Chapter Text
i.
“So, Peter, what kind of books do you like?”
“Er, I don’t read much,” Peter replies, turning to face Colin briefly before his eyes go back to the telly, mumbling “most of my time’s spent on rugby practice.”
Penelope glares at Colin. He had this barely contained smirk, like he was ready to pounce on poor Peter, the first and only guy at her school to ask her out. She didn’t need this. Peter had already suffered through some awkward small talk with her mum earlier, Portia excited that a boy had finally paid attention to her third daughter.
She wasn’t even sure why Colin was here in her living room in the first place. He rarely visited, only a few times in the last year when he had to tutor Philippa or help Penelope with her Shakespeare essay. She would usually be the one to cross the street to Bridgerton house to visit them, more often there to see Eloise but more and more over the last few months, she went over to spend time with Colin too, mostly to play video games but also to talk about some of their favorite books and writers and sometimes, she spent time with the rest of the older Bridgerton siblings too.
“Shouldn’t you be at home studying for your A levels?” Penelope asks loudly, emphasizing each word, interrupting any chance that Colin had to further interrogate Peter.
He grins, leaning back against the chair, “Philippa and I have a project due tomorrow. Thought it would be easier if we did it together.”
“Well, maybe you should,” she retorts, “I think she’s in the kitchen with Pru.”
“And who’s going to chaperone you?” He wonders, eyes twinkling, like he was really enjoying teasing her.
Her eyes widen at his words, blushing furiously. Peter, thankfully, hears none of it - eyes still glued to the telly, amazed by the scene where Harry first gets his wand. She could hardly believe it was his first time watching the Harry Potter movies but it was kind of nice to be the one to show it to him. He was kind of adorable with his enthusiasm about it, quickly getting into the whole thing.
Colin arches an eyebrow at her, like he was daring her to argue. Her eyes go to her father, who was right there on the wingback chair. He meant to keep an eye on them but he ended up falling asleep rather quickly, snoring lightly. She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Penelope’s parents knew between herself, Prudence and Philippa, she was the one who always followed the rules - came home well before curfew, no boys in her room with the door closed, no drinking at parties. Her two older sisters bended the rules so much that their parents barely batted an eyelash whenever they tiptoed home in the early hours of the morning. Penelope was the one who brought Felicity to the library and played with her, who helped her mum do the grocery shopping and her dad fix their rickety, old car, even if it was handing him the right tools. She was the responsible one and she was a bit insulted that Colin didn’t know her well enough to trust her.
God, she couldn’t believe she had such a massive crush on him when she was younger. She cringes at the thought of drawing hearts all over his name in her purple diary when she was twelve.
Besides, nothing untoward was going to happen. Her dad, despite being asleep, was right there. Penelope wasn’t one to tempt fate. To add to that, they hadn’t even held hands yet. Kissing was out most definitely out of the question even if she wondered more and more lately what it would feel like to finally kiss a boy.
Mercifully, Philippa shows up, books and laptop in hand, frowning when she spots Colin lounging lazily on the chair, “I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
Penelope highly doubts that but she doesn’t say anything, eyes going back to the telly, scooting just a tiny bit closer to Peter. She grabs some popcorn from the bowl as he does the same and their fingers brush.
She feels the heat in her cheeks as he smiles shyly at her. She lets out a high pitched giggle that sounds so unlike her. She was more of a loud snort kind of girl.
“Why don’t we do it here?” Colin suggests, his voice louder than necessary. It makes Penelope jump slightly.
She turns towards Colin, displeased. He smiles at her, almost beatific in its innocence but Penelope knows better. She’s known Colin most of her life so she can easily spot the mischief behind his eyes, dancing just behind that layer of calm he’s projecting, the same kind he had when they took a joy ride with Eloise and Francesca in Anthony’s new car, returning it just in time - a second later and they would have been caught.
She sticks her tongue out at him. It’s a petty gesture, sure, but, hey, she was only sixteen after all. He lets out a silent laugh.
“Here?” Philippa repeats, looking around the crowded room.
Colin nods, “so we can keep an eye on the kids.”
He winks at Penelope and it takes almost all her strength not to strangle him. She didn’t care if he was a foot taller than her. She could do it. She would do it if he lets out one more sarcastic or snarky remark and she’d ask Eloise to help her bury the body. Eloise would likely bring the shovel given how much Colin annoyed her on a daily basis.
Philippa shrugs, dropping the books onto the sofa, asking Penelope to scoot further. Penelope finds herself not minding, especially when Peter loops an arm behind the sofa, close to her shoulder, close enough to almost touch it.
She notices a brief look of something pass through Colin’s face but it’s gone the next second. It looked like irritation. She chooses not to think about it, instead, quietly telling Peter about little fun facts about The Philosopher’s Stone that she read and remembered throughout the years.
Later, when Peter’s gone home after an afternoon spent watching three Harry Potter movies (and a brief kiss on the cheek for Penelope as a goodbye!), Colin finds her in the kitchen making dinner, frying some of Felicity’s favorite alphabet shaped chicken nuggets.
He eyes her closely, as though he had something to say but isn’t quite sure how to broach it. He tilts his head to the side, watching as she flips the nuggets. He opens his mouth, shaking his head before closing it. He jams his hands into the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts and Penelope could feel the restless energy emanating from his body, like a golden retriever who was forced to stay indoors because there was a storm.
“Out with it,” she tells him, pointing the plastic spatula at him.
They always told each other the truth, even if sometimes they were rather uncomfortable or weird things. That was simply how their friendship worked and developed over the years.
“He just doesn’t seem to be your intellectual equal,” Colin states, stealing a warm nugget off the plate before Penelope could stop him.
He pops it into his mouth, chewing as she gapes at him, figuring out how to respond to his statement. He continues to look at her. There’s something behind his eyes that she can’t quite place. It’s maybe an emotion she may have read in the books she finished last summer but it’s not something she’s ever seen or experienced yet in real life. He moves to grab another nugget but she manages to swat his hand away.
“Ouch,” he lets out, massaging the back of his hand.
“My intellectual equal?” She questions incredulously, shrilly, sounding a bit too much like her mum for her own liking, “what does that even mean?”
He musters her and she could see something shift in his eyes, in his posture - he stands up straighter, squaring his shoulders, like he was preparing for battle.
“Does he know you just finished reading Anna Karenina? That you cried when she died, how you want to read a couple of Jane Austen novels this summer? That you saved up your allowance so you could buy the last Harry Potter book?” He asks.
“Books aren’t his thing,” she replies quietly, cheeks reddening.
Colin already knew that because he asked Peter earlier what kind of books he liked. He didn’t need to rub it in any further because she already knew it too. Peter didn’t even read the assigned readings for school. He’d buy those little guides at the bookstore whenever they were meant to write an essay on them for class.
“Yes and rugby is, which you hate,” Colin points out.
“I do n-” she attempts to rebuke but he raises an eyebrow at her.
She couldn’t lie because he knew the truth. She could not stand rugby. She loved football, ever since that time she was five and her dad brought her to a Chelsea game. Anthony and Benedict even snuck her into a pub once so they could all watch the championship match together a few years back.
She puffs her cheeks as he smirks in triumph, knowing that he was right.
Smug bastard. She thinks about throwing the spatula at him.
He slides next to her, watching as she places the nuggets onto the plate, “I think you could do better.”
She bites her tongue. That was rich coming from Colin, who only seemed to date girls who were thin, tanned and could not be bothered to know anything about current events. The late one he dated - Chloe, she thinks her name was, didn’t even know who the current prime minister was.
She resists the urge to throw it back in his face - how he could definitely do better, find a nice girl who had more than five braincells and wore a top that did not look like it shrunk two sizes in the wash.
No, it wasn’t her place and unlike him, she knew their friendship had certain boundaries. She busies herself with grabbing some vegetables from the fridge but she could feel his eyes still on her.
She turns to face him, sighing, “is there anything else?”
He shakes his head, nicking another chicken nugget.
“Thanks for the food,” he tells her, mouth still half full.
She sticks her tongue out at him again and he guffaws as he makes his way out of the kitchen.
When Peter breaks up with her two days after their school formal because she wouldn’t go to France with him over the summer, more because her family couldn’t afford it than anything else, she’s heartbroken. She spends most of her time in her room listening over and over to a curated playlist of sad Taylor Swift songs on her iPod. She calls Eloise and cries on the phone until her best friend comes over and they spend the afternoon listing all of Peter’s bad habits and qualities.
“We can find a spell online and curse him,” Eloise offers. She was into the whole spell casting thing as of late.
Penelope laughs, “no, he’s not worth it. I should find someone who’s my intellectual equal.”
“Huh,” Eloise lets out, turning to face Penelope, “did you know Colin said the same thing?”
She blushes, “did he now?”
He shows up at her front door the following weekend, dressed in a blue shirt and the same khaki cargo shorts, hair hidden under a New York Yankees baseball cap, the one she knows was a souvenir from the Bridgerton family trip to New York last Christmas. Eloise came back with a similar cap for her. He offers to buy her an ice cream to cheer her up.
“Isn’t it too cold for ice cream?” She inquires, staring up at the cloudy sky.
“No such thing,” he replies, grinning, “come on. I’ll buy you a book too.”
“Really?”
She perks up. She had been meaning to get a few new books but money was tight and she still had to line up a part time job once school was over.
“Yeah, let’s get one of those Jane Austen novels,” he suggests.
“Which one do you recommend?” She inquires, making an attempt to match his long strides.
He grins, slowing down so that she could catch up. She listens as he begins to tell her about his favorite ones, smiling at his excitement. She notices how his eyes light up when she asks question after question about the plot of Pride and Prejudice.
Gosh, she really missed talking about books with him.
ii.
“What are you doing here?” Penelope asks, eyebrows furrowing together, trying to figure out if he was indeed in front of her or maybe just a figment of her imagination.
“Hello to you too, Pen,” Colin replies, grinning.
She notices how he takes in her outfit - a nice silver top and some of the more expensive denim jeans she was finally able to afford, “you heading out?”
“I have a date,” she says, frowning, “Shouldn’t you be in Thailand?”
She could have sworn she just viewed one of his Instagram stories three hours ago. It was one of a beach - Phuket, she thinks.
“Delayed post,” he says, shrugging, “got back last night in time for Kate’s birthday. Anthony’s making a big deal of it.”
“You only turn 30 once,” Penelope quips.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
She sighs, opening the door further, ushering him into the flat she shared with Eloise two blocks off campus. It’s a mess, what with exams and all but in all honesty, she and Eloise survived on this kind of controlled chaos, at least for the time being. All they had to know was where they left their books and notes. Nothing else mattered when you were cramming so much. She was also supposed to clean the following weekend, when Eloise would be out for Kate’s birthday party in Kent.
“Why are you here?” She asks, tone sharper than she meant for it to be.
Since graduating from university, Colin had been in and out of the country, more out than in really. She’d get an occasional postcard from exotic towns and cities, long emails about beautiful places that she sometimes barely had enough time to reply to. Yet, he always seemed to materialize when she least expected him to - when her parents divorced and her dad moved out, the summer before her third year of university, New Year’s eve last year at a random club in Soho.
“Can’t I spend time with my two favorite college girls?” He quips, grinning even more widely.
“Well, it’ll just have to be El. As I’ve said, I have a date,” she reminds him.
“New boyfriend?”
“Not too new,” she corrects.
They had been going out for a couple of months and Marcus was sweet. He was an art student who she met at a club while on a night out with some uni friends. She was surprised when he asked for her number but she gave it anyway, thinking that there was nothing wrong with a short fling.
He nods, “where is my sister anyway?”
She points towards the room to the left, “she’s been in there the whole day with noise cancelling headphones trying to memorize five chapters of her reading.”
“Maybe it’s time for some food then,” he says cheerfully, walking over to Eloise’s room just as the door bell rings.
Penelope straightens up, smoothing down her top. She could leave Eloise to deal with Colin. They could survive two or maybe three hours without her there having to act as their buffer. Right now, she was about to have a nice evening with her boyfriend in an attempt to forget that she barely made a dent on her own bit of studying. She makes her way to the door, fixing her hair, smiling as she opens the door.
“Hey Marcus,” she greets.
He leans forward, placing a quick kiss on her cheek, “hey, Penelope, you ready?”
She nods, “let me just grab my purse.”
When she turns back around, she finds Colin dragging Eloise out of her room, the latter seemed to be protesting but at the promise of free dinner, she stops muttering under her breath, elbowing Colin, who lets out a loud yelp. Eloise smirks in return.
Penelope tilts her head to the side but doesn’t mind them. She grabs her black purse from the kitchen counter.
“Why don’t we all go to dinner together?” Colin asks, smiling like it was the best idea ever.
Penelope openly glares at him, shooting daggers at him. If looks could kill, he’d probably drop dead on the spot. It’s not the first time she wants to cause him bodily harm. Why must he keep inserting himself where he wasn’t wanted?
“No, Marcus and I have plans,” she says somewhat coldly.
Colin glances at Penelope’s boyfriend, and she thinks he actively ignores her words. He strides over to Marcus to introduce himself. They talk briefly and he shoots her a look at the mention of them going to see some performance art at a nearby gallery hosted by some friends of Marcus’. There’s some amusement in his features for a brief moment before he goes back to his conversation with her boyfriend.
Truthfully, all she wanted was a simple dinner, maybe a few drinks to cap of a really long week filled with studying and reading to the point that her eyes were constantly dry. The last few dates she and Marcus had were, well, unique to say the least.
“Why don’t you guys join us instead at the gallery? My friends’ exhibit is pretty cool,” Marcus offers, “it’s a study on the life cycle of man.”
Penelope opens her mouth, about to make a protest, but Colin glances at Eloise.
“What do you say, El?” He inquires, smiling sweetly at his sister, like it would get her to agree.
Eloise rolls her eyes but nods, grumbling, “you’re still buying me dinner after.”
She narrows her eyes at him. He was not about to ruin her night.
“Col-”
“The more the merrier,” Marcus says at the same time, “right, Pen?”
No, the more would definitely not be merrier, she thinks. It would be the bloody worst. She should really put her foot down and say no. Colin could have dinner with Eloise and she and Marcus could go about their evening in peace.
Except, she says none of this so that’s how she ends up at a pub with Colin, Eloise and Marcus some three odd hours later drinking Guinness off the tap and eating some terribly oily chips, loud music and constant chatter surrounding them.
“It’s actually not that hard to understand, Eloise,” Marcus points out, droning on about the performance piece they saw earlier, one that Penelope could not understand and wouldn’t be bothered to either.
“Might be easier if you draw me a diagram,” Eloise mutters, taking a large gulp of her beer.
“I actually will,” Marcus says, grabbing a napkin and fishing a pen from his pocket, scrawling onto the napkin, drawing some odd shapes and lots of arrows that makes Penelope’s head spin so she decides to tune out the conversation, making a mental note to maybe order them a round of expensive tequila later, the one that didn’t taste like petrol and didn’t result in a hang over, since everything was on Colin’s tab.
A small, petty act of revenge on her part.
In between the back and forth discussion that she really has no intention of following, Colin disappears and Penelope gets the urge to step outside for some fresh air. The pub was dark, noisy and packed with university students out on a Friday night. She wasn’t in much mood to socialize, her social battery was almost completely drained from having to make small talk at the gallery earlier.
She finds him leaning against the wall outside the pub smoking a cigarette.
She quirks an eyebrow at him.
He shrugs, “picked it up when I was in Greece.”
“Smoking’s bad for the health,” she tells him matter-of-factly.
He grins, offering the cigarette to her.
She takes it. She didn’t smoke often, only in certain social situations or when she was having a pint with her mates. She takes a drag, exhaling, puffing out a perfect smoke ring.
He whistles appreciatively. They lapse into silence as she hands him back the cigarette.
“Some show, huh?”
She snorts, “the mud really made it interesting.”
“Not the word I would use but okay,” he replies, glancing at her.
They share a look before bursting out into laughter. The whole performance had been quite ridiculous in Penelope’s opinion. She knew some people liked it, that they felt this deep connection with it, with art in general but perhaps Penelope wasn’t that person and she’s fine with never having to be.
When they’ve managed to collect themselves, right after frightening a few passersby who maybe thought they were mental, he looks at her, tilting his chin upward, a seriousness about him. It was like he was deciding to do something but wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
“Out with it,” she whispers.
He sighs, “I think you deserve someone who’ll take you out on real dates.”
“The gallery was a real date,” she points out, slightly annoyed that he was giving her advice that she really, really didn’t want.
“Sure,” he tells her.
The way he says it makes her think he doesn’t believe her, that this was him short of calling her out on it. He takes a long drag of the cigarette before dropping it to the ground, stubbing out out it with his shoe.
He glances her way, as if waiting for a response, when she doesn’t say a word, leaning against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest, he lets out a breath.
“I’m going to head back in. Do you want me to order you another pint?”
She shakes her head. He opens his mouth, closing it once again.
She places her hands on her hips, “is there more?”
“He likes to use the word ‘actually’ a lot, did you notice?” Colin comments.
“No,” she says through gritted teeth, “I didn’t.”
“Huh.”
She rolls her eyes at him childishly and he backs off almost immediately, making his way back into the loud pub. Maybe he finally realized he was overstepping.
A month later, she breaks up with Marcus, tired of having to go to art galleries filled with weird paintings and sculptures, poetry readings and plays, more performance art that, at times, involved audience participation. All she wanted was a nice dinner and maybe a stroll around the park near campus - something a tad more romantic and most of all, quiet. They didn’t have much in common anyway. She preferred reading in her room and he liked going out and socializing.
And maybe she wanted someone who didn’t use ‘actually’ every two sentences.
She introduces him to her friend Sam, three months later, and while the whole subject of a friend dating someone’s ex is a tad awkward, they end up hitting it off. Penelope thinks that maybe she was meant to be a matchmaker instead, maybe she’d have a future in it.
iii.
Penelope honestly thought it would be a good idea to bring Alfred along to Eloise and Francesca’s birthday dinner, hosted by Daphne and Simon at their chic townhouse. She thought it would be a good chance for him to get to know some of her closest and dearest friends. They had been dating for over three months now and while they regularly went out on double dates with Eloise and her botanist boyfriend, this was the first time he was meeting the rest of the Bridgertons. It goes rather smoothly - Philip’s there to kind of keep him going, Benedict and Sophie listen in earnest about his upcoming Greenpeace trip, Daphne made sure there were a lot of vegetarian options available once she told him about Alfred’s diet.
What she wasn’t counting on was how much Colin was interrogating the poor bloke about his job, his life before his job, the desire to only eat vegetables. Maybe she should have seen this coming - it’s happened before and it’s playing out almost exactly like it did those times but Penelope’s determined that this one was going to go differently, come hell or high water.
“These appetizers are incredible,” Colin says, “some of Daphne’s cook’s best. You want one, Al?”
Penelope grimaces at how Alfred stiffens when being offered a tray of smoked salmon and cream cheese on a piece of toast. He had just mentioned being a vegetarian when he declined a passing waitstaff offering some mini sausage rolls.
Or perhaps it was the use of the trite nickname Al, which Penelope knows he loathes.
“Their cook also makes an amazing bruschetta. Fresh tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella topped with some pesto. Let’s go find some,” she states, taking his arm and steering him away from Colin. She shoots the latter a dirty look and Colin just shrugs, smirking back at her.
God. She sincerely forgot that he could be infuriating sometimes, especially when he was doing it on purpose, which he clearly was.
She leads Alfred towards Francesca and Michaela, who had just arrived. She hugs them both, whispering a quick happy birthday to the former, before making a round of introductions.
“Congratulations on the engagement,” Alfred says, smiling at the couple when he finds out they got engaged two weeks ago while on vacation in Prague.
“Thank you,” Francesca replies, winking at Penelope, “wouldn’t have been possible without this one.”
“Really?” Alfred asks, turning to face Penelope, smiling at her.
She feels the heat begin to creep up her neck at all the attention, “it was nothing. Merely helping two friends see the light.”
Michaela grins, “yes, yes, love was requited and all that. Penelope is an excellent matchmaker.”
She chuckles, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “only one of my few successful matches.”
Because despite her better judgement, she’s been trying to get Colin to date one of her work friends for ages but he kept giving her excuses, telling her no, that it wasn’t the right time. She pointed out that since he came back home for good six months ago, it could have been the right time but he refused her countless times, to many that she finally gave up and stopped asking.
Her eyes sweep across the room to find him in a corner talking with Anthony and Kate. He glances her way and their eyes meet. He quirks an eyebrow at her, raising his glass. She does the same.
Michaela moves closer to her, voice dropping to a whisper so that only she could hear the next words, “I think some people might also need to see the light.”
She glances at her friend, eyebrows furrowing together, not getting hidden meaning behind her words, because there was surely some subtest she was missing based on the secretive smile Michaela sends her way, dark eyes dancing with mirth.
Colin walks over to them some five minutes with a plate filled with vegetarian appetizers, offering it to Alfred, smiling softly at Penelope as he does so.
A peace offering, she knows even if he doesn’t say it. He always showed her how much he cared. There was rarely any need for words.
She offers to grab the cake from the kitchen as dinner is about to wind down, the night getting rowdier and rowdier with stories about the siblings’ competitive streaks, questions on who their mother’s favorite child was, thoughts about spending the the holidays in the south of France or maybe in Australia, where it would be summer, an argument erupting because everyone had their own opinions about their family holiday.
“So, you’re dating a vegetarian now?”
She bristles at the voice, turning to find Colin leaning against the door jamb, hands in his pockets, a curious expression on his face.
She raises an eyebrow at him, “yes, and?”
“Shame he’ll never get to try your roast,” he tells her, “although, I suppose vegetarians can still eat Yorkshire pudding, right?”
She feels the vein on her forehead throb in annoyance. Sure, she prided herself in her roast, the most requested entree at any Featherington family gathering and sometimes at a Bridgerton one too when she was invited to join them for family dinner or a gathering at Aubrey Hall. It’s an old family recipe but one she’s tweaked over the years until she perfected it.
“I’ll just need to find good vegetarian recipes then,” she replies breezily, “you can substitute vegan meet for beef in a bolognese, did you know that?”
“How is it when you go out on dates?” He inquires, striding over to her, until he’s pretty much invaded her personal space.
Although, she supposes there wasn’t much personal space between them ever anyway.
“What?”
“Like what if you want a piece of steak, do you order a salad instead?” He continues, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin.
“He doesn’t force me to go on the same diet as he does, Colin,” she tells him, voice scarily even.
“Good, can’t imagine you going without your favorite burger,” he says, grinning fully now.
She narrows her eyes at him. All this seemingly friendly conversation was headed somewhere familiar, a place Penelope didn’t want to head towards tonight, especially since it was Eloise and Francesca’s birthday, a celebration that she did not want to weigh down with her brewing foul mood.
“Don’t,” she warns, “not tonight.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
“I really don’t, Pen,” he says innocently, “so why don’t you tell me.”
She sighs. Guess the boxing match just began. Here goes round one.
“You do this every time I date someone. You nitpick every single thing that’s wrong with them, like they aren’t worth my time,” she comments, hands going to her hips, openly glowering at him.
“Well,” he responds, shrugging as if it was a foregone conclusion that her current boyfriend was truly not worth her time.
“So let’s have it then and be done with it - what exactly is wrong with Alfred?” She asks.
She knows this was like poking a sleeping bear with a stick but it was better they got it out in the open now then she’d at least have a few minutes to compose herself before heading back to everyone.
“He’s a vegetarian for one,” Colin states.
Penelope grumbles, trying desperately to keep herself from stomping her foot like a child having a tantrum. That wasan absurd reason and Colin probably knew that too.
“There is nothing wrong with that, Colin. He wants to do his part to save the planet,” she points out.
He snorts and it infuriates her even more, “yeah, like doing that would stop climate change.”
“Says the guy who takes at least 5 trips a year - what about your carbon footprint then?” She volleys back, arching an eyebrow at him.
He waves his hand dismissively, signaling that it was neither here nor there, probably not wanting to admit that, to some extent, she was right.
She sighs, “is that it?”
“He seems awfully boring,” Colin drawls, crossing his arms over his chest.
Penelope looks away momentarily under the guise of getting the cake from the fridge but it was really to avoid the flex of his biceps, beautifully showcased in the tight, long sleeve shirt he was wearing. She bid goodbye to her childhood crush on him ages ago but she wasn’t blind. He was cute when they were younger, handsome now, like an old time movie star or a Greek God with the most beautiful green eyes Mrs. Bridgerton always lamented were wasted on a boy. All the Bridgertons were unfairly good looking.
“You’ve known him for two hours and you already assume he’s boring,” she mentions as she takes the box out from the fridge, careful not to drop it.
He holds the fridge door open for her and as if on auto pilot, she thanks him.
“What do you talk about then?” he challenges, watching as she begins to unbox the cake, “nature documentaries about almost extinct birds?”
It takes everything in her not to shove the chocolate cake in his face. Partly because it was expensive and came from the bakery across town that Kate ordered especially for the occasion and nobody wanted to ever get on Kate’s bad side. But also, as much as she hates to admit it, he was partially right. She and Alfred didn’t have that much in common. He was nice and kind, mild mannered, like nothing could ever faze him, patient with her whenever she’d have a question about the latest thing he and his team were protesting. He even gave her this cute little plant the other day but they couldn’t find much common ground. She liked trashy reality television and he liked serious sounding podcasts.
He lets out a sound of satisfaction and she shoots him another look.
“You always do this,” she insists, hating how there’s a tiny whine in her voice.
“I do not,” he disagrees.
“Peter, my year 11 boyfriend. You said he wasn’t my intellectual equal,” she states.
“Well, he was an idiot so that still holds up. He broke up with you two days after your school formal because you refused to spend summer with him in France. What dumb reason was that?”
She frowns, taken aback that he even remembered that.
“Marcus - you said he used the word ‘actually’ too much,” she surges on.
“Wasn’t that actually rather annoying?” He questions.
It was.
She grunts in response.
“It’s not like I’m the only one,” he throws back at her, voice rising slightly.
“What do you mean?” She asks, voice rising as well, attempting to draw herself to her full height as he towers over her. Preposterous really given the height difference between them.
“You remember Hannah?”
“Your girlfriend from Uni?”
The pretty blonde with the piercing blue eyes, who wanted to be a doctor. Penelope rather liked her. She was nice to talk to, sweet and smart.
“Yes, you said once she had a funny laugh and after that, it was all I could think about every time she laughed,” he reveals, frowning.
Penelope lets out a loud snort, “you broke up with her because of her laugh? Now that is idiotic.”
“Well, no - okay, maybe that played a small part in it but that is not the point. The point is I’m not the only one who does this,” he says, jabbing a finger close to the middle of her chest.
She takes a step back, shaking her head, “I don’t do it intentionally.”
Unlike you, she wants to add but doesn’t, thinking it might be too much, too petty.
“What about Marina?” he asks softly, eyes meeting hers once more and Penelope could find no hint of anger or hurt behind them, only curiosity, no scathing tone in his voice. His tone was gentle, soft, like he was finally ready to talk about it.
They never really talked about Marina, about that night Penelope got piss drunk and it all came tumbling out.
Marina, her beautiful second cousin, who came to stay with them the summer before her parents divorced, who Colin fell for fast, or maybe it was how he tripped over himself, deeply infatuated with her, something about it didn’t sit right with Penelope. She thought she was being protective of him but maybe her childhood crush wasn’t a thing of the past that summer, maybe it came back in full force, this sense of possessiveness taking over her. In hindsight, it wasn’t healthy and it certainly wasn’t helpful that she spotted Marina snogging another neighborhood boy just when she and Colin had gotten together.
“That was different, Colin. I thought you deserved to know before it went any further. If it were me, I would have wanted you to tell me and I know I could have told you in a better way than screaming it at you half drunk at one in the morning over the phone but you deserved to know.”
“I know,” he says, “I know.”
She sighs before they lapse into silence. She opens the box of candles, carefully arranging them onto the cake. She hears him sigh too, grabbing a candle and sticking it into the cake. She smiles at him and he smiles back.
Another peace offering, she thinks.
“He’s nice and he’s kind,” she tells him softly, “you don’t have to always act like an overprotective big brother, you know.”
He accidentally drops the candle he’s about to stick onto the cake and it lands squarely in the middle of the cake, sinking slowly into the chocolate icing.
“Colin!” She scolds, turning to face him.
She’s taken aback by the look on his face, angry wasn’t a big enough word to describe it - it was more like rage, fury, outrage, that makes her wonder if she said anything wrong.
“I do not act like an overprotective brother when it comes to you, Pen,” he says and his tone is laced with something she can’t quite place but it makes her hairs behind her neck stick up, goosebumps beginning to appear on her arms.
She ignores it, pushes it down, whatever this feeling was, whatever he was feeling.
“Fine, you don’t,” she dismisses, “let’s leave it at that.”
“God, you are so oblivious,” he booms, voice thunderous.
She jumps a little. In all the years she’s known him, he rarely lost his temper. Maybe she’s witnessed it once or twice when some kids were bullying Gregory. She experienced it first hand when he showed up at a party with Daphne, both there to collect her and Eloise. It was the first time she snuck out of the house for a party. There was a boy and there were a lot of sweet tasting drinks that made her head spin until she laughed at jokes that weren’t even funny. He found her in the kitchen, chugging a bottle of vodka cruiser, shouting for her to stop and how if she wanted to drink, she could just call him and he’d buy her a beer. She thinks she may have shouted back at him, told him that he wasn’t her dad. She apologized the next day, head pounding, offering to buy him ice cream.
He scowls at her and it’s all it takes. Here comes round two.
She matches his volume, practically shrieking, “about what exactly?”
“If you don’t know -”
She cuts him off, “how am I supposed to when you just called me oblivious?”
He grunts, raking a hand through his hair, “you really do infuriate me sometimes.”
“I infuriate you? You infuriate me. For Christ’s sake, Colin, stop speaking in code and just tell me what you mean,” she begs, “I can’t always read your mind.”
“Clearly,” he mutters.
She narrows her eyes at him, at his sarcasm, “that is not helpful.”
“It’s you,” he begins, something flaring behind his eyes, looking at her in a way that made her heart beat just a tiny bit faster.
She waits for him to continue, to at least elaborate on the two words he let out. He stumbles on his words then - stuttering noises come out, a few words maybe that she could not for the life of her piece together. She rolls her eyes, letting out an overly loud, audible, dramatic sigh, thankful that at least the house had thick walls. Everyone else was unlikely to hear their current row, for which she was glad because while she loved the Bridgetons, they were a nosy bunch.
She shakes her head, making an attempt to fish out the candle from the middle of the cake, ignoring him completely. She could ice him out even just for one night, not bother to talk to him until they needed to say goodbye, maybe even snub him then.
“It’s you,” he repeats.
She sighs again, not bothering to look at him, “yes, it’s me, completely oblivious Penelope, oblivious to what? I would never know because I am, gasp, totally and utterly oblivious. Now, would you just leave me alone, please?”
“No.”
She tamps down again on the urge to shove the cake in his face.
“Fine,” she replies acidly.
“Fine,” he echoes, eyes blazing.
Someone clears their throat from somewhere near the entry to the kitchen. She looks up to find Alfred standing there. Her heart falls to the pit of her stomach, wondering how much of the fight he heard.
“Daphne was wondering if the cake was ready yet,” he informs them.
“Right,” Penelope says, “almost done. Just need to light the candles.”
Colin silently slides a lighter her way. Was it her imagination or did he suddenly come closer? She shoves the thought away as she clicks the lighter, carefully lighting each candle on the cake.
Alfred leaves soon after, telling her that they should take a break and that maybe she and Colin should talk about their unresolved feelings.
“What feelings?” She blurts out unceremoniously, confusion written all over her face.
Because the only feelings she had for Colin at this very moment weren’t very nice. She muses on whether Eloise would still come running with a shovel if she murdered the latter’s brother and wanted to bury him in the backyard of Daphne and Simon’s townhouse.
Yes, her feelings for him were nothing short of murderous.
Alfred raises his eyebrows, staring at her intently. He nods, “I think you should talk to Colin. Maybe he can explain it to you.”
Explain what?
She thinks she hears him murmur something about being oblivious and she nearly loses it, unsure if she wanted to cry, scream or head home and play the saddest Taylor Swift song ever written. She doesn’t know how she manages to go back into the dining room, to have a slice of cake while making small talk with Hyacinth and Gregory. When Daphne asks about Alfred, she fibs and tells everyone that he had to leave because he had an early morning meeting the next day.
They all know she’s lying because tomorrow was Sunday but she’s grateful that none of them call her out on it.
She takes a cup of tea out to the backyard, where the swing set was. It was a gift from Daphne’s elder brothers after Amelia was born, a much more modern swing set for her kids than the one they had at Bridgerton house, two planks tied to the big tree out back.
He finds her minutes later.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sitting next to her, kicking his legs. He swings higher, levitating off the ground.
“No, you’re not,” she replies, glancing at him. There’s no accusation in her tone, maybe only resignation.
“I’m not,” he admits, “but I am sorry that you’re sad.”
She lets out a breath, “maybe it was only a matter of time anyway. We didn’t have all that much in common. Everyone says opposites attract but that isn’t always the case, is it?”
“No,” he agrees, “it isn’t.”
“Maybe one day I’ll find someone who is my intellectual equal, who doesn’t use the word actually a hundred times a day nor is an art student or artist for that matter and who also isn’t a vegetarian,” she rattles out, making light of the situation.
Hey, when life gives you lemons, right?
She glances over at him, expecting him to make a joke but instead, he’s looking back at her intensely, green eyes aglow amidst the dark night.
“What? Is there something on my face?” She asks, not able to think about a better quip.
“I may know someone like that,” he says, swallowing thickly.
She laughs, thinking he was teasing her, “care to introduce me then?”
“Go out on a date with me,” he tells her softly. There’s an earnest quality to his tone, a sincere look on his face that makes Penelope think it would be extremely cruel if this was just a joke.
“What?” She lets out, “have you gone mad?”
“Last time I checked, I haven’t,” he replies, grinning, his confidence and charm coming back slowly, surely, like he’s made up his mind finally.
“Stop joking, Colin,” she pleads, “this is not funny.”
“I assure you, I’m being completely serious,” he replies.
“Colin -”
“I know you. I know what books you like, what films you love. I’m not an artist, that would be Benedict and thankfully, he’s already attached so don’t get any ideas. I promise to limit the use of the word ‘actually’ and I swear, I will never become a vegetarian because your Sunday roast is the best,” he tells her sincerely that butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach, a feeling she’s never quite felt before with any of her ex-boyfriends.
“Colin, we’re friends,” she states, as if that explained everything, as if it meant they couldn’t go on a date.
Maybe some part of her was afraid that if this one date didn’t work out, she’d lose his friendship too and in the grand scheme of things, that was far more important to her, something she cherished deeply.
He sighs, “what’s one date between two friends? If it goes well, we can talk about another one.”
“No, I’m sorry, Colin. I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she says, getting off the swing.
She readjusts her dress as he gets off too. He smiles at her, the sting of rejection seemingly not affecting him so much, as he walks closer to her.
He lowers his head, whispering in her ear, “I’m going to try again tomorrow and if you say no, maybe the next day too and the next until you finally agree.”
Her breath hitches in her throat. She takes a step back, eyes not quite meeting his. It was quite possibly the cheesiest thing anyone’s ever said to her, like an odd come on line but as she finally looks up at him, at the open and vulnerable expression on his face, she realizes that it’s not a dumb line but something he was willing to do.
There’s a thrill that passes through her, one she attempts but fails to ignore.
She raises an eyebrow at him, voice surprisingly strong, unwavering, “you’ll get tired eventually.”
He shrugs, “I won’t. I can be pretty persistent when I want to be.”
It was true. There was that time he and Benedict wanted to see the Arctic Monkeys and he managed to procure tickets, no doubt for an astronomical price, the day of the concert. When Gregory needed help with a science project, he spent almost the whole night making his youngest brother a makeshift solar system that looked passable despite his lack of artistic abilities. When Penelope and Eloise missed the chance to go to a midnight release of the 6th Harry Potter book, he made sure they got to go the next year, buying the tickets himself, surprising them. He even drove them to the bookstore, stayed with them all night, didn’t laugh at the silly costumes they had on, the fake wands and stuffed animals.
Outside of that crush, she never thought of him in a romantic way. Maybe because he was Colin, someone she had put on a pedestal, so far out of reach - he started out as her best friend’s brother then morphed into her own friend, who she shared stories and secrets with, some secrets she didn’t even tell Eloise.
The possibility that he might feel something more for her was truthfully, terrifying because if anyone could break her heart, tear it into pieces, it would be him but at the same time, she had to admit, it felt good, exhilarating even to be desired, wanted for who she was, not who she could be with someone.
He smiles at her again before walking off, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Pen. Have a nice night.”
Wait - tomorrow?
“I thought you were headed to Portugal?”
He swivels around, “would you miss me if I were to go away?”
Yes.
“Oh, sod off, Colin,” she says instead, trying her hardest not to stick her tongue out at him like they were back to being teenagers. She was 27 already, damn it.
He grins, wishing her a good night before bowing like he was some lord from the 1800s.
She rolls her eyes but there’s that flutter in her stomach again.
Heaven help her if she ever fell for Colin Bridgerton.
iv.
He does, in fact, ask her on a date on almost a daily basis. He visits her flat the next day, smiling as her offers her a box of pastries.
“Biscuits from Bridgerton house,” he says as she opens the box.
She raises an eyebrow at him. The biscuits were his favorite so she’s a bit shocked that they made it to her without half the box going missing. She fishes one out of the box, taking a bite. She resists the urge to moan because they were still warm and so buttery and delicious like she remembered them to be.
“Thank your cook for me,” she states, smiling brightly at him.
“So, one date then?”
She shakes her head at him. He pouts and she rolls her eyes.
“Not my lucky day, I guess,” he tells her nonchalantly.
“I wouldn't hold my breath that day will come,” she retorts.
He simply grins, as if he knew something she didn’t, that he would eventually be proven right.
He texts her, sends her random gifs and memes, he even sends her a calendar invite once, which she takes pleasure in declining. She laughs when he replies with a sad face. He corners her at gatherings where they were both required to attend, like a neighborhood fundraiser hosted by her mum, or at Edmund’s christening but her resolve isn’t broken and every single time, she turns him down.
She finds herself expecting something to happen daily that when it doesn’t for a couple of days, she thinks at maybe he finally got the message. A part of her is disappointed but she pushes the feeling down - she really shouldn’t be. The idea and her and Colin dating was a bit insane. Even if she had began entertaining the idea, mostly at night, when she couldn’t sleep.
There’s a delivery of beautiful flowers the next day at her flat, a dozen sunflowers each the size of her hand - bright and yellow and wonderful. She snaps up the card before Felicity has a chance to grab it. Her youngest sister looks on curiously.
“Whoever they’re from, they must really be serious,” she observes.
Penelope doesn’t reply, instead pulling the card out of the envelope. He didn’t even sign it but he didn’t need to because the message scrawled in the familiar slant of his handwriting was all she needed to know who the flowers were from.
One date?
She decides to thank him for the flowers, sending him a quick message. He replies back almost immediately.
Colin: So?
Penelope: No.
Colin: :(
Colin: It’s okay. I’m a patient man ;)
Penelope: -_-
Colin: <3
She lets out a loud snort and Felicity raises her eyebrows at Penelope.
“Must be serious if he has you laughing like that,” Felicity comments before her attention goes back to the flowers, “these must be expensive."
She ignores Felicity again.
He surprises her outside her office, a tentative smile on his face, one summer night when the air is thick and it’s incredibly warm.
“How about one drink?” He asks, rocking back and forth, waiting for her answer.
She bites down on her lower lip, considering it. It had been an extremely long day. No, scratch that, it had been a week from hell. A week that she was glad was finally over. A drink with a friend sounded very appealing, time to unwind and welcome the weekend.
“Okay, one drink,” she agrees and as he opens his mouth, she holds up a finger, “this is not a date.”
He raises an eyebrow at her, amending, “yet. This is not a date yet, Penelope.”
She clucks her tongue but he simply smiles, offering her his arm. She takes it and she feels a different kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.
When the night ends and she’s maybe a bit more than tipsy, because it's never just one drink with Colin, and common sense doesn’t quite kick in, she leans in, meaning to kiss him on the cheek as a thank you for listening to all her rants about co-workers who did not respect time, people who scheduled meetings at 4:30 PM on a Friday and that one person who kept stealing her yogurt from the communal fridge in the break room, but but he turns his head and her lips land on his.
She pulls back, eyes wide. The kiss was barely one millisecond long, more of an accident really, but she felt it from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes - this current of electricity, this feeling that made her heart hammer so loudly in her chest, her blood roaring in her ears.
It’s easily the kiss that’s made her feel the most of something in her entire life.
And it was only a millisecond long.
It was absolutely bonkers how one little peck on the lips could do that.
He still had his eyes closed and when he opens them moments later, she thinks it’s filled with awe, with wonder, with maybe a dash of hope too.
“One date,” he tells her lowly and it’s as if those two words were meant to convey so much more, like a promise of a very beautiful future, one brimming with endless summer nights just like this.
She swallows before speaking, voice suddenly hoarse, “ask me again tomorrow.”
He grins, a genuine smile that reminds her of summers they spent at Aubrey Hall, of sunshine, dewy mornings when they would be the first to wake up, taking strolls in the massive garden, talking about everything and nothing in hushed tones so they wouldn’t wake anyone else up.
He shows up at her door bright and early the next day, coffees in hand.
“It’s tomorrow,” he greets.
Yes, it was indeed. Truthfully, she told him that to make sure she had her head on straight, that she wouldn’t say yes because of one kiss, no matter how life altering it was.
“Good morning,” she replies.
“So?”
“Pick me up at 7 and don’t be late,” she tells him, smiling as his mouth drops open in shock.
She grabs the coffees from him, leaning in to kiss his cheek, “thank you for these. I’ll see you tonight, Colin.”
She shuts the door, laughing softly at the stupefied look on his face, pleased that she still had the capacity to surprise him.
“I won’t be late,” he shouts from the other side of the door and she laughs even louder, snorting.
Maybe it would be one date that would end in total disaster, one they could laugh at some day in a haha remember that time we thought this would be a good idea kind of way. Maybe it would be the best first date of her entire life. Maybe it would even be the last first date of her life. Penelope could not predict the future but she could take the reins of her life and finally say yes to the cute neighborhood boy who asked her out on a date over twenty years since they first met.
v.
Their first date goes with nary a hitch - he shows up 15 minutes early with a bouquet of fuchsia hued daisies for her and a box of fancy cupcakes for Felicity, who grins when she spots Colin from behind Penelope. Before they leave, she thinks she hears Felicity on the phone, loud shrieks coming from her room, no doubt telling Hyacinth about what she just witnessed.
He takes her to a nice restaurant in a part of London she doesn’t frequent quite often and judging by the prices on the menu, there’s a clear reason why.
“I wanted it to be special,” he confesses.
She melts then, smiling at him. He grins back at her and she thinks maybe his smile is a little nervous, like he was hoping this would go well.
He suggests they share a few plates, asking her which she would like. She leaves it up to him because he knew what she liked and what she didn’t. She trusts him enough to know which dishes were good and everything he picked out turned out to be very, very delicious. He even orders her favorite wine and dessert.
As they’re making their way back to her flat, walking slowly, holding hands, it starts to rain, fat droplets leaking from the sky until it opens up and a downpour ensues. They laugh loudly, running to take cover in some back alley where they wouldn’t get wet. She looks up at him, grinning. His hair was stuck to his face but still handsome as ever, which was truly unfair. She could only imagine what she must look like, her straightened hair probably back to its original frizzy mess. He smiles back at her, fixing the strap of her dress.
And this is the moment she realizes it, figures out what he meant that night in the kitchen. It’s right there, lingering in the air between them. It’s an epiphany. It’s like being struck by lightning.
Shazam.
“It’s you,” she says, amazement in her tone.
Perhaps it had always been Colin. Maybe it had been him from that moment he bought her that ice cream cone and she was just too young, too naive to notice it, to realize that little things like that could lead to love.
His eyebrows furrow, “pardon?”
“It’s you,” she repeats, louder this time so that he could hear her over the rain and she sees the exact moment he realizes what she just said.
He grins at her, a smile meant just for her. He takes her hand, kissing the back of it tenderly.
“It’s always been you, Pen,” he admits.
She launches herself at him and he catches her just in time, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close. The kiss is wet because of the rain but it’s also warm, comforting, like coming home. There’s that same current of electricity but it’s amplified a million times because this kiss isn’t only for a millisecond, it’s longer, sweeter, much more meaningful. It’s a kiss that feeds Penelope’s soul, makes her think of only happy days, of so much warmth and joy and wonderful feelings.
She pulls away briefly to see the look on his face and like that first innocent, completely accidental kiss, his eyes are still closed. When he does open them, the shade of green is different from what she’s used to, it’s darker, deeper, almost like the dark green shade of the trees in Kent.
“Wow,” he whispers.
She doesn’t hear him say it because of the pouring rain but she follows the shape his mouth makes, his perfect mouth, perfect for more kissing in the rain.
“Yeah, wow,” she agrees as she feels heat creep up her neck.
She draws him closer, pulling at his soaked shirt until she feels his breath on her cheek. She leans in, kissing him again, kissing him with everything she had, chasing that feeling of complete bliss. He nips at her lower lip causing her to moan and vaguely, she thinks that maybe this is what it feels like to really fall in love.
Falling in love with Colin Bridgerton might not be so bad after all.
It might even be one of the best things to ever happen to her.