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It wasn't as though Colin hadn't been looking forward to this holiday. On the contrary—after nearly a year of bouncing between continents, adjusting to foreign time zones, and living out of a suitcase, the idea of a familiar drive to a familiar place felt like a balm to something restless inside him. Nostalgia, maybe, in a way he couldn't find anywhere else. The settling into old routines and comfortable territory would right him again, before he inevitably packed up and left once more.
If he were entirely honest with himself, he was just as delighted at the thought of spending time with Penelope as he was about returning home. Living with Eloise for university and out from under the clutches of the Featherington household—which had done nothing but stifle everything kind and good about her—Penelope had flourished in a way that was both surprising and not surprising at all. They had developed a unique, if mostly distant friendship. One built on years of knowing each other, of easy conversation when they crossed paths, of his teasing and cringe-worthy jokes, and her exasperated affection in return.
Perhaps it wasn't the kind of friendship where they texted daily or saw each other much outside of family gatherings. But it was enough that when Eloise had realised she needed to leave for Aubrey Hall early and Penelope still had to work, Colin had offered—casually, offhandedly—to drive with her later.
And now here they were, side by side in his car, London slipping further behind them.
Despite the perhaps casual nature of their friendship, Penelope was one of the few people Colin could talk to for hours and never tire of the conversation. As someone considered pretty worldly overall, having met interesting people in every country and city he explored, he thought that meant something. Where a good conversationalist would shift to small talk out of obligation, Colin and Penelope found a way to engage in banter that never bored him. She was sharp, witty, and endlessly curious, and their exchanges were so natural. It used to drive Eloise mad when they were younger—Colin and Penelope caught in lighthearted debate over some absurd topic that Eloise had checked out of long before, while their words would overlap, playing off each other's conspiratorial grins. Eloise would huff in frustration, dramatically claim possession over her best friend and physically drag her away, scowling all the while.
That possessiveness had faded with age but now, in retrospect, Colin wondered if Eloise had been aware of the line she'd drawn in the sand for him. Not that he'd been aware of it really either. It had simply been.
Penelope tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him. "So, tell me about Egypt. You were evasive and vague in the group chat, so I know that means there's a weird or embarrassing story somewhere in there."
Colin huffed a laugh, tapping idly on the steering wheel. "Well, maybe I was just saving it for a captive audience."
She arched a brow and gestured to their surroundings. The motorway stretched ahead, flanked by fields and grey skies. "I'd say I qualify."
That was true—she had him there.
So he told her, falling into their rhythm as though no time had passed, one hand moving animatedly as he detailed his time in Cairo. She laughed at all the right moments, asked the kinds of questions most wouldn't think to ask. Thoughtful ones. The kind that proved she hadn't just skimmed his updates but had truly listened. Or, perhaps, read between the lines, as she always did.
"So, let me get this straight," she said, after he finished relaying how he'd accidentally paid triple the going price for a set of hand carved chess pieces, "you, a seasoned traveller, got completely swindled by a vendor's ten-year-old son."
"Not completely," he protested.
She tilted her head.
"…Fine. Maybe completely."
She laughed then, and the sound filled the car, warm and unabashed. There was a selfish part of him that delighted in this—delighted in her enjoying him. Enjoying his stories, his company. It had always been easy with her, and while he wasn't going to think too much on the particulars, he recognised the simple truth: he liked when she liked him.
Before he could spiral into introspection, the steady traffic in front of them slowed. Then stopped.
"What is it?" Penelope leaned up in her seat, nearly on her knees to try to see beyond the large vehicle in front of him. He fought a laugh, often forgetting how tiny she was until moments like these.
He cleared his throat instead, pressing a few buttons on the navigation screen on the dash. "Accident up ahead, I guess. Looks like we might be here a while."
"How long is a while?"
He refreshed the screen and winced. "Best estimate is our ninety-minute drive just doubled."
She let out a long, slow exhale. "Well. That's unfortunate."
A beat of silence passed between them before she suddenly brightened. "I suppose we could sit here in misery. Or, we could make the best of it."
Colin side-eyed her. "How, exactly?"
She shrugged, attempting to look unconcerned. "We could play car games."
"Like what? We aren't moving."
She grinned, devious and delighted. "We could try to create the world's worst road trip playlist. But all I have to do is look in your most played songs, so that's hardly a challenge."
Colin mustered an appropriately offended look. "That's low, Pen."
She shrugged. "Or maybe we could pull… I don't know, all the worst songs from the 90s? Or the 2000s? Or both?"
Colin's lips twitched in concentration. "That's too broad. We need to narrow the theme."
Pen tapped her chin, considering. "How about the worst song from every 90s and early 2000s boyband?"
Colin choked on a laugh. "What qualifies as 'worst'? The cringeiest lyrics? The worst music video? The one that made you die inside when you heard it on the radio? The campiest choreography?"
"All of the above," she declared. "It's a complex scoring system. And don't pretend like you don't know all the moves to 'Bye Bye Bye'"
It was ridiculous. But then, their best moments usually were.
And so, with nowhere to go and nothing but time, they set to work, pulling up samples and song lists on their phones. They debated earnestly over Backstreet Boys and NSYNC, Busted and McFly, played through several questionable deep cuts from the early 2000s, and raided the stash of snacks Penelope had packed—originally meant to last through her entire stay at Aubrey Hall, now slowly being decimated between them.
And somewhere, between a particularly passionate discussion on whether Westlife’s Uptown Girl cover was an abomination or a masterpiece, Colin realised something.
He didn’t mind being stuck here.
Not with her.
The sky slowly shifted from dull grey to the deep amber of early evening. The worst of the gridlock had finally cleared, and they were crawling along the motorway at a torturous pace, but at least they were moving.
Somewhere along the way, the games had tapered off. Their ridiculous playlist had long since become background noise, the volume dialled low to a hum. The sugar high from the snacks had faded, and they'd fallen into an easy quiet.
Colin didn't mind it. It didn't demand to be filled, and it wasn't awkward. It was companionable. Penelope was curled in her seat with her arms tucked around her middle, her gaze fixed on the stretch of road in front of them. He stole a glance at her—she looked warm, and soft, and…peaceful.
"Almost there. About a half hour left, I think," Colin murmured, more to himself than anything.
Penelope hummed in response, the sound barely audible over the gentle whirr of the heater. Her eyelids had been drooping for the past twenty minutes, like she was fighting the pull of sleep and losing spectacularly.
He knew the precise moment she gave in.
She exhaled, a deep, slow sigh, and shifted in her seat as she drifted off. It was enough that, in the compact space of his car, her head tipped toward him until it came to rest against his shoulder.
Colin went completely still.
For a second, he considered adjusting, so she wouldn't have to rest awkwardly against him. But that would mean waking her. And for reasons he didn't particularly feel like examining, Colin had no desire to do that.
Instead, he remained where he was, hands steady on the wheel, heart doing something odd in his chest. Not racing, exactly, but it had shifted somehow. Stuttered, maybe, the way it did when something caught him off guard.
It wasn't the first time Penelope had fallen asleep near him. It was the first time she'd fallen asleep on him.
It was also, notably, the first time he was acutely aware of how small she felt against him. How warm. How utterly natural it was, as if they had done this a hundred times before.
Which they hadn't, obviously.
He swallowed, focusing on the road, as though the rest of the familiar drive required his full attention. The odd feeling in his chest was firmly shoved aside, locked away in the corners of his mind, labelled as nothing.
Because it was nothing.
Or so he lied to himself.
Colin supposed he should have expected some level of stubbornness.
After all, Penelope Featherington was nothing if not determined, and if there was one he knew about her, it was that she was endlessly determined to not be fussed over.
They'd been in more consistent contact since the trip to Aubrey Hall the previous Christmas holiday, perhaps more consistent than they'd ever been. Getting to know her even better as a result had been an inevitability, of course, but her willingness to try to fade into the background and deflect concern wasn't exactly a new concept either.
So, really, he should have known better than to take her at her word when she insisted she was fine.
She was very clearly not fine.
For one, her front door had been not only unlocked but slightly ajar when he arrived, which was both concerning and entirely unlike her. And now, standing in the doorway of her flat, Colin took one look and knew she had in fact lied to him.
Penelope was curled up on the sofa, surrounded by a small fortress of tissues and half-empty cups of tea, and various lozenges, sprays and discarded blister packs from Boots. Her hair was a tangled mess, her nose was red and her eyes—normally sharp and alight with amusement—were bleary and unfocused.
“Oh, good,” she rasped, barely lifting her head. “Eloise sent in reinforcements.”
Colin snorted, kicking the door shut behind him. "Reinforcements implies that you were anywhere close to winning the battle, Pen."
"I am winning," she mumbled, burrowing into her blanket. "It's fine. I am fine."
"So you said." Colin gave her a flat look, then reached down and plucked a tissue from her haphazard pile. "I think your defences have been breached."
Penelope swatted weakly at his hand, only further proof she had zero strength to fight him. He sighed, dropping on to the edge of the sofa. "Right. Well, you're a terrible liar, and I'm far too much of a good friend to turn away now, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me."
She made a sound of protest. Or maybe it was just her failing respiratory system.
Either way, Colin ignored it.
So he made her a fresh cup of tea, tidied the area around her when she closed her eyes, and then moved to grab Penelope's favourite book from her shelf. She grunted as he took a seat next to her, shuffling away a bit in a way that made him chuckle.
"You're a menace when you're sick."
Penelope simply pulled the blanket over her head like a hood and stuck her tongue out at him. Undeterred, Colin began to read aloud, and while she attempted to appear unaffected at first, before long, she was laughing along (and coughing as a result), making exasperated sighs at the right moments, and even letting out a soft "Boooo," to a particularly irritating character moment.
Colin hadn't even realised she'd drifted off to sleep until she shifted under the blanket, inching closer to him and letting out a soft sigh.
"Colin."
It was barely above a whisper, just his name, without any real weight or intention. But something about it still managed to knock the breath from his lungs. The way she said it—soft and trusting and almost sweet—was doing funny things to his heart.
Maybe it was a fever dream, or her mind simply recalled the last image she'd seen before slipping into unconsciousness. Though the thought that she might dream of him at all was something he decided he shouldn't dwell on.
A few more minutes, he told himself. Just long enough to make sure she was sleeping soundly.
Then he would go.
Maybe.
Moving in with Penelope was supposed to be a short-term solution. Like so many things in his life lately, it wasn't meant to be permanent.
Just a place to crash while he sorted himself out. He'd be away far too long, drawn in by the novelty that life as a travel writer had provided. It had been brilliant and exhilarating and…exhausting.
For now, he just needed somewhere to land. Just for a few months. Just long enough to figure out what was next.
Eloise had suggested it, actually. Offhandedly, like it was the most obvious, clear solution, as El typically did when she had an answer to a problem. She'd mentioned it over Sunday roast at their mother's, between passing the Yorkshire puddings and arguing with Gregory about the last potato. "Penelope's got a spare room," she'd said, alluding to the fact that she had moved out a month prior and Pen hadn't sought a new roommate yet. "She's hardly ever home these days, and you two get on well enough, yeah?"
It had been logical. Practical.
He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.
The first week had been uneventful enough. They'd fallen into their usual friendly banter, as Colin did his best to keep out of her way, feeling vaguely like an intruder every time he wandered into the kitchen for tea, despite doing it whenever he visited their flat in the past. It felt different now. There wasn't a timeline for his exit—the exit was merely the room across the hall.
But by the third week, familiarity had won out, and he had grown comfortable. The flat had started to feel like home in a way nowhere had for years. They moved around each other easily, had a routine. He knew when to plan for her favourite takeaway meal after a long stressful day, and that he'd be subjected to the most awful reality television.
By the fourth week, he was sitting right along side her and shouting at the screen, getting far too invested in whether the stranger would accept a marriage proposal on live television.
"This is the dumbest show I've ever seen," he declared, horrified and amused in equal measure.
"I know," Penelope whispered, not even looking at him as she tossed a few popcorn kernels in her mouth. "Isn't it wonderful?"
And somehow, it was.
He never meant to stay so long.
Time had gone liquid, weeks bleeding into months until he could barely remember what it was like to live anywhere else.
It was just…easy.
Penelope was as easy to live with as she was to talk to, and to be around in general, though that shouldn't have shocked him. She was thoughtful in that quiet, perceptive way of hers—leaving sticky notes on the fridge with reminders or an inside joke, of which they now had an endless supply. A sort of sentimental archive of shared memories.
He found himself looking forward to those notes. Found himself leaving his own: terrible puns that would make her groan, observations that would make her laugh. He hadn't lived with anyone consistently for years. He'd forgotten what it was like to have someone notice when you were running late, or save you leftovers, or just to tell you about their day over coffee. Maybe he was just lonely, maybe he was overthinking it. But this felt different. It was comfortable. Familiar.
Dangerously so.
It hit him hardest on a random Tuesday night.
He was lounging on the sofa, ignoring the Sherlock rerun in the background and scrolling aimlessly on his phone, when Penelope wandered out of her room.
She was in an old university sweatshirt—too big, fraying at the edges, sleeves hanging past her wrists—and a pair of shorts that made his mouth go dry. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, wisps of auburn falling loose around her face, her wire-rim glasses perched on her nose.
She looked soft. Beautiful.
Touchable.
She dropped to the other end of the sofa, cross-legged, pulling clean laundry from the basket beside her and folding it with practised efficiency, attention half on the television. She made a sound at the screen and tossed a balled-up sock at him. He caught it easily, despite his rattled brain.
"This episode is terrible."
"You chose it," he shot back, his voice a little rougher than he intended.
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue, smiling softly as she focused back on her task. The domesticity of it all—her folding laundry, him catching her thrown socks, sharing space and air and life—suddenly felt overwhelming.
Colin watched her for a moment longer than he should have.
Then another.
And another.
His chest tightened, and he suddenly, inexplicably, could not breathe.
He stood up. Quickly, nearly tripping over his own two feet. “I’m—going out. For air.”
Penelope glanced up, surprised. The motion caused another curl to escape her bun, brushing against her cheek in a way that made his fingers itch to reach out. “Are you—?”
“Fine,” he said, too fast. The word came out strangled and raw. “Just—need some air.”
She frowned, confused, but didn’t press. “Alright. Don’t get kidnapped. I can’t afford the ransom.”
He forced a laugh, but it came out wrong. All wrong, like everything was suddenly something else and he had no idea how to function in this strange new world.
Colin was out the door before he could explain it.
It was a good ways down the street before he realised he hadn’t put on shoes.
Colin had done enough travelling to know what cold felt like, and he didn't really understand feeling cold indoors as a general rule. Growing up in affluent Mayfair meant Bridgerton House was always well heated, but it was also cavernous, the kind of place where warmth was more a matter of blankets and strategic layering than consistent central heating. Either way, he figured you either adapted or froze to death—simple as that.
But Penelope was a different story.
"This is torture," she announced, wrapping her arms around herself as strode back into the living room, shivering theatrically.
Colin looked up from his laptop, seated at the small desk in the corner in just a t-shirt and joggers. He had a perfectly good desk in his room, of course, but he preferred working in this common area, even if it meant he typically got less done.
"Just put on another jumper, Pen."
"I'm already wearing two," she shot back, looking indignant. "And one of them is yours, I'll have you know, and it's doing absolutely nothing to help."
He snorted, unable to help himself. Sure enough, she was bundled up like an adorably angry penguin, in layers that somehow made her look smaller and more delicate than usual. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright and accusatory. The building heating had been acting up for the better part of the day, finally giving up a few hours ago. Colin had offered to drive Penelope over to her mother's house ("God no, I'd rather actually freeze to death.") or even to his mum's (Penelope had merely scowled, which Colin took to mean no). So, really, in his eyes, she’d chosen this for herself.
"Hey, I offered you options," he reminded her, trying not to focus on the weird, warming feeling at the sight of her wearing his clothes.
Penelope flopped on the sofa, pulling two fluffy blankets over her body. "I'm not going to put anyone out. Aren't I allowed to just complain? How is it my fault that you thrive in these temperatures? There's probably a metaphor in there for your cold, cold heart, letting me wallow in misery. Have you no compassion, Mr. Bridgerton?"
She knew how to appeal to his saviour complex, and while she normally chastised him for the trouble it caused, she was more than willing to invoke it when it suited her. And he was more than willing to let her.
With a sigh, he closed his laptop and reached for the last blanket, which he'd had draped over the back of his chair, and moved to join her on the sofa. She glared at him, looking much like the picture of that past, flu-stricken Penelope he'd cared for nearly a year ago.
So much had changed since then, and still, much was the same. Even when he'd realised just how attracted he was to Penelope that night a few months ago, he'd managed to push it all down and away, desperate not to lose what they had. She had become his very best friend, and while before her, it may have been a while since he'd lived with anyone, it had been even longer since he'd had a best friend. The thought of ruining that with his inconvenient feelings made his stomach turn.
Besides, it seemed entirely one-sided, and therefore a non-issue.
Even if he occasionally faltered, letting himself stare just a little too long, or be a little too flirtatious, he reasoned it was more their familiarity than any innate desire to do anything rash. Like punch the stupid blonde prat that had showed up at their flat a while back for a date. He'd tried to play it off, but the fact that Pen hadn't mentioned her date made him wonder if he'd been reading everything a bit wrong. Pen continued to insist he was her closest friend (and to not share that with Eloise) and that she could tell him anything.
It had been bothering him for weeks now, that she hadn't mentioned it. That she might be keeping things from him, when they'd always shared everything. Or worse, that she had noticed his reaction and was trying to spare his feelings.
He hadn't been avoiding her, exactly, but he knew he had retreated a bit. She hadn't mentioned it, and he figured she either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared. But even if she meant her comment now in jest, she knew he'd never be able to resist her calling him out with such formality. It was almost a relief to be back to this.
"Don't 'Mr. Bridgerton' me, Penelope. God, you're so dramatic."
She continued scowling at him, looking every bit the disgruntled, overgrown child. He closed his eyes and sighed again, lifting his blanket as he turned and braced himself against the back of the cushions.
"Come here."
She eyed him warily, and stared at the now open space in front of him.
"Why?"
"Just stop whinging and get over here," he ordered, tugging on her blankets.
She huffed, but shuffled over, bringing her blankets with her and creating a barrier between them. Probably smart, all things considered. Still, he wrapped her close, making light of the situation as best he could. The two of them sat together that way for a while, Colin doing all he could to ignore the warmth from her body that seemed to seep through the blankets, despite all her complaints. He tried not to notice how perfectly she fit against him, how her hair smelled faintly of vanilla and honey. How easy it would be to press his lips to the crown of her head.
He didn’t remember falling asleep.
He only knew that when he woke, they were lying down, his arms was around her body, his face pressed against her hair, and her hand was curled against him with her head tucked beneath his chin. Penelope shifted in her sleep, and she let out a soft, contented sigh.
His chest tightened painfully, a breath catching in his throat. He felt… he felt—
No. No, he didn’t.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to stay perfectly still. It didn’t mean anything. No matter how many times she fell asleep in his vicinity, it didn't mean anything.
It didn’t. It couldn’t.
But as he lay there, his heart beating too fast, he couldn’t help but think that it felt like…everything.
Colin loved kids. Truly, he did. They were messy and loud and sticky for no reason, but also honest in a way adults never could be. It was refreshing, really.
But Edmund Bridgerton was giving him a run for his money.
"Again!" the boy demanded, his olive skin flushed, his hair a wild mess of dark curls that made him look startlingly like Anthony. They'd been playing all manner of active games for nearly an hour now, and somehow Edmund's energy levels seemed to be increasing. Meanwhile, Colin was exhausted. He wasn't exactly out of shape, but Edmund was relentless.
Penelope was trying (and failing) to stifle her laughter from the sofa, having needed a reprieve from the visit with her mother across the square and choosing to help Colin babysit instead. He offered a weak protest initially, insisting he was more than capable, but one look at the kitchen had torn that theory to shreds.
So they'd managed to divide and conquer, Pen calming baby Miles for his afternoon nap, while Colin got beaten by a five-year-old.
“You’re losing to a child,” she pointed out, her voice entirely too smug.
Colin shot her a look. “I’m letting him win.”
She arched a brow. “Right. That’s why you tripped over that ottoman trying to catch him last round?”
He scowled. “That was strategy. I was throwing him off.”
“Uh-huh. Very convincing.”
He stuck his tongue out at her, which made Edmund giggle.
“Alright, Edmund,” Colin called, forcing himself to refocus. “One more round of hide and seek, and then we’re having quiet time.”
Edmund pouted. “Quiet time is boring.”
Colin couldn’t argue with that, but he was willing to try anything to get five minutes to breathe. “Yeah, well, Uncle Colin’s old and tired. One more round.”
The boy huffed but scampered off, his small feet pounding against the hardwood as he darted down the hallway.
Colin turned to Penelope. “You hiding this time?”
She gave him a bemused look. “You need my help to beat a five-year-old?”
“I need you to make sure he doesn’t cheat. Again.”
Penelope’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Fine. But if he finds you first, I’m not helping you get away.”
“That’s fair.”
They both tore off toward the bedrooms at the back of the house, Colin tripping over his own feet, not missing Penelope's snicker as she darted past him. He could hear Edmund counting in the sitting room, his voice loud and exaggerated as he shouted each number.
He considered his options quickly. Under the bed? Too predictable. Behind the curtains? Not enough coverage.
The closet. Perfect.
He slipped inside, turning just as Penelope followed after him, pulling the door behind her.
"Penelope, no—"
The door clicked shut before he could finish his sentence. There was a brief, horrible moment of silence where he realised exactly how small the space was, and exactly how close she was standing.
Colin sighed. "This is the closet that gets stuck." He fumbled above his head for the small, ineffective light, tugging on the string and nearly laughing as Penelope pressed herself against the opposite wall, her expression blank.
"The what?"
He supposed maybe Penelope didn't know, or hadn't been foolish enough to get herself caught in the endless hiding places of Bridgerton House. Colin, however, had not been so lucky. "The door jams. You have to get someone to open it from the outside."
"You're joking."
"What reason would I have to joke about that?" He reached for the antique handle to demonstrate, tugging on it roughly to no avail. Pen, clearly panicking, tried herself and swore when it refused to budge.
"Oh for fuck's sake."
Colin bit back a laugh. "Told you."
"Why didn't you say that before I shut the door?"
Colin scoffed. "Why did you follow me in here? Divide and conquer, remember? Or was your plan to push me down as an Edmund sacrifice?"
Penelope raised a brow. "I…well, I was running out of time, he was on 'two' and I was out of options."
It took only another few seconds to realise that, even pressed against the wall, they were still in very close proximity. Which, no big deal, of course. He cleared his throat.
Penelope tilted her head, watching him. "Are you claustrophobic or something?"
"What? No," he countered, shifting awkwardly. "It's just small. In here. And warm." And you're too close, he wanted to add. Not close enough, another part of him whispered traitorously.
She gave him a knowing look. "Right."
It really was warm in there, though it had little to do with the temperature. He didn't know where to look, or how to move. He did all he could to avoid watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest, willed himself not to tuck the stray curl across Penelope's forehead behind her ear. Tried to ignore that his heart was doing something stupid and fluttery beneath his ribs.
“So,” she said, her voice low and quiet in the tiny space. “Any brilliant ideas for getting out of here?”
Colin shook his head, trying to clear it. "Uh…we could shout for Edmund?"
Her lips twitched. "You really think he's going to help us?"
Colin shrugged. "Well, he does want to win. I don't think he cares about the means by which it happens."
They fell silent, the space between them heavy and electric. Colin stared at the door, willing it to open on its own. No such luck.
He was beginning to wonder, honestly, if the world had it out for him. It seemed no matter what he did, or how he tried to change course, it always came back to long buried feelings for Penelope, as though the universe was forcing him to acknowledge what he refused to accept. Even Pen, now moving away from the wall and more into his space, seemed drawn in by it. She was off-limits. She would always be off-limits. She was his best friend, his roommate, his constant. He couldn't risk any of that.
But now, trapped here with her, all the rules he'd been clinging to thus far felt a little less clear.
He shifted, trying to give her more space and only succeeding in brushing against her. He accidentally knocked a shirt from its hanger, and as he went to return it to his rightful place, he turned, finding Penelope's face suddenly much closer than he'd anticipated.
Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, and she was staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.
He knew he should move. Look away. Anything but stare at her like an idiot, anything but let himself imagine closing that small distance between them.
Except he didn't.
He couldn't.
He swallowed, his throat dry, the air thick. She was so close, close enough to feel her breath against his skin as she exhaled, warm and unsteady. Close enough that if he just leaned down...
Just then, the door flew open, and Edmund grinned up at them triumphantly. "Found you!"
Colin coughed, nearly falling over himself and bracing his arm against the door frame. "Yeah, you did. Good job, mate."
The boy beamed, oblivious. "Miles pooped. It's gross."
Penelope let out a strangled laugh, ducking under Colin's arm as she escaped the closet. "That's all you, Colin."
He watched her go, a laugh still on her lips, her hair a wild mess of curls around her shoulders. She looked back at him, her eyes still sparkling, and for one dizzying second, he thought she might know. Might have felt it, too. Might have been just as affected by their proximity as he was.
Then she was gone, and Colin was left standing alone in the closet, staring at the empty space she'd left behind.
It was too contrived to be reality. The kind of thing out of one of those absurd romantic comedies Hyacinth loved so much. In fact, Colin wouldn't have put it past her to have orchestrated the whole situation—someone bribing the hotel staff or hacking into the booking system to have a laugh at his expense.
It wasn't like it had required a ton of deep detective work. Edmund had been the worst kind of snitch after the closet incident. The following Sunday brunch, the little shit had declared to the whole table how Colin had lost their last hide and seek game—by purposefully getting locked in the closet with Penelope. Edmund figured it was a forfeit, that they were done playing and letting him win. His family, however, had made more than one knowing comment, trading looks across the table that made Colin want to disappear into the ether. He was so deeply thankful that Penelope had to work that day. He wasn't sure he'd have survived otherwise.
But they hadn't let him forget it ever since.
Except for Francesca, of course—she was more than preoccupied with her wedding, a small affair, befitting the couple that Franny and Michaela were. And the current reason Colin and Penelope were standing in front a sheepish looking clerk, being told there was only one room booked between them.
He hated that he was more delighted by the prospect than anything. Because what did that say about him? About his increasingly fragile grip on his feelings for his best friend? No, he'd have to just shove it down. They were adults. They'd been living together. It was no big deal.
Except it was.
"We can share," Penelope offered with a shrug, clearly unfazed. "It's just one night."
He blinked at her, mouth opening and closing without anything coherent to say. She looked so at ease with this, not at all affected, that he wondered if he'd imagined her leaning in just a bit in that closet in Bridgerton House. Or if he just wanted to see it so badly his brain had invented it, simply to torture him.
"Uh, yeah. Sure. That's fine." His voice cracked halfway through, and he wanted to throw himself out the window.
The clerk tapped away on her keyboard, not even bothering to hide her knowing smile. Colin refused to make eye contact, afraid his desperation might be written all over his face.
"Well, aren't you two lucky?" She was too chipper for his liking. "Looks like there was a last minute cancellation. We do have another room available!"
His heart sank. It was irrational—completely unreasonable—but all the same, his stomach twisted in disappointment. The prospect of spending a night pretending he wasn't hyper-aware of her every movement vanished like smoke.
“Oh!” Penelope said, her eyes widening in genuine surprise. “Well, that solves that, then.”
Colin forced himself to nod, plastering on his best nonchalant grin. “Right. Of course. We’ll take it, then.”
The receptionist handed them two keys, still grinning in a way that made Colin want to throw things at her. He barely managed to keep his expression in check as they headed toward the lift.
This was better. This was normal. This was completely reasonable and not the least bit heartbreaking.
But when they arrived at their doors—right across the hall from each other—he hesitated. Penelope turned to him, offering a small smile that did nothing to ease the ache in his chest. “Rehearsal dinner is in about an hour, I think. See you in a bit?”
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice wooden. “See you.”
He slipped into his room, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. He leaned back against it, staring at the empty room before him. It was perfectly nice—plush bedding, tasteful decor, all the amenities he could ask for.
It was also unbearably cold and hollow and missing the only thing he really cared about just now.
He dropped his bag, moved to the bed, and collapsed face-first onto the mattress with a muffled groan. He didn’t want to be in this room. He wanted to be across the hall, sharing a space with her. Even if it was ridiculous and awkward and terribly ill-advised, it was Penelope, and he wanted to be near her. He always wanted to be near her.
God, he was pathetic.
He rolled over, staring at the ceiling. This was stupid. Why was he sulking? It wasn’t as though she’d jumped at the chance for a separate room. She’d just… accepted it. Because it was reasonable. Because it was logical.
Because she didn’t want to share a room with him, a small voice whispered.
He couldn't do this. Couldn't lie here and pretend this was fine. That he hadn't been slowly losing his mind for weeks—months—maybe even years. That every moment spent pretending she was just his friend wasn't slowly killing him.
He was up and out of the bed before he even consciously made the decision. His feet moved on autopilot, dragging him across the hall to her door. He raised his hand, hesitated, and nearly walked away. But the door opened before he could change his mind.
Penelope stood there, wide-eyed, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been pacing. She looked surprised to see him.
“Colin? What is it?”
The words stuck in his throat. He looked at her, at the way her fingers clutched the edge of the door, how plush and kissable her lips were as she looked up at him. Her eyes shined with something dangerously close to hope, and his resolve crumbled entirely.
“I didn’t want a separate room,” he blurted out, his voice rough and raw. “I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be stuck with you. And I don’t know what to do about it, but I… I couldn’t just… can't be across the hall. I couldn’t.”
Her eyes widened, and for a horrible, gut-wrenching moment, he thought he’d miscalculated. She just stared at him, her expression unreadable. His stomach plummeted, and he wished for a trapdoor to open beneath him and swallow him whole.
He was about to stammer out an apology, to retreat and bury himself in embarrassment, when she stepped closer. Her breath hitched, fingers tightening on the door frame.
“Neither did I,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just thought… I thought you did.”
He couldn't take it anymore.
He met her halfway, his lips crashing into hers with all the abandon of man who'd been burying years of confounding feelings. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him as she kissed him back, pouring everything he hadn't said into his touch. Her lips were warm, her body solid and real, and he wondered how he’d gone this long without her.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled together, she looked up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. He saw some of what he'd been fighting reflected on her face, and suddenly felt seen and much less alone. Colin let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers. “We’re idiots.”
Her smile was soft and warm, fingers tightening in his shirt. “Yeah. We are.”
"Complete fools," he murmured, pressing another kiss to her lips, gentler this time. "Should have done this ages ago."
"Better late than never," she whispered against his mouth, and he could feel her laughter where their bodies met.
And Colin, finally holding everything he'd ever wanted, could not have agreed more.