child psychology.

When she decided to dedicate her life to teaching, she knew she would encounter different realities, and she was willing to embrace them. She wanted to be the teacher who welcomes, who offers safety, who makes the student feel they belong. She wanted to be, for them, what so many had once been for her.

And that love for her profession became her foundation on the hardest days.

She remembered the day Alicia read an entire sentence without stuttering, the girl’s joy lit up a morning when her own mother had received a sarcoma diagnosis.

She recalled how the tight hugs from her students at the end of class gave her strength when the doctors said the treatment was not bringing the expected results.

And she would never forget the moment she returned to the classroom after weeks of leave, after burying her mother. When she walked in, she found all her students standing, each holding a white rose.

That was when she realized, with clarity, that the love she had given to the children had also saved her, time and again.

It was beautiful to see them grow. And painful to let them go.

Until the day came when it would be her turn to leave.

It had been a year since Penelope had lost her mother.

The house where she had lived with Rae seemed to breathe memories in every wall, every object, every quiet corner. The smell of morning coffee, the whistle of the kettle, the unexpected laughter that echoed in the simplest moments…everything lingered there, as if at any instant Rae might appear in the doorway with a witty remark. But for Penelope, that home, once a shelter, had also become a prison.

The constant pain, added to the hospital debts, was the final push she needed to accept the inevitable: she had to let go.

She didn’t want anyone to know where she was going.

So she sold the house for just enough to settle the debt.

Little remained after that, and she decided to rent a modest apartment in Mayfair. The neighborhood had a different atmosphere from the rest of London — less hectic, more welcoming, almost familiar. And somehow, that atmosphere warmed her weary heart.

At first, she never considered leaving her job at the public school where she worked. But the daily commute began to weigh heavily on both her body and her spirit. That was when she remembered the email long forgotten in her inbox.

Danbury British School.

At first, she ignored the message.

She thought it curious — not to say unlikely — that such a prestigious institution would be interested in her résumé. But, above all, she feared not being able to adapt to the elitist environment of a high-end private school.

Being a teacher meant dealing with children, but also with their parents. And the idea of facing overly demanding parents did not sound appealing to her at all.

Still, there was a “but”.

A but that echoed in her mind with her mother’s voice, repeating that she should allow herself to embrace life’s opportunities.

And so, against all her own expectations, she went to the interview.

It was the best decision she could have made.

She began working there in the middle of the 2024 school year, taking over a class that seemed to harbor a true aversion to their previous teacher, whose strictness was whispered about in the hallways. At first, there was resistance, wary looks and little openness to conversation. But, little by little, she won each of them over. So much so that, on the last day of class, most of them cried when they found out they would have a new teacher the following year.

Penelope still laughed whenever she remembered Otto, who, in front of his parents, pouted and asked to be held back a grade, just so he could stay in her class.

It was hard for her too. Penelope grew attached easily, she remembered names, faces, laughter and the small discoveries her students made about the world.

Her heart ached when it came time to let them go.

That year, she would once again take on the school’s first-year class.

And honestly, it was her favorite.

The class of 2025 was already proving to be special.

Each child, with their own quirks, was kind and unique.

She knew she shouldn’t admit it, but deep down, she had her favorites. Though, of course, she always denied it with conviction.

Each class had its own rhythm, its particularities, and its small charms.

That year, among so many faces and names, there was one that always caught Penelope’s attention.

Elliot.

He was one of the tallest boys in the class, but he never used that to impose himself.

On the contrary, Elliot was sweet, affectionate, always welcoming toward his classmates.

He had a gentle way of being in the world, ready to share what he had and curious to learn from those around him.

He liked to talk with her, and his eyes always lit up when he saw her with her reddish hair loose.

"My aunt painted hers that color once, but it didn’t look as pretty as yours" he once said, staring at her with that childlike frankness that melted hearts.

Even as she admired his charisma and tenderness, Penelope knew that, as a teacher, she needed to remain alert to any difficulties that might arise. And, little by little, she began to notice subtle signs.

During story circles, his attention wandered.

In longer activities, he seemed to lose focus easily.

But the real alarm rang on a quiet morning, when she sat beside him to help with reading.

Elliot rested his small head on her shoulder, his face tired.

— “The words…they get all mixed up for me” — he murmured.

Penelope slowly closed the book and wrapped him in a hug.

— “It’s all right” — she said softly, trying to reassure him.

It was in that moment that he confessed, for the first time, that he liked her very much.

And deep down, Penelope knew she liked him very much too.

More than any other student, though she would never admit it.

But that instant, along with its tenderness, also brought a certainty. She would need to speak with his guardians.

She never knew what to expect from those meetings. Some parents reacted with understanding and partnership, others shut down at the possibility that their children might need different methods or learning environments.

All Penelope wanted was to ensure that each child had a space in which to thrive.

And Elliot deserved that more than anyone.

She scheduled the meeting.

On the contact form, she read the names: Violet and Colin Bridgerton.

On the appointed day, only a woman entered the room. Her hair was brown, her gaze gentle, her posture elegant. She must have been in her sixties, carrying a quiet grace that drew attention.

That was how Penelope discovered she was Elliot’s grandmother.

At that school, Penelope rarely met all the guardians in person. Unlike her past experience, many children there were picked up by drivers or nannies. That made it harder to understand each child’s family structure, something she knew was important, since not all of them had a complete or traditional home.

Even so, that day, she couldn’t help but think she wished Elliot’s father had been there too.

There was something almost imperceptible, yet real, that tightened inside her when the lady explained, with gentle words, that he had needed to travel for work and couldn’t postpone the commitment.

She understood.

She knew unforeseen events happened, that important commitments sometimes couldn’t be postponed. But even so, for the first time, she felt a different weight in her chest, a small resentment quietly taking shape.

Elliot deserved to have him there.

She took a deep breath and, keeping her tone professional and kind, explained to Mrs. Bridgerton her suspicions of ADHD and dyslexia. She detailed which professionals could carry out the assessments, which paths to follow to better understand Elliot’s needs.

The woman listened to every word attentively. There was something luminous in her gaze, as if she were seeing more than just a possible diagnosis.

For a long moment, she didn’t answer. Then she reached out and held Penelope’s hand.

— “Thank you so much for truly seeing him”

Penelope blinked, slightly surprised, before smiling.

— “Of course, Mrs. Bridgerton. I will always want the best for my students. With the tests, I’ll be able to find the best way to teach Elliot.”

The reply came with a trace of hesitation.

— “We already had the tests done…at the end of last year” — she bit her lip, as if weighing how far she should go. — “His father, Colin, also has ADHD and dyslexia. At school, no one ever knew how to handle it well. And Elliot wanted to be at the same school as his cousins…but we were afraid. Afraid that he would be treated differently, the way my boy was, even in the best institutions. So, my son teaches him again at home.”

That revelation broke something inside Penelope.

Sadly, she knew stories like that. Stories of brilliant children whose difficulties were ignored or misunderstood, as if the condition determined their intelligence.

Something she knew was not true.

And in that moment, she understood that perhaps she was offering Elliot exactly what he needed: a watchful eye, a safe environment, and a proper methodology.

— “I’m so sorry you went through that” — she said, setting aside any judgment. — “But fortunately, educators are evolving more and more. Our role is to be there for our students. And now that I have Elliot’s confirmed diagnosis, I can promise I’ll be there for him.”

The hug she received from Mrs. Bridgerton then was warm and unexpected. So familiar that, for a brief second, it reminded her of her own mother’s arms.

Later, when she was alone in the room, she allowed the tears to fall.

From that day on, she began adjusting every detail to help Elliot.

She introduced phonemic awareness exercises to strengthen his reading. She noticed that, when sitting near the window, he was easily distracted, so she moved him to a desk in front of hers, where he seemed to feel more centered and comfortable. Small changes, but together, they began to show results.

It was now March.

Another meeting with his grandmother had been scheduled. Penelope always made a point of keeping the guardians informed about every step of progress and the methods being used.

In the classroom, all the students were sitting on the floor, immersed in brushes and paints, painting hearts for Mother’s Day.

Her class wasn’t large — fifteen children, all spread out on the floor, laughing and playing as they tried to make each brushstroke as beautiful as possible. The goal was to create something special to give to the woman they most admired.

Penelope found herself surprised by that school. Every day seemed to bring a new reason to admire it. Officially, the celebration was for Mother’s Day, but there was a precious care in the concept: to honor the woman — or women — each child had as a reference and inspiration. What mattered most was that everyone felt included, even those who didn’t live in a traditional family model.

For someone like her, who had also come from a different kind of family, that approach felt right. Fair. Human.

She looked around and noticed that, in these creative moments, Elliot gave himself completely over to his imagination. While loud laughter echoed all around, he remained focused, his small hand dipped in paint, tracing shapes with an almost adult seriousness.

Penelope sat in the middle of the circle, always ready to help whenever a child called her name or seemed lost.

— “Miss Pen!” — Elliot’s sweet voice broke her train of thought, making her turn.

His big brown eyes were fixed on her, curious and shining.

— “Yes, Elliot?” — she replied, bracing her knees on the floor as she moved closer.

— “I wanted to show you my drawings” — the smile he gave nearly melted her completely.

— “I’d love to see them, sweetheart” — she sat down right in front of him. — “What do we have here?”

He lifted two pieces of poster board. The first showed a large house painted light blue, with seven stick-figure women standing in front of it. There was clear affection in the details, each figure had different hair and skin tones, carefully painted.

— “I drew the women who take care of me” — he pointed to each one, proudly. — “My grandma Violet, my Aunt Kate, my Aunt Sophie, my Aunt Daphne, my Aunt Eloise, my Aunt Fran, and my Aunt Mich. There’s also Aunt Hay, but she’s still in school, so she’s not a woman.” — he shrugged, satisfied with his own logic. — “I have lots of aunties”

Penelope smiled, feeling a gentle warmth in her chest.

— “Yes, you do” — she said, touched by all the affection he received. — “I’m sure they’ll love your drawing. It’s beautiful.”

Then her gaze fell on the other poster board.

This one was different. A large red heart, filling almost the entire page, and in the center, only a single stick-figure woman.

Elliot never spoke about his mother during activities. Because of that, Penelope assumed that perhaps this figure represented her.

— “And what about your other drawing?” — she asked gently.

He smiled even wider.

— “Did you like it, Miss Pen?”

— “I loved it, Elliot” — she said, holding the paper carefully, as if it were something fragile. — “You drew a perfect heart”

— “It’s you” — he said, and his breath seemed to falter for a moment. — “It’s red like your hair”

She blinked, surprised.

She hadn’t been prepared for that.

She was used to the children’s affection — the spontaneous hugs, the little improvised gifts made of paper and tape. She was even used to the kind of love that came in shy smiles or small hands reaching out for hers.

But this…this kind of tribute, especially on a day when everyone was celebrating the most important figure in their lives…no, this had never happened to her before.

For a moment, doubt cut through her like a shadow.

Would his family feel uncomfortable? Would they think she was trying to take a place that wasn’t hers?

She didn’t know.

All she knew was that, despite any fear, his gesture had filled her chest with a warmth so sweet, so deep, that it was impossible to hide.

She was special to him. And he was special to her.

— “You picked the perfect shade, Elliot” — she said with a tender smile. — “Thank you so much for drawing me” — she stroked his soft curls, feeling them slip gently between her fingers.

— “You said we should draw the important women…you’re important to me” — he replied, his eyes shining and his tone almost cautious, as if he were afraid she might not understand.

She tilted her head, moved by the care in his words.

— “Well then, that makes us the same…because you’re important to me too”

Something in Elliot’s eyes seemed to spark to life, like a flame suddenly finding strength. He jumped to his feet and wrapped her in a tight, fierce hug, as if he wanted to keep that moment forever.

The gesture was so genuine, so contagious, that within seconds all the other little bodies around the circle jumped up too, running toward her.

Before she even realized it, she was surrounded — smothered, really — by the warmth of hugs, the joyful laughter, the voices calling her name. And in that instant, wrapped in that whirlwind of affection, she felt grateful that these were her days, always so full of tenderness.

She knew this was what saved her.

🎇

The classroom was wrapped in a comfortable silence.

Normally, she liked to stay there for a few more hours after finishing the lessons, that space was almost an extension of herself, the place where her ideas took shape and where, surrounded by colorful walls and the students’ proudly displayed work, she felt most productive.

There, between the faint smell of chalk and paint, she prepared itineraries and carefully mapped out learning plans tailored for each child.

It was good to stay there.

It was comforting.

The sudden sound of a notification broke her concentration, forcing her to take her eyes off the computer. Another message from an unknown number. She sighed, already recognizing the bothersome pattern. Soon, she would have to change her number again, something she hated doing.

It wasn’t simple. Parents often asked for her contact to discuss their children’s matters, message groups were created to organize school events. Changing her number meant breaking connections she still needed to keep. But, apparently, it would be inevitable.

She blocked the number and, with an automatic motion, turned her phone face down on the desk.

That was when she noticed a shadow crossing the hallway, its outline reflected in the glass of the door.

Moments later, the figure came into focus.

A man.

No, not just a man,  there was something about him that demanded presence.

She had never seen him before. She would have remembered.

He was tall, so tall his head went beyond the frame of the door’s window. His broad shoulders beneath the leather jacket suggested strength. His cropped hair added to an air of seriousness and mystery, enhanced by his upright posture.

Honestly, he was striking. And she couldn’t help but look.

Looking more than she should.

He was watching her too, so directly that she realized she probably looked like a complete fool.

She stood up quickly, smoothing down the fitted black skirt paired with her brown knit sweater. The sharp sound of her heels echoed against the floor as she walked to the door to unlock it. There were still fifteen minutes before the meeting, and Violet was surely on her way. She could give whatever information this “runway model” seemed to be looking for and, at the same time, leave the door open for Elliot’s grandmother.

She turned the key and, in the next instant, found herself face to face with deep, almost stormy blue eyes. A strange sense of familiarity brushed against her, but she couldn’t place where it came from.

— “Good afternoon, may I help you?” — she asked, forcing a polite smile while fighting the urge to let her gaze wander down to the outline of his chest beneath the shirt he wore.

— “Hi” — his voice was deep, steady, and the way he looked at her carried an intense focus. — “I’m looking for Mrs. Jones…” — his gaze quickly swept across the room — “Penelope Jones”

— “Yes, that’s me” — she said, her hand tightening on the edge of the door instinctively.

Could he be a student’s father?

And then she realized.

Oh…he was.

— “You’re Elliot’s father?” — the question slipped out before she could filter it.

The smile that tugged at his lips softened his serious features, almost transforming his whole face.

— “Yes, exactly” — only then did she notice the leather satchel hanging from his shoulder. — “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the teacher my son can’t stop talking about”

A warmth rushed to her face. Part surprise, part embarrassment.

She stepped aside, moving back so he could pass.

— “Please, come in, Mr. Bridgerton” — she bit her tongue lightly, trying to disguise the blush. — “I’m sorry it took me a moment to open the door, I was expecting your mother”

He walked into the classroom, following her toward the chair she had set in front of the desk for the meeting.

Penelope noticed the slight care in his steps, as if he wanted to make sure they arrived together, unhurried. She watched him settle in, adjusting the seat before placing the bag beside him, while she moved toward her own place, behind the desk.

Elliot had his nose.

And his smile.

That same smile that seemed to appear without asking permission — warm, a little mischievous.

— “My mother came to the first meeting only because I had to fulfill a work contract, but from now on I’ll always be able to be here” — his words carried weight, and Penelope felt the intensity of his gaze on her as she opened Elliot’s file on the computer.

— “That’s wonderful, Mr. Bridgerton” — she replied, catching the brief curve of his lips, a smile barely held back.

— “Colin” — he corrected, his voice calm yet firm.

She lifted her gaze, a little uncertain, as if weighing for a second whether she should accept the familiarity.

He held her eyes.

— “You can call me Colin”

Penelope returned the look with a polite smile.

— “Then you may call me Penelope” — she said, her tone balancing professionalism with cordiality.

When she saw him pull a notebook from his bag, she lowered her head discreetly, hiding the small smile of satisfaction. It was comforting to know Elliot had a father who was present, attentive, willing to be involved in his son’s school life.

— “I must admit, I thought you would be older” — he blurted suddenly, his eyes widening as if surprised by his own words. — “I mean…I pictured a kind older lady…not that you’re not kind, of course, but…” — his sentence trailed off, swallowed by his own embarrassment.

Penelope couldn’t stop a short laugh. It was common for people to imagine early childhood teachers as middle-aged women. And in a way, she considered it an indirect compliment — she had learned so much from experienced, dedicated women and was grateful for it.

— “That’s all right” — she said, trying to ease the moment. — “Your son is a wonderful boy, I’m very glad to have him in my class”

Something in his gaze seemed to soften.

— “Thank you” — he replied, pressing the notebook against his chest as if it were a shield. —  “He’s everything to me. That’s why I’m so grateful you’re his teacher.”

Penelope furrowed her brow slightly, confused by the weight of those words.

— “My mother told me everything about the first meeting” — he went on, and for a moment his gaze drifted, caught in distant memories.

Penelope recalled what Violet had mentioned, that Elliot’s father had suffered from neglect during his own school years.

— “The way you noticed his needs without us having to say anything…the care you put into the activities…I’m very grateful.”

Her heart quickened, swept up in a mix of surprise and emotion.

— “It was nothing, it’s my job to make sure he has the right environment to learn.”

He tilted his head slightly, like someone recognizing a truth but unwilling to agree with such modesty.

— “Not every teacher thinks that way…I just…thank you.”

She held his gaze for a few seconds before replying.

— “You’re welcome, Mr… Colin” — she corrected herself with a small smile. — “As far as I’m concerned, he’ll always feel safe enough to learn.”

Colin shifted in his chair, resting an elbow on the desk as if he wanted to lean closer into the conversation.

— “So…” — he began, his voice calm but attentive. — “what methods are you using with Elliot? I want to understand how I can help at home too, even knowing that we’re facing these challenges together.”

Penelope drew in a deep breath before answering, touched by his closeness not only as a father, but as someone who also lived with ADHD and dyslexia. It was rare to find someone who understood these struggles from the inside out.

— “Well…” — she gave him a gentle smile, her eyes fixed on his. — “for the ADHD, I’m using shorter activities, broken up with small strategic breaks. Elliot responds really well when he can stand up, move his body, and then come back.”

Colin nodded slowly, as if each word fit into a puzzle.

— “Yes, that makes a lot of sense. Sometimes when I try to focus for too long, my mind just wanders. And it’s no different with Elliot, right?”

— “Exactly” — she said, and the softness in her voice held his eyes on hers for a few moments longer than usual. — “With him, I often turn tasks into something visual and interactive to help with concentration.”

Colin leaned forward, his fingers laced together on the desk.

— “And the dyslexia? How are you handling that?”

Penelope kept her gaze on him, recognizing in that question her own experience.

— “I use materials with adapted fonts and larger spacing, to prevent the letters from ‘dancing.’ We also create colored cards, highlighting syllables and sounds. When he reads, I reinforce the content with images and dramatizations so the meaning doesn’t get lost in decoding.”

Colin smiled, almost proudly.

— “That’s why he’s been asking me to draw the stories we read together…I thought it was just creativity.”

— “It is creativity” — she replied, smiling wider. — “but it’s also a strategy to make learning meaningful”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty but full of understanding. Colin’s eyes lingered on hers, and in that look there was a mixture of gratitude and recognition.

— “Penelope” — he said, gently breaking the silence. — “thank you for not seeing just a diagnosis when you look at him”

She blinked, feeling the weight and tenderness of those words.

— “Elliot isn’t defined by diagnoses, Colin” — she said, speaking to him as well, even if indirectly.

The comfortable silence between them was broken by the soft tick of the clock on the wall. Colin glanced at the time and took a deep breath.

— “Penelope” — he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. — “thank you for sharing all of this with me. I want to be present in everything.”

She smiled, that expression full of warmth that seemed to light up the room.

— “I know you will, Colin. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

— “I think we’ll see each other again at the Mother’s Day event” — Colin said, his voice low, almost a shy invitation, as his eyes searched hers, as if seeking a silent confirmation.

Penelope felt her heart race, but before she could respond, she took the lead, fidgeting nervously with her hands — a gesture that showed how much this meant to her.

— “Ah, about that…” — she began, her voice slightly trembling. — “Elliot made the drawings that will be displayed that day. They came out really beautiful. One of them is of your mother, along with all the aunts he says take care of him.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tight with emotions bubbling inside, and continued, averting her gaze for a moment as if revealing a delicate secret.

— “But the second one…” — she paused, gathering courage. — “I swear I didn’t ask for anything, it had never happened before, but he drew me. The drawing turned out so beautiful, and I was flattered…I just didn’t want it to be a surprise for you. If you or your family feel uncomfortable, I can…”

Colin interrupted her with a gentleness that made her look directly at him, his eyes shining with sincere tenderness.

— “Penelope” — he said, his voice calm, almost reverente. — “I think perhaps you underestimate the importance you’re having in my son’s life right now.”

He rested his hand on the table, his fingers spreading in a firm gesture, full of conviction.

— “He really adores you. I hear him talk about your lessons, about how you care for him, about the hours he spends with you.”

There was a silence that felt almost sacred, filled with everything that didn’t need to be said.

— “My family and I would never be bothered by someone who makes Elliot feel safe and cared for”

Penelope felt her breath catch in her chest, and for a moment, the words seemed too small for the whirlwind of feelings flooding her.

— “That’s… okay” — she managed to reply, her voice low but full of meaning.

— “Okay” — Colin repeated, smiling with that serenity that seemed capable of calming any storm.

They looked at each other, and time seemed to slow, each second carrying a silent intimacy, until Colin stood, his movements slow, reflecting the delicacy of the moment.

He extended his hand, and Penelope noticed the difference in size, the warmth of his touch as his hand enveloped hers completely, as if conveying more than words ever could.

— “See you there” — he murmured, his voice slightly husky, almost a whisper.

— “Yes” — she replied, still feeling the tingling of that contact, her skin awakened by that small electric spark.

— “It was a pleasure to finally meet you” — Colin added, and Penelope realized her breath had quickened, an effect she couldn’t hide.

Could he be feeling the same way?

— “The pleasure was mine, Mr. Bridgerton” — she murmured, a shy smile full of meaning on her lips.

His gaze swept over her face, reading every emotion she didn’t voice, perhaps prompted by her use of “Mr.”, but he said nothing.

He simply smiled and walked to the door.

Before leaving her sight, he turned and gave one last smile — soft, carrying something Penelope still didn’t know how to name.

She remained there, her hand still warm, tingling from his touch.

My God, what just happened there?

She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and smiled to herself.

Chapter Text

“Without ever touching your skin, how can I be guilty as sin?”

Taylor Swift – Guilty as Sin?

✨

Colin had always believed he knew who he was

Or at least who he wanted to be.

From a young age, he carried within him a quiet certainty. He wanted to love early, like his parents had, and build a big, noisy, affectionate family, just like the one he was lucky enough to know since birth. He grew up believing that love, joy, and warmth were the true meaning of life, and that one day he would find someone who made his heart leap in a unique way, someone he would simply know, deep in his soul, was the right person.

There was always so much love inside him, so much that it seemed to overflow. He loved sharing that feeling with everyone around him: his siblings, his friends, even strangers who happened to cross his path. He remembered childhood nights when, after a day running through the garden or making up stories with Eloise and Daphne, he would curl up near the fireplace with the rest of the family, quietly observing that natural spectacle of affection that was his home. That love pulsed in the air, and he found himself fascinated, thinking that one day, he wanted something exactly like that.

Always helpful, always ready to lend a hand, Colin grew up admiring the silent strength of Anthony and Benedict, his older brothers, while at the same time allowing himself to learn from the sensitivity of his sisters, who had never been afraid to bare their feelings.

He wanted to be strong like them, but also free like them.

Someone who didn’t hide what he felt.

When he lost his father, it was as if the ground opened beneath his feet. The hole torn into his chest was the first reminder that love could hurt, too. He loved his father deeply, and losing him dimmed some of the brightness he once shone into the world.

But the true pain, the one he never managed to erase from his memory, was watching his mother waste away in grief. To see Violet, always so full of life, consumed by Edmund’s absence — while carrying in her womb the daughter he would never meet — was unbearable.

At that time, he was fifteen. For his school friends, grief was something one could “get over” with parties, excesses, and fake smiles. But not for Colin.

He found peace only at his mother’s side. In the silence.

In the moments when he would slip into her room, lie down beside her, and, without saying a word, simply stay.

Because there was nothing that could be said. He didn’t want to fill that emptiness with hollow words, he just wanted to be there, so she would know she wasn’t alone.

He knew he had always been “his mother’s little boy,” but after his father’s death, that bond only grew stronger. His family was, and always would be, his foundation. And no matter how different they were from one another, companionship tied them together.

But there was a weight Colin carried in silence: the feeling of being different.

He wanted to understand the world as quickly as Anthony, dive into tiny-printed books as easily as Eloise did, or learn the piano with Francesca’s almost irritating natural ease.

Yet for him, everything always seemed harder.

Since childhood, he had wrestled with the frustration of not learning at the same pace as other children. He had lost count of how many teachers had called him “slow” or “distracted”, words that, in the mouths of adults, sounded more like “stupid.”

The diagnosis of ADHD and dyslexia brought momentary relief.

At last, there was a name for what he felt, but it didn’t immediately change how others saw him.

Still, he knew he was fortunate. His family had the means to provide him with the best tutors, as many as he needed. And with patience and persistence, he began to find his own way of learning. Medication helped during his teenage years, easing the restlessness that had always accompanied him and giving him a kind of breathing space, a room to sort through his thoughts. But it was on his own, through trial and error, that he discovered how to turn that inner storm into something that worked in his favor.

In time, he made it to Oxford, an achievement many had doubted he would reach. He chose to study English literature, the subject he loved. Yet, although the experience made him proud, it also became a personal hell. He felt out of place, surrounded by people who considered themselves far too clever to see beyond their own egos. It was suffocating. Even so, he finished his course and, when he finally graduated, realized he wanted nothing more to do with it.

That was when he decided to reclaim his old dream of traveling the world. To rediscover life, far from dusty libraries and classrooms filled with judgmental eyes.

Leaving his family, however, was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He, who had always felt part of a whole, bound by a tie that connected him to every Bridgerton, had to learn how to endure the ache of longing, to live months away from the warmth and chaos of home. But deep down, he knew that distance was necessary.

Because to truly find himself, he first needed to lose himself a little.

He graduated at twenty-two, leaving soon after Anthony’s wedding to Kate. The event had been beautiful, a true portrait of the kind of love he dreamed of for himself. Daphne had already married the year before — ironically enough, to one of Anthony’s closest friends — becoming the first of the siblings to find her person.

He, young and full of dreams, believed that the same good fortune would reach him soon, just as it had his parents.

In the years that followed, the world opened up to him in a way he could never have imagined. He traveled to places he had only known from books, lived experiences that seemed almost unreal, and in each of them, he left a record in his journals. Writing by hand was a habit he never abandoned. There was something almost sacred in that process: the smell of the paper, the pressure of the pen, the sound of words taking shape.

It was how he connected with his own feelings, arranging them into sentences and paragraphs that only he would read.

While exploring the world, he managed his investments from afar. And between one trip and another, he always returned to London. Home was his safe harbor, where he rediscovered the warmth of family and remembered, with a mix of gratitude and longing, who he truly was.

It was during those returns that he witnessed important chapters in his siblings’ lives. He saw Benedict — always as passionate about art as he was about the idea of love — find his person and marry her. And it was also in one of those times at home that Francesca quietly pulled him aside, her heart racing, to tell him she thought she might like girls.

Colin felt honored to be the first to know, and he hugged her with the reassurance of someone who would never allow her to feel alone. In that family, love had always been celebrated in every form, and with Francesca it would be no different.

Despite all those joys around him, there was a quiet emptiness inside him. In moments when he curled up on the living room sofa, with one of his nieces or nephews asleep in his lap, Colin found himself wondering when it would be his turn. He had dated a few women — kind, many of them beautiful — but none had managed to spark in him that flame of certainty. He wasn’t capable of giving himself to shallow relationships or meaningless casual nights, which left his romantic history short, almost nonexistent.

It was with that feeling that he set out on his next journey, this time to Ibiza.

And it was there that he met Marina.

She was fun, full of energy, passionate about travel like he was, and, above all, she seemed genuinely interested in who he was.

Not just his body, not just his last name.

Marina listened, asked questions, laughed at the stories he told.

No, he didn’t feel that overwhelming certainty he had always longed for.

But her company was light, pleasant, a breath of something new.

So he allowed himself to live it, albeit cautiously.

When she offered to join him on his next destinations, he hesitated for a moment but ended up accepting. He didn’t know exactly why, but her presence made the long journeys feel less lonely.

He had no idea that this choice would change the course of his life.

Three months later, Marina stood before him with an emotional smile and a positive pregnancy test in her hands.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

Colin had always dreamed of being a father, of giving his children the same security and love he had received from his own.

But not like that.

Not with a woman he did not love.

Even so, he didn’t think twice. Running away had never been an option. He would be a father, and he would make it his priority.

And so, at twenty-seven, Colin returned to London.

This time, not alone. Marina was by his side.

The Sunday brunch, always lively and welcoming, turned into a whirlwind of reactions. Everyone was shocked, especially since Colin had never mentioned Marina to anyone. But, as always, family love spoke louder. If this woman was to be part of his life and of the child that was on the way, then she would also be part of the Bridgerton family.

Marina, with a carefully practiced smile, let slip a few comments about Colin’s family during that day’s conversations. A sudden discomfort stirred in him. He had never spoken that much about his siblings, and hearing things from her that he didn’t recall ever sharing gave him a strange feeling, almost like a silent warning.

She was already five months pregnant when Colin, in a mix of resignation and duty, mentioned to Anthony that he intended to buy a ring to propose to her. He never thought of using one of the family rings — those were reserved for unions born of true love, and he knew, with painful clarity, that this was not the case.

Anthony’s face darkened immediately.

Eight years older, his elder brother had always been a safe harbor, almost a father figure to Gregory and Hyacinth, and even to him, in many moments. But behind the scowl he so often wore to hide his own emotions, Anthony was a Bridgerton like all the others.

He believed in love, and he saw none in that relationship.

— “We’re not in the eighteenth century anymore, Colin” — he said, his voice heavy with frustration before taking a sip of the whiskey in his hand. — “You don’t have to marry her just because you got her pregnant”

The words struck Colin like a cruel reminder of what he already knew.

He didn’t have to.

But at the same time…did he?

Since the discovery of the pregnancy, the few things he once liked about Marina had dissipated like smoke. She seemed increasingly distant, more interested in her phone than in any conversation, immersed in plans for a life he had never promised.

Even so, part of him insisted on clinging to “duty,” to what he considered “the right thing to do.”

But it was Anthony’s next sentence that truly disarmed him.

— “And do you think it will be fair to you… or to her… on the day your heart knows it has found the woman you will truly love?”

The impact was immediate. A punch to the stomach. Because deep down, he knew Anthony was right.

He couldn’t keep trying to save a situation that had no salvation. He couldn’t drag Marina into a loveless marriage, nor himself into a life built on emptiness.

He would be the best father possible, that was non-negotiable. He would be present for every little milestone, every fall, every triumph of that boy he already loved before he was even born.

But with Marina, there was no way forward.

When he told her of his decision, however, he met a version of her he had never seen before.

The rage in her eyes, the hatred spat out in every word, turned him to stone.

“I knew you were a Bridgerton the moment I approached you.”

“This baby was supposed to give me everything, but you can’t even do your duty and marry me.”

“I’m destroying my body for nothing.”

“I won’t gain anything from this anymore.”

Each sentence felt like a blade cutting through his chest.

Colin hated himself in that moment.

Hated himself for being naïve, for not realizing sooner, for giving the child he longed for a mother who treated him like a bargaining chip.

And amidst it all, a visceral fear consumed him.

Fear for the baby.

Her words echoed in his mind for days. She had made it clear there was no longer time for an abortion, now that the pregnancy was nearing its sixth month.

But that brought no relief. On the contrary, it left him on edge.

He began to live each day with the anguish that she might, in some way, take out her fury on the child who hadn’t even come into the world yet.

Colin couldn’t stop hovering around her. Not because he wanted to be close, but because he needed to protect the son growing in her womb. It was an uncontrollable instinct — watching, guarding, making sure that the hatred Marina held for not becoming a Bridgerton would not turn against that little being who was half of him.

The final months of the pregnancy were pure chaos.

Amid arguments, veiled threats, and moments of icy silence, Colin found refuge only in the support of his family. If it weren’t for them, he didn’t know how he would have endured.

Agreements were made, money was involved, concessions he had never imagined accepting became necessary.

But looking back, Colin knew he would go through it all again if, in the end, it meant holding Elliot in his arms.

Because the instant the baby’s eyes met his, everything made sense.

The chaos, the pain, the fear—all dissolved in the certainty that this boy was his. That now there was a love so deep it seemed to fill every space within him. Elliot was his.

And for that boy, Colin would do anything.

And he did.

The following years were entirely devoted to Elliot. Every decision, every move, every second of his time had the same purpose: to make sure his son was the happiest child in the world.

He bought a house far too big for just the two of them — three floors, admittedly a bit excessive — but spacious enough for Elliot and his cousins to run around, invent adventures, and turn every room into a stage for their imagination.

Being a single father ended up bringing him even closer to his siblings, as if that were even possible. Anthony and Benedict offered advice that kept him from losing his mind on the hardest days. But it was his mother, his sisters, and his sisters-in-law who supported him in those first months with a newborn at home. Each of them, in their own way, helped him through sleepless nights, crying fits, and silent fears.

He knew he could never thank them enough for that unconditional support.

Financially, there was never any concern. The investments from the trust fund ensured stability, and the profits from the business he shared with his brothers gave him even more security. But as comfortable as that reality was, there remained the feeling that he didn’t have something truly his own.

That was when he decided to digitize the travel journals he had been keeping since he first began exploring the world. He knew it wasn’t the kind of content publishers fought to release, it wasn’t exactly a popular niche. And indeed, he received more than a few rejections along the way. But when Elliot was two years old, he finally got a yes.

His first book was published, and with it was born a new purpose — something that was his alone.

Now, Elliot was about to turn five. And in that time, the lives of the Bridgertons had kept spinning, full of new chapters.

Francesca fell in love with Michaela the instant she saw her cross the music room to ask about piano lessons. She always said the words slipped from her mouth in that moment, as if the entire world had stopped.

Eloise, on the other hand, always swore she was enough on her own — and in part, it was true. Intelligent, strong, independent, she could move mountains if she wanted to. But then Phillip came into the picture. A single father with twin children who challenged her to rethink everything she believed. And suddenly, the one who claimed she never wanted to be a mother found herself wanting to adopt Amanda and Oliver the moment she met them.

For Colin, the irony didn’t go unnoticed.

Both of them, in one way or another, had found love — and in doing so, had given him two of the best friends he could ever ask for.

Michaela, with her sharp sarcasm and biting humor, was his perfect opposite, a presence that balanced his lighthearted and often distracted nature. And Phillip became a brother in everything but blood. The bond grew naturally, nourished by the experiences they shared.

Elliot never seemed alone, either. With so many cousins around him, running through the house, Colin believed with pride that he had succeeded.

He had given his son everything he needed: love, security, a home where he could simply be himself.

But then came his first day of school.

Colin hadn’t slept properly the night before. He was so anxious it felt as though he — not his son — were the one going to school. Deep down, however, what he felt was fear. Fear that Elliot would face the same struggles he once had, that he would carry the same invisible wounds that still ached in his memory.

When Elliot was diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia, Colin’s first thought was that he didn’t want his son to feel different the way he once had.

Lost, confused, with that cruel sense of not being “good enough.”

Violet, with the wisdom only a mother carries, advised him to speak with the school, to open his heart.

— “Agatha Danbury has been a family friend for years” — she said. — “I’m sure they’ll listen to you”

But Colin hesitated. He feared that by telling them, they might smother Elliot with labels.

All he wanted was for the world to be kind to his boy.

At the school gate, he stood still, watching Elliot walk away with a backpack far too big for his small frame, his determined little steps, his brown hair swaying in the wind. A wave of emotion hit him, warm and overwhelming, and a few stubborn tears slipped free. All he could think, in a whispered prayer, was that he hoped the world would be kind to him.

And, to his immense relief, it was.

Elliot came home that day completely fascinated. He talked endlessly about his new classmates, the school playground, and most of all, his teacher.

That was how “Miss Pen” became a common name in their household.

“Miss Pen has very pretty hair, Daddy”

“Today Miss Pen brought us cookies”

“I think she’s the most fun grown-up I’ve ever met”

And that was just in the first month.

Colin didn’t know what to think. The level of Elliot’s enchantment had taken him by surprise. Curious, he tried to look up her résumé online.

He found only a name.

Penelope Jones.

Nothing more than that, which left him even more intrigued.

The answer came a week later. An email, sent to both him and Violet, requesting a meeting to talk about Elliot. It was natural that the grandmother would be included as a guardian.

Colin knew that, if he couldn’t be there, his mother was the best person to stand by his son’s side.

But when he read that message, his heart raced.

He knew right then that she had noticed.

The teacher had picked up on Elliot’s struggle.

Panic seized him immediately. The meeting had been scheduled for the exact time he had an unavoidable appointment with his editor, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t reschedule.

That afternoon, he was like a nervous teenager, texting his mother every five minutes.

“Well?”

“Did she say anything bad?”

“How is he?”

All he could think about was the worst.

God, if Elliot’s teacher asked to transfer him to another class, his little boy would be crushed. He adored that woman with such innocent devotion, and a blow like that would shatter his small heart.

But the blow never came.

On the contrary, his mother returned from the meeting glowing, with that proud sparkle in her eyes, recounting every word in detail. Colin could hardly believe what he was hearing. The teacher hadn’t wanted to point out flaws, hadn’t wanted to label his son or say there was something wrong with him. All she wanted was to understand Elliot, to discover how best to teach him, how to make him feel safe and confident in that classroom.

It was in that moment, filled with such overwhelming relief it almost hurt, that Colin silently swore that if he ever had the chance, he would thank that woman a thousand times over.

God, he would kiss that lady on the mouth out of sheer gratitude.

Without ever having seen her face, he already admired her deeply.

After that, he tried to rearrange his schedule to drop off or pick up Elliot at school. But his son, growing more independent by the day, thought it infinitely cooler to ride with his cousins in Uncle Anthony’s car — and deep down, Colin didn’t want to take that joy away from him.

When the second meeting was scheduled, he found himself anxious in a way that felt almost adolescent. Elliot was thriving, learning with enthusiasm, memorizing content with ease, even coming up with creative analogies to explain what he had understood. Watching that progress was magical. And all of it, Colin knew, was thanks in large part to the patience and care of that teacher. He needed to thank her. He needed to look her in the eyes and tell her how much it meant.

When he arrived at the school, he walked down the hallway with his heart pounding, as if he were about to face something monumental.

And then he saw her, sitting at the table, her face tilted toward her phone.

The first thing that struck him was her hair — long auburn strands cascading over her shoulders like a shining waterfall.

Elliot had mentioned more than once that “Miss Pen has very pretty hair,” but Colin had never imagined anything like that.

 He stopped for a second, almost convinced he had walked into the wrong room. He had expected to find an older woman, perhaps because of the stereotypes ingrained in him after years of teachers with stern appearances and rigid postures.

But no.

The woman before him was young, radiant… and beautiful.

When she lifted her gaze and met his eyes, the world seemed to waver for a moment.

Crystal-blue eyes that reflected a gentle light, capable of holding anyone who dared to look too long. He felt the shock ripple through his body, an electric current that left him momentarily speechless.

And then she smiled. And walked toward the door.

He nearly lost his breath.

Colin responded, trying to sound casual, trying to ignore the whirlwind of sensations rushing through him. He spent the entire meeting attempting to focus on the words, absorbing every piece of information about Elliot, but his mind kept drifting back to her details.

The sweetness in her voice, the obvious intelligence in every comment, the gentle way she explained things without ever sounding condescending.

It was maddening, in the best possible way.

Because, honestly, he couldn’t remember ever feeling that before — that restless ache in his chest, as if his body craved more even while knowing it couldn’t.

“She’s your son’s teacher,” his mind reminded him with the firmness of an older brother.

But when he got home that night, before even taking off his shoes, he was already typing her name into Instagram.

Penelope Jones.

Private profile.

He clicked on the tiny profile picture, trying to enlarge it, muttering to himself when he realized it was impossible.

Obviously, he had just slotted himself into the classic category of a socially awkward dad on social media. He spent a few minutes staring at the screen, fingers hovering over his phone, trying to think of something that wouldn’t sound ridiculous.

For a second, he even considered asking Hyacinth for help. She was good at these things, knew every Instagram shortcut, and would probably discover in five minutes everything he wanted to know. But, of course, his sister had the biggest mouth in the entire Bridgerton clan. A single hint would be enough for Anthony and Benedict to mock him until the end of time — and that was a burden he wasn’t willing to carry.

Then came the most absurd alternative of all: creating a fake profile just to follow her.

But the instant the thought crossed his mind, he realized how pathetic that would be.

“She’s Elliot’s teacher,” he repeated under his breath, as if saying it aloud would bring him back to his senses.

She was Elliot’s teacher.

The woman responsible for making his son flourish, for turning nights of frustration into lighthearted afternoons of learning.

God, he had drawn her.

Colin smiled, his heart melting and tightening all at once.

Yes, she could be kind, intelligent, attentive, and beautiful in a way that left him breathless.

But she was Elliot’s teacher.

What mattered was Elliot. His education, his progress, his smile when he talked about school. That had to be the priority.

So he kept repeating it in his mind like a mantra.

She is Elliot’s teacher.

✨

The Mother’s Day event had been scheduled for the Friday before the holiday Sunday. It would be Elliot’s first school event, and he couldn’t have been more excited. From the very day the school’s email arrived, Colin had heard about it at every breakfast and during every car ride. The message included all the details: there would be food trucks after the presentation, the children’s drawings would be displayed on murals, and the highlight — each class would prepare a song dedicated to a special woman chosen by the kids.

Elliot, with the natural certainty of someone who knew exactly what he wanted, had chosen to honor Violet.

His grandmother nearly cried when she received the news, her eyes shining with a pride that warmed even the coldest corners of Colin’s heart. It was impossible not to notice how that boy had the gift of lighting up everyone’s life around him.

And Marina? Well, Marina wouldn’t be coming.

Not that day, nor to any other event that involved more than the bare minimum they had agreed upon.

His thoughts were interrupted by his son, who was bouncing with excitement down the narrow aisle of the flower shop. They had stopped there to buy flowers for Violet, which Elliot would hand to her before the tribute. The boy, dressed in the white shirt and beige shorts requested by the school to standardize the class, looked like a true flower expert. His curls fell messily over his forehead as he examined each pot carefully, as though he wanted to pick the most perfect one.

— “Violets for Grandma Violet, Daddy!” — he exclaimed, excited, pointing to the little sign identifying the flowers. — “What do you think?”

Colin smiled at the choice.

— “I think it’s perfect. She’s going to love it.” — he said, signaling to the shop assistant, knowing they couldn’t take too long.

As he finished placing the order, he heard his son’s high-pitched voice again.

— “Daddy…” — Elliot called, swinging his little foot, a habit that betrayed either nervousness or anticipation.

— “Go ahead, son” — Colin replied, still smiling as he walked to the counter.

What he didn’t expect was what came next.

— “Do you think we could also buy flowers for Miss Pen?”

The question made Colin pause for a moment, his body freezing for a second. A strange heat crept up his neck, and instinctively, his hand went to his hair — or what was left of it, thanks to that damned drunken bet with Gregory.

— “What flowers do you think she’d like?” — he asked, crouching down to be at Elliot’s level, trying to sound casual, as if that suggestion hadn’t made his heart beat a little faster than usual.

The boy put on a thoughtful expression, his brow furrowed as though analyzing a complex problem.

— “Hm… She’s really fun. So… maybe really colorful flowers. Lots of colors.”

The shop assistant, noticing the hesitation, pointed to a vibrant bouquet near the counter.

— “We have wildflower bouquets, they’re very cheerful”

— “We’ll take those too” — Colin confirmed, and Elliot broke into a smile so wide it lit up the whole shop.

— “Thanks, Dad!” — the boy threw himself against his leg, hugging him tightly.

— “Of course, my love” he murmured, returning the gesture with a gentle caress to his son’s curls.

Penelope had truly captivated more than one Bridgerton, and Colin knew by now he couldn’t underestimate the power of her charm.

He tried to hold back his curiosity, especially in front of Elliot, but before he could think better of it, the words slipped out as they carried the bouquets out of the flower shop.

— “Has Miss Pen ever said if she has children too?”

Elliot’s brown eyes widened, curiosity shining in them.

— “She doesn’t. My friends and I asked once, because it would be really unfair.” — Elliot waved his arms with childish energy.

— “Unfair?” — Colin stopped, intrigued, watching his son frown, clearly trying to put into words something bigger than himself.

— “Yes, Dad! I can only see Miss Pen five times a week. Imagine how unfair it would be if she had kids who got to see her every single day.” — Elliot spoke with conviction, like a little judge of justice.

Colin felt a pang in his chest.

— “You’d like to see her every day?” — he asked gently, honoring the boy’s pure sincerity.

— “I’d love it! Miss Pen is the best!” — Elliot replied, already running toward the car, skipping with that boundless energy only children have.

Colin lagged behind, lost in thought.

Why didn’t he also feel jealous of the children who could see her face during the week?

My God, he realized he wasn’t so different from Elliot after all, and that realization quietly frightened him.

Arriving at the school, parking was a challenge. Every square meter seemed crammed with parents, children, and anxious mothers. The auditorium was so large it could easily host a famous band. Colin, already tired from the effort, had given Elliot the two bouquets to carry as they hurried to reach the family’s reserved seats.

Elliot ran excitedly to greet his little group.

Oliver, Amanda, Charlotte, Alexander, and Caroline.

Children of similar ages, always wrapped up in their own games, brimming with energy and enthusiasm.

Edmund, Miles, Charles, Amelia, and Belinda were already older, immersed in their own, more complex interests. William and David were still practically babies, absorbing the world through curious eyes and clumsy gestures.

Sometimes Colin still marveled at the number of nephews and nieces he had — and at the certainty that the number would only grow. When his mother had decided to have eight children, perhaps she hadn’t imagined the avalanche of grandchildren that would follow. Yet in that moment, she looked radiant, surrounded by so many little ones nestling around her.

— “Grandma, I have something for you!” — Elliot proudly held out the bouquet of violets, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

— “Like them? I adore them, my dear!” — Violet bent down to kiss her grandson’s cheek, smiling with eyes misted by tenderness. — “They’re my favorite flowers”

— “Elliot is such a grandma’s pet” — Edmund, nine years old, rolled his eyes with a touch of jealousy, though a shy smile slipped across his lips.

— “And you didn’t bring her a slice of cake too?” — Kate asked, laughing as she watched the scene with amusement.

— “I love being spoiled by all my grandchildren” — Violet shrugged, playful and content, savoring every moment.

— “And what about that other bouquet?” — Daphne cast a curious glance at Colin, who felt his face flush instantly.

— “It’s for Miss Pen!” — Elliot answered before anyone else could, with that innocent conviction only a child can have.

— “For your teacher, huh?” — Benedict teased, ruffling his nephew’s hair, amused by his seriousness.

— “Oh, she deserves it. What an incredible woman she is!” — Violet placed a hand over her heart, moved.

— “I’ve heard many parents praise her. Clara’s son is also in Elliot’s class, and his confidence has improved so much, he hardly spoke before.” — Daphne commented, excited.

— “Yes… it’s a pity she joined only recently. It would have been wonderful if she’d taught Charles or Alex.” — Sophie lamented, as though regretting a missed opportunity.

— “Edmund would have adored her too” — Anthony joined in the chatter.

— “But she’s my teacher!” — Elliot pouted, trying to claim a bit of exclusivity.

— “Oh, someone’s feeling jealous” — Miles said, amused, watching his cousin.

— “She must be a very kind lady” — Simon remarked, leaning back comfortably in his chair, as though the teacher’s advanced age was an obvious assumption for everyone.

Colin took a deep breath.

Why did everyone imagine Penelope as a middle-aged lady?

Himself included.

— “She’s not a lady, she’s young” — the words slipped out before he could hold them back.

A curious silence fell over the group, and every gaze turned toward him.

— “What are we talking about?” — Eloise approached, wrapping an arm around Phillip, her curious eyes shining with expectation.

— “We’re talking about Elliot’s teacher” — Anthony smiled, subtly teasing him.

— “What about her?” — Phillip asked, intrigued.

Colin felt a flush rise to his cheeks. He still hadn’t told his best friend about the red hair that refused to stop haunting his mind.

— “You’re all being too harsh” — Violet defended him, folding her arms with maternal firmness.

— “Of course she won’t let us tease her baby boy” — Benedict rolled his eyes, amused by the family scene.

— “I don’t play favorites among my children!” — Violet swatted Anthony’s arm, indignant, as though correcting some imagined injustice.

— “Sure, Mother…” — Daphne smiled sarcastically, watching the family dynamics unfold.

— “I think that—” — Colin began, but his voice was cut off by Elliot’s piercing shout.

— “MISS PEN!” — the child called with all the energy of his innocence, trying to capture his teacher’s attention.

Colin still hadn’t managed to get a proper look at Penelope, but when his eyes finally met hers, he felt utterly disoriented.

She was wearing a long red dress — not hard, considering her short stature. He couldn’t help but think how his shirts would probably look oversized on her.

No.

Don’t let your thoughts go there.

He scolded himself.

The dress had a peasant style, modestly covering her, yet still revealing her subtle curves. Her auburn curls were partly pinned back with delicate heart-shaped clips, and her smile made her cheeks seem even rosier and more enchanting.

Colin’s throat went dry.

She was dazzling.

He lost all sense of time, watching her in silence. He only came back to himself when he noticed Elliot hugging Penelope, impatient to hand over the bouquet still clutched in his little hand.

From the back of the auditorium, Kate’s voice cut through his thoughts.

— “Good heavens, that’s his teacher?”

At least he wasn’t the only one struck by her presence. Perhaps it was only natural for Penelope to disarm everyone around her—and he simply felt like a defenseless victim of her charm.

— “Hello, Miss Pen” — Colin finally stepped closer, his feet heavy, though he wore a gentle smile, using the same title as the children.

— “Mr. Bridgerton” — Penelope returned his smile politely, her eyes lighting with genuine warmth. — “It’s so lovely to see you all today! Are you excited for the performance, Elliot?” — she leaned slightly toward him, while he gazed up at her in wonder.

— “So excited, Miss Pen! I practiced my steps a lot!” — Elliot answered, beaming.

— “You’re definitely going to shine” — she said, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear, almost provoking Colin to reach out and do it for her.

— “These are for you” — he handed her the bouquet instinctively, and Penelope blushed.

My God.

She blushed for him.

— “Dad…” — Elliot grumbled, indignant, and Colin realized immediately what he had just done. In a quick gesture, he crouched down and placed the bouquet in his son’s small hands.

— “Elliot chose them for you” — he corrected, watching Penelope’s smile widen with such genuine warmth it made his chest tighten.

— “They’re perfect” — she said, taking the bouquet carefully, as though holding a treasure. — “I love wildflowers” — she brought her face close to them, and Colin couldn’t look away.

The image was almost ethereal

How could someone be so beautiful, so effortlessly enchanting?

— “You look like a princess, Miss Pen” — Elliot grinned, waving his little hands with childlike enthusiasm.

Colin felt the truth of that comment, because he couldn’t have agreed more with his son.

— “And you, a little prince” — she replied, placing a kiss on Elliot’s curls.

It was impossible not to notice how loving, gentle, sweet she was… so entirely herself.

Colin had never met anyone like her. That simple gesture seemed to light up everything around them, leaving his heart restless and quiet at the same time.

— “I was about to call you to come backstage with your friends. The performance will start soon.” — her voice was soft yet steady, and before she even finished her sentence, Elliot’s hand was already entwined with hers.

— “Bye, Dad!” — Elliot said quickly, pulling a delicate giggle from Penelope.

— “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton” — she gave him a quick glance before turning away with Elliot. But that instant, brief as it was, was enough to make Colin’s ears burn and his heart race.

— “Well, brother…” — Benedict’s voice came from close by, dragging him back to reality. — “You’re so screwed”

This time, Colin didn’t argue.

Because, for the first time, he realized that he truly was.

✨

Colin settled into the seat beside Violet, his phone ready to capture every moment, though his eyes were already fixed on the stage. His heart raced, a mixture of anticipation and pride, as he searched for Elliot in the second row, organized by height. The little boy wore around his neck a handmade heart with his grandmother’s picture in the center, and gave a nervous smile whenever he saw his mother waving from the family’s seats.

— “He’s so focused, Mother…” — Colin murmured, never taking his eyes off his son.

— “Yes… and look how much he trusts her. It’s incredible how a good teacher can make such a difference.” — Violet squeezed his arm, her eyes glistening with quiet emotion.

Colin glanced away for a moment, only to notice Penelope discreetly at the corner, watching every move the children made. She kept a respectful distance, ready to step in if needed, but her attention remained completely on Elliot and his classmates. Colin felt a pang of silent fascination, but quickly returned his focus to Elliot, knowing he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

The sound began filling the auditorium with the chords of Slipping Through My Fingers. Colin felt his heart warm, each note stirring memories of when his son was even smaller, each dance step now reflecting the growth and confidence gained over the years.

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Elliot began to sing, his voice steady and clear. Colin watched every movement of the choreography with an almost obsessive focus.

— “Just look at him”

Violet smiled softly, not needing to say anything more.

Colin felt his eyes grow misty. The choreography was simple, yet perfect. Elliot seemed to know exactly where to be and when to move his arms. With every step, Colin remembered each gesture he had taught, each little milestone achieved over the years. Whenever Elliot hesitated, his eyes sought Penelope, who remained in the corner with absolute patience, guiding them with discreet gestures. Colin noticed the subtlety of her direction: a light touch on a child’s arm, an encouraging smile, a tilt of her head that said, go on, you can do it.

— “She really does know how to make a child feel confident, doesn’t she?” — Colin murmured, admiring Penelope’s balance between firmness and gentleness.

— “Yes…” — Violet replied, watching him with a suspicious look.

I try to capture every minute

Every note of the song seemed to pass through Colin, reminding him how much time had gone by, how quickly Elliot was growing up. He glanced away for a moment and noticed the faint blush on Penelope’s cheeks as she watched the class, her posture graceful yet steady, the way she held their attention without pressing too hard. Colin swallowed hard but kept his expression calm, not allowing his quiet fascination to show.

Elliot completed each step with precision. Every time he stumbled, just the smallest gesture from Penelope was enough for him to regain the rhythm, and Colin felt silent pride overflowing within him.

Do I really see myself in her?

When the final note rang out, a brief, respectful silence filled the auditorium, immediately followed by enthusiastic applause. Colin rose with everyone else, clapping firmly, while watching Penelope’s cheeks flush softly as she bowed to the class. She smiled with humility, but the sparkle in her eyes revealed everything: pride, joy, and the deep connection she had with each child there.

Once again, Colin felt his heart race, and an involuntary smile curved his lips. She had truly been born for this — for teaching, for guiding, for inspiring.

With the end of the event, the schoolyard quickly filled with laughter, chatter, and hurried footsteps. Elliot had vanished into a sea of classmates, running toward the juice table, while Penelope was surrounded by children and parents, all eager to congratulate her.

Colin tried to follow her with his eyes — at first for Elliot’s sake, and if he were honest with himself, for his own as well.

He caught glimpses of her here and there, always encircled by smiles and little hands tugging at her skirt for attention, or by grateful parents praising the care and patience with which she taught their children. But every time he tried to approach, another person stepped in between, and soon the auburn-haired figure disappeared once again into the tangle of people.

He sighed, masking his frustration, and turned his attention back to his son, who was now running toward him, eager to show the drawings displayed in the hallway.

— “Colin! Look how much detail he put into it!” — Eloise said, laughing as she pointed to a drawing in which Elliot had depicted all the women in front of the Bridgerton house.

But that wasn’t the one that made everyone laugh and, in Benedict’s case, let out a low, teasing whistle.

Next to the family picture was the drawing Elliot had made of Penelope inside a heart.

Leaving no room for doubt, it was signed with a big “MISS PEN.”

— “Well, well…” — Anthony teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement. — “He really does like her, doesn’t he?”

Elliot, blushing all the way to his ears, squeezed his father’s hand.

— “She’s the best teacher in the world!” — he said with the conviction of someone stating an absolute truth. — “And she likes it when I draw, Dad. She said I’m really good at it.”

Colin ignored the family’s knowing looks. For him, there was nothing to be said. What mattered was the joy shining on his son’s face, that proud smile that seemed to light up everything around him.

— “And you really are, my boy. These drawings are coming home with me. I’ll hang them on the office wall. Every single one.” — he replied, his voice low and filled with a pride that needed no witnesses.

Violet smiled softly, her tender gaze resting on her son and grandson.

Eloise opened her mouth, likely ready for another jab, but was silenced by Colin’s firm look.

With the drawings in hand, Colin stepped aside, seeking a quieter corner to breathe. And only then, in that moment of fleeting silence, did he allow himself to face the truth he had been trying to ignore.

He had been looking for her. At first, for his son, of course. He wanted Elliot to have the chance to share his pride with his teacher, to show her the drawings, to thank her for the subtle gestures that had helped him on stage. But if he were honest with himself, he knew the search went beyond that. He wanted to see her. To talk to her, even if about nothing at all.

Just to be near her, if only for an instant.

But he hadn’t managed it. Penelope remained wrapped in a world that seemed to have no space for him.

A world of laughing children, grateful parents, and voices tripping over one another to capture a piece of her attention.

He gave a short, humorless laugh as he sensed a shadow approach. Some single mothers, acquaintances of Daphne, appeared with calculated smiles, striking up conversation about Elliot, about the performance, about anything that might justify drawing closer.

He was polite, of course, he always was. He answered with courtesy, with that automatic charm that came almost effortlessly. But deep down, his mind wasn’t there. It was in the hallway, where the colorful drawings still swayed lightly in the breeze, and where one of them in particular reminded him of what he didn’t want to admit.

As they walked home, Elliot clutching the drawings tightly as if they were trophies, Colin felt the weight of a thought he didn’t want to name. He knew that sooner or later, those pictures would be hung on the wall, and everyone who entered his office would see what his son had made. He also knew that every time he passed by them, it wouldn’t be just pride he felt.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, Penelope was etched into his mind.

And deep down, he was fully aware that no matter how much he tried, he wouldn’t stop thinking about her.

Chapter Text

“One slip and I’m falling in the labyrinth, oh, what a way to die”

Taylor Swift – Guilty as Sin?

✨

Penelope hadn’t expected so much.

Of course, she knew that at the Mother’s Day event she would receive smiles, maybe a few polite thank-yous, but nothing had prepared her for the wave of affection that enveloped her after the presentation. She had met some parents individually, in specific situations, but seeing them all gathered there, radiating pride for their children, was different. Especially for her, who led such a small class and yet was surrounded by a warm crowd of hugs, kind words, and eyes brimming with emotion.

For a moment, she felt almost ridiculous for having imagined, when she accepted the job, that she would have to face a sea of arrogant looks, noses tilted upward under the weight of last names. She discovered that, in most cases, she had been wrong. People were more human than she feared, or perhaps the children’s purity softened even the sternest hearts.

But, of course, there were exceptions. There always are.

Olivia was one of them. The sweet little girl, with her attentive and sensitive eyes, seemed to have been born of a painful contrast. The mother, too impeccable, more concerned with fixing her blond hair and showing off her dress than with looking at her daughter’s paintings. The father, coarse and intrusive, looked at her in a way that made Penelope uncomfortable. She masked her unease, but her chest tightened. Thankfully, Olivia ran toward her, tiny arms outstretched, hugging her tightly, laughing. Penelope bent down, taking the chance to whisper in the girl’s ear how proud she was of her. The smile she received in return was like a balm. Soon after, the nanny gently took the child’s little hand, leading her away, and Penelope stood watching in silence, with a tenderness she did not dare voice aloud.

Now sitting in her kitchen, the flowers on her counter still caught her eye. The bouquet Elliot had given her was beginning to wilt in the vase of water. Even so, she couldn’t look at those petals without feeling her heart race, remembering the moment when he, all excited, appeared with his father beside him to hand her the gift. It had been impossible to avoid the flush that rose to her cheeks, and no matter how much she tried to laugh at herself later, the memory still left her feeling a little… silly.

They both had the same gentle eyes, as if carrying within them a quiet light impossible to ignore.

But it was wrong to feel this way.

Wrong and, in a way, dangerous.

The father of a student. She should know better. She had always known better. And yet…

Colin was handsome, strong, and with a sweetness that shattered any resistance. It was almost unfair.

Penelope had already noticed how the single mothers hovered around him during the party, with laughter a little too light, glances that lingered, rehearsed movements, hair tossed to the side, and eyelashes blinking slowly.

Some of them were women of almost intimidating beauty, with long legs and skin bronzed by the sun, as if they had stepped straight out of a fashion editorial. They would suit him. Naturally. And perhaps, who knows, one of them had even managed to get his number that afternoon.

Not that Penelope had been watching. Not directly, but it was impossible not to notice.

She knew almost nothing about Elliot’s mother. In fact, absolutely nothing. Not a single stray comment, not a forgotten photograph in some drawing. In the files, no record. In the notes, no mention. For weeks, she imagined that perhaps the child had lost his mother. Her heart nearly broke at the thought. But then she realized there were no tributes, no references. Nothing to confirm or deny her suspicion. And, of course, she would never ask. There were very clear limits to her role, lines she would never cross.

Even so, it was hard not to be moved. Penelope always tried to keep herself steady, guarded. She wanted to be whole for all her children, but she knew the risk of becoming too involved. Growing attached could be dangerous. A silent danger, one that ate away from the inside. And with Elliot, she feared she was already giving in.

She herself couldn’t explain why. From the very first day, that boy had won her over effortlessly. With his open smile, with his disarming generosity, with the way he looked at the world as if there were always something new to discover. Elliot had something that cut through the barriers Penelope had so carefully built. And, to make it worse, his father also seemed to carry that same luminous essence, only wrapped in a beauty that left her vulnerable.

It wasn’t fair to her mind, nor to her heart.

She already had enough problems. And she certainly didn’t need one more.

✨

On the Wednesday before the school’s big bake sale, it seemed that everything had decided to fall apart at once. The morning began with two students arguing heatedly over a simple colored pencil, an object far too small to justify tears, shoves, and shouting — but big enough to turn the classroom into a battlefield. It fell to her to intervene, to calm tempers, and to transform the chaos into a collective lesson about sharing and respecting one another’s space.

When she finally thought she had regained a little order, her phone buzzed again in her pocket. Another message, another unknown number. Blocking them didn’t help, it always seemed there was another. The feeling of being followed grew steadily, tightening her chest with every ring, reminding her that there were things in her life that slipped completely out of her control.

And, as if that weren’t enough, her birthday was approaching. The second without her mother. The second in which the date, once filled with homemade cakes and shared laughter, now carried only silence and a pain she didn’t know where to place.

She didn’t want to celebrate. She didn’t want to remember. But the days insisted on passing, leading her inevitably toward it.

With her head far too full, she walked down the hallway almost on autopilot, in search of coffee in the teachers’ lounge before burying herself again in preparing the following day’s activities.

That was when a voice called her, urgent, pulling her out of her thoughts.

— “I’m so glad I found you!” — Clarice, the teacher of the other primary class, was rushing toward her, breathless, as if she had run halfway across the school.

Penelope stopped at once, her heart speeding up.

— “Did something happen?” — she asked, already imagining the worst.

God knew how quickly chaos spread when a child got hurt.

— “No… I mean, yes” — Clarice leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath. — “Two parents from my class just canceled their participation in the fair. Now I’ve got two spots to fill.”

Penelope blinked, confused.

— “But… does there have to be a minimum number of participants? I thought it was just however many volunteered.”

— “Normally, they expect six from each grade level” — her colleague explained, looking distressed.

Oh.

Penelope felt the weight of the information. She herself had only managed to confirm two parents so far.

Cressida, Olivia’s mother, and probably a constant source of future headaches.

And Clara, Theo’s mother, always kind and helpful.

It was little, far too little.

— “Well… I sent the notice in the agenda, but not all parents read it” — she said, biting her lip. — “I can send an email, reinforce the invitation. Maybe one of them will volunteer.”

Clarice’s face lit up, and without warning she pulled her into a tight hug.

— “Did I already tell you you’re perfect today? Thank you for this.”

Penelope blushed, a little awkward, and returned the gesture gently.

— “Oh, don’t mention it… it’s nothing”

The truth was, despite being a great colleague, she had never really considered herself good at friendships. She always knew how to maintain cordiality, the polite smile, the necessary support. But letting someone cross the walls she had so carefully built around herself was different. Hard.

Few had managed. In fact, only two people. One of them was Genevive, her best friend. They had met in their first year of college and, against all odds, hit it off immediately.

Genevive was her opposite: outgoing, confident, possessing a presence that filled any space. Penelope, by contrast, was shy, discreet, inclined to silence. Yet somehow, Genevive had always known how to understand that silence and accept it.

They had shared years of closeness until a promotion took her friend to France. The distance hurt, of course, but the joy at a loved one’s achievement always spoke louder than the ache of longing. The last time they saw each other, however, had not been in a joyful farewell, but at Rae’s funeral. Genevive had come rushing, crossing continents to be by her side.

Two days later, the first message arrived.

Now, with the mug warming her hands with a cappuccino far too good to have come from a machine, she tried to focus on what she really needed to do. Her fingers tapped against the keyboard, drafting a collective email asking for help. Deep down, she didn’t expect much of a response. If she were one of the parents, she too would have preferred the role of customer: show up at the event, buy a few sweets, smile politely, and go home. Much easier than spending an entire night baking only to stand for hours at a wooden booth the next day.

But she wasn’t one of the parents. She was the teacher. And, if she were honest with herself, there was a part of her that loved this kind of event.

The organization, the smell of the treats, the joy of children running back and forth, the collective energy of a shared purpose. It was as if these moments had the power to make days lighter — even a birthday she would rather forget.

It took only twenty minutes for the first response to arrive. When the name lit up in her inbox, her stomach twisted in an involuntary whirl.

Colin Bridgerton.

It was too obvious. Of course it would be him. On top of everything, he had to be helpful.

Her heart quickened in an uncomfortable way, and in a nearly defensive reflex, she turned her eyes away from the screen. Another email came right after, this time from a different father, carrying with it a breath of reality. Penelope answered quickly, sending all the necessary details before abruptly shutting her laptop. Suddenly, the weight of everything felt like too much.

It was time to put herself back in her place.

She couldn’t allow herself to nurture that kind of thought.

She wasn’t one to be easily charmed, she wasn’t one to let herself get carried away, and she would never do that with a student’s father.

No. She wouldn’t.

✨

The morning of April 8 arrived without the smell of freshly brewed coffee or the comfort of the breakfast her mother used to prepare. The emptiness of that absence was still almost physical, like an empty chair at the table. Even so, Penelope woke too early for a Sunday. There were brownies waiting for her. She needed to check each one, make sure they were properly wrapped, ready to be loaded into the car.

It was a different way of celebrating life, she thought. Working, being among her students, surrounded by that innocent, vibrant energy. Even more so when she remembered that every cent raised would go to a local orphanage. It was beautiful, it was fair, it was a good deed. And she needed to believe that this too was a way to celebrate.

Standing before her small closet, she hesitated over the clothes. She wanted to feel comfortable, but also presentable. She knew she would spend hours on her feet, so she chose her Mary Janes, with heels low enough not to hurt but that would give her a little extra height next to the children. When she checked the weather on her phone, she found a mild, springlike forecast, which gave her room to wear one of her favorite dresses. Black, midi-length, with a skirt that flared just slightly.

Suddenly, she felt a spark of energy. She pulled out her makeup bag and applied a light touch, just enough to bring color back to her cheeks and disguise the fatigue. Then she separated a few strands of hair, weaving them into loose braids that tamed, albeit imperfectly, the rebellious waves.

She cast one last look at the mirror, taking a deep breath. She felt… a little pretty.

Not in an extravagant way, but with a quiet delicacy that surprised her. Rae used to tease that she looked like a fairy. And in that moment, as she adjusted the loose braids in her hair and watched the flowing fabric of her black dress swirl lightly as she moved, Penelope almost believed it.

Carrying the boxes to the car, however, shattered any enchantment. It took three trips before she managed to fit all the brownies safely in the trunk. She didn’t have much strength in her arms and, frankly, the last thing she needed was to see her hours of work scattered across the asphalt.

The school was already buzzing when she arrived. The main parking lot was closed, taken over by the wooden stalls lined up in an almost chaotic order, each one about to come alive with sweets, colors, and voices. Luckily, the spaces reserved for teachers were still free, and she managed to park there, from where she had a good view of the bustle. Parents arrived carrying boxes, using the back entrance that had been opened for them.

The clock read 8:30. The fair would begin at 10.

She believed she was early, but seeing the number of people already moving around, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being late.

— “Penelope”

The deep voice reached her from behind, and the mere sound was enough to make her stomach lurch uncomfortably. She recognized it without needing to turn, and that realization made her silently scold herself. Why did it seem that the more she tried to keep her distance, the more the universe insisted on placing him in her path?

Was she being tested?

Turning, she found exactly what she feared—and perhaps desired more than she should.

— “Mr. Bridgerton” — she said, making sure the car was locked before offering a polite smile.

He approached slowly, and of course, he was incredibly handsome.

Colin wore a yellow T-shirt that subtly outlined his chest, paired with black cargo pants. A simple chain rested against his collarbone, glinting in the morning light. The effect was devastating. Honestly, it bordered on criminal.

He was a father. Fathers were supposed to wear discreet loafers and Superman T-shirts bought on mall clearance racks. Not look as though they had walked straight out of a magazine.

— “I already told you, you can call me Colin” — he said, smiling in a broad, warm way, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Penelope felt the urge to shrink back, to protect herself from that intensity.

— “Yes, of course” — she replied, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. — “Force of habit”

It wasn’t. It was just her subconscious desperately reminding her not to get too close.

— “I just arrived as well” — he said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking a little nervous. — “We’re going to have a lot of stalls, aren’t we?”

She blinked, surprised. Nervous? Why? Had she said something wrong?

— “Yes” — she said, letting a genuine smile slip through. — “Actually, we still need to find out which one we’ll be in”

She started walking, and he followed her with ease. In fact, he seemed to slow his pace just to match hers, something she couldn’t help but notice. The difference in height was striking, and there was something curious — and dangerous — in the care he showed through such simple gestures.

— “Is it one per person?” — he asked, trying to sound casual.

— “No, in pairs” — she answered, lifting her eyes to meet the gentle brightness that always seemed present in his gaze. — “Mr. Patrick has the list, let’s check with him”

She pointed to the man in a colorful sweater, unmistakable amid the chaos, holding a clipboard to his chest.

— “Penelope, darling!” — Patrick opened his arms even before she reached him, wrapping her in a warm hug. He was one of the most beloved teachers at the school, with his easy humor and contagious enthusiasm.

As she stepped back, she saw Colin also greeted affectionately. He didn’t shy away from the contact, returning the gesture naturally.

— “My husband’s coming today, remind me to introduce you” — Patrick whispered before leaning over to check the list. Penelope nodded, smiling in agreement.

While her colleague was distracted, she discreetly tapped her foot, as if she needed to release the waves of anxiety rising inside her. Being so close to Colin left her electrified, as though his mere presence took up too much space, smothering her clarity of thought.

— “Looks like you two already knew” — Patrick remarked with a mischievous smile, shooting them a quick glance before returning to the clipboard. — “You’re in the same booth, number seven”

Penelope felt her stomach drop.

Her mother had always said: the more you try to avoid something, the faster it chases after you.

— “I think I got lucky” — Colin said, still keeping his eyes fixed on her.

Why did he have to look at her like that? As if he saw beyond the surface, beyond the rehearsed words.

That gaze only fed the butterflies that insisted on stirring in her stomach.

— “Yes…” — she murmured, trying to sound relaxed, even though deep down she didn’t believe it.

He would never be interested in someone like her, and that was fine.

It was fine. She could simply enjoy the view, like one admires something beautiful from afar.

— “Didn’t Elliot come with you?” — she asked, noticing he was walking her back to the car.

— “I didn’t have the heart to wake him up so early” — he replied with a low laugh. — “He’s coming later with my family”

Penelope smiled, picturing the boy arriving all excited.

— “He’ll love it. No child likes waking up early, especially not on a weekend.”

She opened the trunk, but before she could bend down to grab one of the boxes, Colin was already there. With the ease of someone for whom effort didn’t exist, he bent down and stacked them all in his arms at once, as if they weighed nothing.

— “I’ll take them to our booth” — he said, smiling faintly, leaving her frozen, only able to watch the scene.

God have mercy on her.

✨

If Colin were honest with himself at that moment, he would admit he was buzzing inside. The universe could only be conspiring in his favor by placing him side by side with Penelope for the entire day.

The moment he read the email asking for volunteers, he knew he had no choice. He needed to see her. Not for a few rushed minutes passing her at the fair, not in quick, polite hallway conversations. He needed more.

He had spent the last few days trying not to think about her, but somehow her image always appeared, at random moments. In the silence of the car, in the middle of a meeting, while preparing dinner. As if his mind had formed the habit of seeking her out.

And Elliot, of course, wasn’t helping.

His son spoke of the teacher with increasing frequency, always with enthusiasm. Colin smiled, but inside he realized that both of them were obsessed with her.

Obsessed in different ways, but equally intense.

He set the boxes carefully on the counter of the booth he would share with Penelope and walked back to his car. He had brought cinnamon rolls to sell—but, of course, he hadn’t baked them. Not that he didn’t know how to cook; in fact, he cooked very well. But sweets had never been his strength.

He had burned three whole batches before finally admitting defeat. The smoky smell clinging to the kitchen had made Elliot pull such a dramatic face that Colin had no choice but to call the family bakery and order more than enough for the fair. Better to be safe, especially since he already knew that both he and his son would find a way to steal a few before the day was over.

When he returned to the booth, the first thing that struck him wasn’t the sweet aroma of the cinnamon rolls now neatly packaged, but the sight of Penelope. She was leaning over the table, arranging the brownies into perfect rows, as if each piece were a jewel. The sheen of chocolate glistened under the morning light, and there was something almost reverent in the way she positioned each square.

He only realized he had been standing still, admiring the woman more than the sweets, when the word slipped involuntarily from his mouth.

— “Wow”

She lifted her eyes to him, catching him in the act. And for an instant, Colin felt as though he had been pierced through. The blue of her eyes was so clear, so luminous, it seemed impossible he had ever seen anything like it before.

— “They look beautiful… did you make them?” — he asked, trying to disguise his daze.

— “Yes” — he gave a vibrant smile — “Yours look perfect too, did you bake them?”

— “Hm, no” — replied with a shy laugh — “I tried, I swear I tried, but Elliot couldn’t take the smell of burnt batter in the kitchen anymore. So… I ordered from Mrs. Donna’s bakery. She’s been making the best sweets since I was a child.”

Penelope let out a light, spontaneous laugh that filled his chest with pride, as if he had just earned something precious.

— “The secret is always preheating the oven” — she said, smiling in a way that left him a little breathless. — “But they do look delicious”

— “Your brownies too” — he replied, gesturing with his eyes toward the table beside her. — “You can take one if you want”

She hesitated, and he quickly added.

— “I ordered extra because I knew I’d be stealing a few”

Her laugh came again, and he thanked the heavens that at least he could make her find him amusing.

Penelope let her gaze wander over the pile of boxes and chose a small cinnamon roll, one covered in crystalized sugar. Colin couldn’t help but notice the contrast between her polished, shiny nails and the delicacy of her fingers. He noticed far too much.

Then she took the first bite.

The sound that escaped her lips was a low, instinctive moan of pure pleasure.

And Colin froze.

Fuck.

— “It’s the best I’ve ever had” — she said, covering her mouth with her hand in a timid gesture.

Strange, because he wanted to see it all. Every expression, every detail.

When she distractedly licked the glaze from her fingers, he felt his whole body react. The sight was obscene — or maybe it was just him, realizing in that moment that he was a complete pervert. Either way, it was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

He had to look away, reminding himself with effort that he was at his son’s school event. This wasn’t a bar, nor a secret date. It was a school fair, and the woman he was watching with such desire was Elliot’s teacher.

— “Colin Bridgerton!”

Agatha Danbury’s firm, unmistakable voice shattered the spell, pulling him back to reality.

He turned his head, finding her imposing figure approaching. Agatha had this gift, entering any space as if she owned it.

Well, in this case, she really did.

— “I didn’t know you had volunteered”

Colin smiled, finally catching his breath.

— “Of course I did”

Agatha had always been a constant presence in his family. Even more so after Daphne and Simon’s wedding, when she had become almost an honorary aunt.

Penelope took a few steps back, as if she wanted to hide behind the boxes, to escape the attention that suddenly seemed to be entirely on her. Colin opened his mouth, about to call her back, but Agatha was quicker.

— “Miss Jones” — she said with that shrewd smile, raising an eyebrow in a mix of irony and affection. — “What are you doing here?”

Penelope straightened her posture, still a little shy.

— “Hello, Mrs. Danbury. I…I volunteered to help with the sweets”

— “You can call me Agatha, dear!” — the older woman shot back without hesitation. — “It’s a well-earned privilege for one of my most praised teachers”

Colin couldn’t help but notice Penelope blushing, and the sight hit him squarely. There was something overwhelming in the way the flush tinged her fair skin, making her look even more delicate, even more… enchanting.

But Agatha didn’t stop there.

— “I meant, what are you doing here on your birthday?” — she added, tapping her cane against the ground as if sealing the point. — “I get an email with all my employees’ dates, and I’m quite sure today is yours. You should be enjoying the day, not stuck here with these boring parents.” — she turned to Colin with a half-mischievous smile. — “With all due respect, of course”

— “No offense taken” — he replied with a low laugh. But inside, he felt his chest tighten.

It was her birthday.

The thought struck him in a strangely unsettling way. Penelope should be surrounded by friends, by family, being celebrated, exalted.

Not here, hiding behind a wooden table, handing out sweets to strangers.

Penelope looked away, a little embarrassed.

— “I didn’t know that information reached you…” — she murmured, flustered. — “But I’m happy to be here, Agatha. I promise you I’m having a wonderful day.”

She smiled, but there was a shadow in her voice, as if she were trying to mask something she didn’t want to reveal.

But he noticed.

Agatha studied her with sharp eyes, as if measuring her from the inside. Then, finally, she nodded.

— “All right, but if you feel like leaving, go. Don’t tie yourself to obligations on your day.” — she cast a quick glance between the two of them, as if seeing more than she should, before taking her leave. — “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to torment the other teachers” —  her cane tapped lightly against the floor as she walked away.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch longer than it should. Penelope adjusted the box beside her, as if seeking refuge in any automatic gesture. Then Colin, unable to hold back, took a step toward her.

— “Happy birthday” — he said, breaking into the brightest smile he could muster, sincere and radiant.

She blinked, surprised, as though she hadn’t expected anyone to remember.

— “Oh… thank you” — she replied, swinging her feet, her body slightly restless. — “It’s not a big deal”

— “Seems like a big deal to me” — he countered, his voice low, almost intimate. — “You’re a good person, Penelope. Good people deserve to be celebrated.”

Her eyes widened for an instant, and he immediately regretted it. Maybe he had said too much, revealed too much. But then she smiled. A smile so beautiful, so genuine, it warmed his chest to the very core.

— “Thank you, Colin” — she said, and in that moment there seemed to be nothing truer in the world.

She cleared her throat, pulling herself back to reality with a small gesture.

— “Well… I suppose we’d better start organizing things”

He nodded, trying to mask the storm still pulsing inside him.

— “Yes, of course… let’s”

And as they moved side by side, Colin realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this.

That gentle, steady pressure in his chest, a persistent warmth that refused to fade.

✨

The fair was already in full swing when Colin spotted Elliot approaching the booth, his small hand clutched tightly in Benedict’s to keep from getting lost in the crowd. The space buzzed with voices, laughter, and hurried footsteps.

It wasn’t hard to lose count of how many people had already passed through.

His heart gave a small leap, part relief, part nerves. He wanted his son to see Penelope, but at the same time he feared what that closeness stirred in him. And, of course, Elliot went straight to the point.

— “MS. PEN!” — the boy shouted, leaning against the wooden counter, his blue eyes shining with joy.

Colin crossed his arms, feigning indignation.

— “Hey, I’m here too, you know?”

His son shrugged, the simplicity of children clear in his reply.

— “But I saw you yesterday, Daddy”

Benedict’s laughter rang out beside them, but Colin hardly noticed. His gaze was fixed on Penelope.

She stopped everything she was doing in that instant, as if nothing else mattered, and bent down to hug the little one. The scene warmed Colin inside in an almost painful way. It was so rare to see someone look at Elliot like that, with such pure, unreserved devotion.

— “You look beautiful” — Elliot said, his smile lighting up his little face.

Penelope blushed softly and tilted her head, her eyes full of tenderness.

— “Thank you. I dressed up to match you.”

Without thinking, she grabbed a brownie and handed it to him, as if it were the most natural gesture in the world. Elliot’s face lit up even more upon receiving the treat, and Colin had to suppress a laugh.

Deep down, he feared that his son might start preferring her over him. The bond forming before his eyes was so intense that it frightened him.

— “For now, you’re still taller, Miss Pen” — the childish voice sounded full of admiration.

She let out a soft laugh, which seemed to make Colin’s chest tighten.

— “I don’t think that will last long” — she said with a playful, theatrical pout.

And my God… she was beautiful.

Noticing the persistent flush on his face, Benedict seemed to decide to behave for the first time in his life. At least around her.

His brother straightened up and extended his hand toward Penelope, adopting the most elegant tone he could muster.

— “I’m Benedict Bridgerton, the uncle of that greedy little boy there” — he said warmly. —  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Penelope”

She shook his hand gently, still a little shy.

— “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Bridgerton. Elliot talks about all of you a lot.”

— “Only good things, I hope” — he winked at his nephew, who was already licking chocolate off his fingers.

Colin nearly sighed in relief at seeing Benedict behave, but as soon as Penelope turned back toward the counter, he heard the low, ironic voice right beside him.

— “Looks like you want to devour her. Have you tried asking for her number like a normal person?”

— “Benedict…” — Colin hissed through his teeth, keeping a smile on his face to avoid drawing attention. — “If you’re not going to help, don’t get in the way”

— “I am helping” — he stifled a laugh, glancing sideways at Penelope. — “Just reminding you that your eyes are more glued to her than Elliot is to the brownie”

He looked away, embarrassed, returning to organizing the papers with a care that seemed more like avoidance than real necessity.

— “Why are you with Elliot? Where are the actual adults?” — he muttered, his voice laden with disbelief.

Benedict placed a hand over his chest, pretending to be offended in a theatrical manner.

— “I’m older than you” — he declared, crossing his arms pompously. — “And you know… everyone’s watching from afar”

Colin looked in the direction his brother indicated. Across the market, a row of curious eyes was fixed on them until, caught in the act, they quickly looked away. He sighed deeply.

— “My God, I hate you all” — he muttered, running a nervous hand through his hair, fearing that Penelope might notice the family’s excessive curiosity and lack of boundaries. But, fortunately, she seemed oblivious to the scene, busy handing out brownies to Elliot, both perfectly in sync.

— “You love us” — Benedict retorted with a light laugh. — “And, mind you, we’re being polite. Not everyone came over. I was chosen for my eloquence and charm.”

Colin raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

— “Or maybe because you can’t keep your mouth shut” — he muttered under his breath, handing a treat to a distracted teenager.

— “I didn’t even say anything” — Benedict shot back, raising an eyebrow mischievously. —  “But seriously, Elliot really adores her. He almost tore my arm off when he saw her here.”

Colin didn’t need to reply. His eyes followed his brother’s until they landed on the scene.

Elliot, radiant, looking at Penelope with a childlike devotion so pure it made Colin’s chest tighten.

— “Yeah” — he said simply, leaving no room for argument.

It was the truth.

Benedict glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his smile becoming more restrained.

— “Do you think she’s noticed that his father looks at her the same way?”

The impact of the tease was immediate.

Colin gave him a light punch in the stomach, his face burning, and shot a quick glance around to make sure Penelope hadn’t heard.

— “Shut up” — he whispered, his voice tense.

The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable in his presence.

Benedict just rolled his eyes, used to his brother’s stubborn silence.

— “Even though you’re ungrateful, I’m going to leave you alone with her again” — he announced, already moving away. — “Come on, Elliot. I just saw a chocolate bomb stand”

— “Oh, I love those!” — the boy exclaimed, hopping with excitement before turning to Penelope with bright eyes. — “Come on, Miss Pen?”

She leaned toward him, her voice sweet and gentle like a caress.

— “I’d love to, Elliot, but I can’t leave the stand” — she said, her fingers tenderly brushing through his thick curls. — “But tomorrow is Monday, we’ll be together”

The boy’s expression shifted quickly from disappointment to euphoria, accepting without hesitation the promise of more of her attention soon. Then he ran back and gave her a tight hug before leaving alongside Benedict.

Colin watched the scene in silence, feeling Penelope’s gaze linger for a moment longer than necessary on the glimpse of Elliot walking away. His heart stumbled in his chest.

Could it be that it wasn’t just him? That Penelope was also being charmed by his son?

A quiet but steady flame lit inside him.

Not for himself, but for Elliot.

He was a child who deserved to be loved, protected, and surrounded by genuine affection.

He had always deserved only the best.

And Penelope… seemed to be the best.

He felt it with absolute clarity. She wasn’t just a pleasant presence in his life, she was a ray of light seeping into a place he had so often feared was too cold. Elliot looked at her as if she were magic. And perhaps she was.

So, when this thought took shape inside him — the possibility that the affection was mutual, that Penelope was also making space in her heart for his boy — Colin felt less anxious, less haunted by the fear that his son might get hurt.

Because, deep down, he felt that Penelope wasn’t someone who would leave easily.

As the hours passed, Colin watched her in glimpses. Penelope seemed distracted, lost in small thoughts, before being pulled back to reality by the bustling lines. He hadn’t expected the fair to be so crowded. Every time he thought he might have a few minutes to breathe — or perhaps to get closer to her — someone else would appear before him, handing over tickets, asking questions, demanding attention. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be in two places at once.

Penelope, on the other hand, seemed made for this. She handled all kinds of people without losing her composure, never letting her fatigue show. Nothing shook her, not even when a blonde mother with an arrogant expression appeared to complain that her gluten-free cakes weren’t selling. If it had been him, he would have bluntly said the problem was simple: gluten makes things taste good, and no one wants a tasteless treat. But Penelope was obviously better. With a sweet, confident voice, she offered words of encouragement that the woman hardly seemed to deserve. And still, the arrogance on the mother’s face softened, if only for a moment.

The hours continued at an intense yet light rhythm. Around three in the afternoon, Colin’s phone vibrated. It was Anthony, letting him know that everyone was heading home because the children were exhausted and Elliot had fallen asleep on Phillip’s lap. The message brought a half-smile and a touch of exasperation. Of course Phillip had also sneaked into the earlier gossip riot.

By almost five o’clock, the fair was starting to wind down. The stalls were being dismantled, the smell of sugar and grease fading into the air, and the children’s chatter turning into scattered silence. He perhaps didn’t need to be there anymore, but he stayed, always finding something to move, stack, or disassemble.

In other words, any excuse not to leave.

He secretly hoped that Penelope had left earlier, perhaps to celebrate her own birthday. The thought that she might have spent the entire day on school tasks, without a single celebratory gesture, tightened his chest. For the Bridgertons, birthdays had always been grand affairs. He knew not everyone was like that, but he also knew Penelope deserved more. She deserved, at the very least, to feel that her day was special.

Soon it would be Elliot’s birthday as well, and Colin had been attending to every detail to make it memorable. He enjoyed creating these moments, making others feel unique. Perhaps it was a flaw of his, this need to give others what he considered important. But he couldn’t act any other way.

When Penelope appeared beside him again, the parking lot was nearly empty. Only the metallic sounds of the dismantled structures remained, and a few scattered voices echoed across the open space.

Her eyes widened when she noticed he was still there.

— “I thought you had already left” — she said, her smile tinged with a hint of shy surprise.

— “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye” — he said, running a hand through the back of his neck nervously and forcing a restrained smile.  — “It was a really good day”

 He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, restless at the way her gaze seemed to pin him to the ground.

— “Yes” — her face lit up, her cheeks slightly flushed from the cold late-afternoon wind. — “Patrick said it was the fair that raised the most in years”

— “That’s amazing” — his voice came out louder, filled with genuine excitement.

— “It’s a great birthday gift” — she replied, hugging her bag to her chest as if it were an invisible shield.

Colin lowered his eyes to the clock and noticed the hand approaching six. The sky was darkening, turning a deep blue, with the first stars appearing.

— “It’s still your birthday, you must have plans”

Please say yes, say that you’ll be surrounded by people who love you, who admire you, who know who you really are.

But all he gets is a shy grimace.

— “Actually, no” — she laughs, but the sound is short, nervous. — “I’ll probably return a call I missed from my friend in Paris, but… no, that’s it, really”

She speaks as if it doesn’t matter, as if it’s natural. But for Colin, the effect is devastating. He feels his chest deflate, as if the air has been stolen from him.

— “Moments apart can be good too”

The words come out almost automatically, because he knows it’s true. He has spent many birthdays away, on endless trips.

— “I guess so” — she looks away, clutching her bag tighter against her body. — “Well, I better go”

He looks around. The space is almost deserted now, lit only by the last golden traces of the sunset.

— “I’ll walk you to the car”

— “No, really, it’s fine”

— “I insist” — he forces a smile, trying to sound casual.

It wouldn’t cost him anything, but the truth is he needed the certainty that she would get there safely.

She hesitates for a moment, as if weighing something inside herself, then nods in agreement.

They walk side by side, in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s also not what he wants. Colin wishes to hear her voice, uncover her secrets, make her laugh — but at the same time, he knows it’s not the right moment. Sometimes, silence has to exist.

Until a low murmur, almost a whisper, pulls him from his thoughts.

— “Shit”

He frowns, watching as she walks around the green SUV. Her eyes are fixed on the ground, troubled. And then he sees it.

All four tires were completely flat.

— “Damn it” — he mutters before he can stop himself. Immediately, he scolds himself, feeling heat rise to his face for cursing in front of her. — “Who would do something like this?”

— “Probably some teenager thinking they’re too funny” — her voice sounds weaker, tired.

The last ray of sun hits her face, illuminating the lone tear running down her cheek.

His body reacts before his mind does, every muscle begging to hug her, to wrap around her, to offer shelter. But he restrains himself.

— “It’s going to be okay” — the words sound hollow even to his own ears.

He wanted to be able to say something better, something that truly belonged to her.

— “I know… it’s just… it’s been a long day” — she leans against the car, her shoulders heavy.

He approaches slowly, stopping beside her, as if to say, “I’m here,” without invading the space she still kept.

— “That’s why I prefer kids to teenagers” — she tries to joke, but her clear eyes still reveal her vulnerability.

Colin lets out a low, knowing laugh.

— “My little sister is one… I get it”

She looks at him for a moment, as if measuring what lay behind that response, then suddenly asks.

— “How many siblings do you have?”

— “Seven” — he smiles sideways. — “I’m the third of eight children”

A nervous laugh escapes her lips.

— “Wow… I guess that explains the absurd number of aunts and uncles Elliot draws” — her eyes turn to the sky, where the blue is already giving way to the purple of night. — “It must be nice to grow up surrounded by so many people. You don’t feel lonely.”

He almost responds. Almost opens his mouth to say that being surrounded by people doesn’t guarantee you’re truly accompanied. That even amidst the crowd of his own family, he has felt alone. But the weight in her words is so palpable that he understands. It wasn’t about him. It was about her.

Before he can offer any reply, she sighs and breaks the moment.

— “Well, I guess I better call the tow truck” — her voice regains a practical tone, as if trying to compose herself. — “Thanks for bringing me to the car”

— “No need to thank me” — he looks around, noticing how empty the space has become. — “But it’s late and this place is deserted. Wouldn’t it be better to call it tomorrow?”

She bites her lower lip, thoughtful, as if weighing risks and alternatives at the same time.

— “Yeah, I guess you’re right” — she smiles sideways, tired, her shoulders slumped. — “I really just want to get home”

— “I can take you”

— “No, imagine…” — she stammered, insecure. — “I can call an Uber”

— “It wouldn’t be any trouble at all. Besides…” — he tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. — “Elliot would be very disappointed with me if he knew I didn’t give you a ride”

Her laugh escaped before she could hold it in, light, almost shy, but delightful to hear after the tears that had wet her face minutes earlier.

— “Alright, for Elliot’s sake”

— “Of course, for Elliot’s sake”

✨

Penelope couldn’t think clearly now, sitting in the soft leather seat of that luxurious car whose name she didn’t even know.

She felt… out of place. No, vulnerable.

She had been weak, crying in front of Colin — worse, in front of the father of one of her students. But, to her surprise, he hadn’t asked questions, hadn’t pressed for explanations. He didn’t pressure her. He just stayed by her side. Present.

And now he was there, driving, hands steady on the wheel, the muscles of his arms outlined beneath his shirt. She noticed how long her eyes lingered, how much she observed. She should have felt embarrassed, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was a small comfort after a long day, after the frustration of finding her car vandalized. Maybe it was just… Colin.

When she spotted the car in the parking lot, all she wanted was to sink into that space, to let the weight of the entire day collapse over her. And, indeed, a part of her had given in. But beside her, he was still there. That sweet man, firm in just the right measure, now taking her safely home.

Penelope silently thanked the fact that no school staff were nearby when they left. It wasn’t as if they were doing anything wrong, but something inside her insisted that it wasn’t exactly right. Was she taking advantage of a father’s kindness? Of his generosity?

My God, what was she thinking when she accepted this ride?

— “I need to stop by a store real quick” — his voice cut through her spiral of thoughts, bringing her back. The car was already pulling up in front of a brightly lit storefront.

— “Of course. Thanks again.”

He turned, eyes fixed on hers, serious and kind at the same time.

— “You don’t need to thank me. I would never leave you alone in that parking lot.”

Butterflies returned to her stomach, alive and restless.

— “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.” — he smiled before gently closing the door behind him.

Penelope settled into the car seat, the soft leather under her cold hands, letting her gaze wander around the interior. The silence was comfortable, yet unsettling, because it gave too much space for her thoughts to run free. Her eyes fell on the back seat, where she could see colorful toy cars, some large, some tiny, lined up in a haphazard way. She smiled to herself, almost without realizing it. She recognized that chipped blue, Elliot had brought it to school two weeks ago, insisting on showing it to all his classmates during circle time.

That simple image touched her in a strange way. Suddenly, this car — which wasn’t hers, which had nothing to do with her life — felt warm and intimate. Her heart tightened, and for a moment, she felt like an intruder. An intruder in Colin and Elliot’s space.

Time moved slowly, stretched by the wait. Until the driver’s door opened, and Colin returned. He carried a small box in his hands, and there was something in the way he held it — careful, yet slightly nervous — that immediately sparked her curiosity.

— “Everything okay in there?” — he asked, his easy smile appearing almost reflexively.

— “Yes…” — she replied quickly, trying to hide how she had been caught staring at the back seat. — “Everything’s fine”

He nodded, his eyes briefly dancing between her and the box he held. Then he took a deep breath and, before she could ask, spoke with natural ease.

— “Close your eyes”

Penelope blinked, confused.

— “What?”

— “Close your eyes” — he repeated, now with a wider, almost playful smile. — “Trust me”

She hesitated. She was tired, overly sensitive, and her first instinct was to raise a wall of distrust. But there was something in his tone that disarmed her. Without knowing why, she simply obeyed.

— “Like this?” — she asked, pressing her eyelids shut, like a child.

Colin chuckled softly.

— “No need to squeeze them so tight”

She let out a nervous sigh, but smiled and that alone was enough. Her heart, however, was racing uncontrollably.

She heard the sound of paper being moved, the gentle friction of the box opening, then a silence that seemed to stretch for centuries.

— “You can open them”

She opened her eyes slowly, and the world seemed to stop.

In his hands was a cupcake. Simple, yet beautiful, topped with white frosting and a small pink candle stuck in the center. The small, thoughtful detail hit her like a punch to the stomach. Before she could react, Colin lifted the cupcake and, in a low, husky voice, began to sing.

— “Happy birthday to you…”

Penelope’s eyes widened.

— “No, Colin…” — she protested, instinctively bringing her hand to her mouth, already feeling her throat tighten.

But he continued, steady, his smile blended with a tenderness that completely disarmed her.

— “On this beloved day…”

She no longer knew whether to laugh or cry. Her chest felt too tight.

— “Many happy returns…”

His voice was melodic, probably used to singing countless lullabies.

— “Many years of life…”

At the end, he deliberately held the last note, teasing, and when he finished, he raised an eyebrow, amused.

— “So? Are you going to make a wish, or leave me here holding it like a fool?”

She laughed, the sound trembling, choked by the tears she couldn’t hold back. A solitary tear ran down her cheek, then another, and she didn’t try to hide them.

— “You… you didn’t have to…” — she murmured, her voice faltering.

— “I didn’t have to, but I wanted to” — he replied immediately, without looking away from her. — “I just wanted to make sure Elliot’s favorite teacher got at least one happy birthday today”

She lowered her gaze to the cupcake, her hands still pressing her lips, and shook her head.

— “Make a wish”

She closed her eyes for a second. She didn’t know exactly what to wish for, but there was a persistent, aching, sweet desire burning inside her. Then she blew out the candle.

She looked at him, her smile still wet with tears.

— “Thank you…” — she murmured. — “Really. This… means more than you can imagine”

He held her gaze, serious for a moment.

— “Then I must be imagining too little, because it already means a lot to me”

Penelope felt her stomach flutter, the famous butterflies in full revolt. She tried to laugh to ease the tension.

— “You do realize this is completely out of the ordinary, right? Giving a ride to a teacher… singing happy birthday…”

— “Out of the ordinary?” — he raised an eyebrow, teasing. — “I think I’ll take that as a compliment. I don’t like being ordinary.”

She laughed again, shaking her head.

— “Elliot is lucky to have you”

Colin looked away for a moment, gripping the still-turned-off steering wheel.

— “I’m the lucky one to have him” — he said, low but firm.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was dense, charged with something neither of them dared to name. She was still holding the cupcake, and he was still watching her in a way that made her skin tingle.

For a moment, Colin wanted to lean in, erase the small distance between them, and find out if her lips tasted as sweet as her emotional laughter. But he restrained himself. Instead, he just started the car and smiled.

— “Let’s go. It’s time to take the birthday girl home.”

And Penelope, her heart still racing, thought that even against everything she had believed, this had been a good birthday.