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Penelope uncorked one of two bottles of wine and poured the ruby liquid into a stemless wine glass. She sipped the spicy red while she cleaned, serving the dual purpose of tidying her home for guests and making sure the Chianti she’d chosen indeed had the stylish and distinctive flavor profile the merchant at the Beltway Cellar promised. She wanted to serve an authentic Italian wine for the long-overdue return of her Fellini film festival.
The loud whir of the vacuum cleaner had the cats hurrying to seek safety under the bed. It was also the reason Penelope missed the chime of a new text message. She neglected to check her phone before she took a long, luxurious shower, the steam opening her pores to make her collagen-infused face mask more effective. With two hours to spare before her friends were scheduled to arrive, she was exfoliated, moisturized, and perfumed, but the guest list had dwindled down to one person.
A sick kid, delayed flight, bureaucratic politics, and backlogs of paperwork were going to keep everyone except Luke away. Her first instinct was to cancel altogether, but she had been looking forward to wearing her short skater skirt with cin cin printed repeatedly in bright font, paired with a vintage, dolman sleeve blouse that looked like it was from the pages of a Fellini-era Italian fashion magazine. She didn’t want to drink the wine alone, and the soft Amaretti cookies she’d baked were too good not to be shared.
Luke arrived ten minutes early with the artisan crostini that were meant to accompany Tara’s contribution of a tomato-based topping.
“She’s not coming,” Penelope told him. “No one else is, actually.”
His disappointment was genuine for all of two seconds. “I went to that fancy pants grocery store to get these,” he said, feigning mild irritation as he set the box down on the counter. His gaze swept appreciatively from her long, bouncy curls to the plunging neckline of her top and the panel of buttons drawing a line from the cinched waist to the short hem. “You still want to watch the movie?” he asked, trying to hide the lilt of hope in his voice.
Penelope froze. “I mean, if you have somewhere else-”
“No,” Luke interjected. “Nowhere else to be.”
Penelope had imagined the evening would go something like this: everyone would mingle, filling their plates with a smorgasbord of sweet and savory snacks, and she would have to politely but firmly quiet the conversations to start the first movie. The team would watch the initial thirty minutes with minimal interruptions, but gradually the film would simply be the background to a night of laughter and wine among friends.
Instead, Penelope and Luke cobbled together a small buffet from what she had in the fridge and cupboards. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa until she got cold and he scooted closer to share a blanket even though he was sweating through his button-up flannel and the cotton tee he wore underneath it. The room gradually darkened as the sun receded, and eventually the only light came from the television and one lamp’s amber-hued glow.
Thirty minutes into La Dolce Vita, Luke pointed out that Penelope hadn’t made a joke about him struggling with the subtitles.
She scoffed at the suggestion. “That would be mean!”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Is there a moratorium on meanness? Does this mean you will never again make fun of the way I pronounced Worcestershire sauce at Rossi’s barbeque two years ago? You’ll never ask if my hair looks like this because my barber was in a rush?”
Penelope allowed herself a quick giggle. “Well, I don’t know about that , but adult literacy is nothing to joke about.”
Luke poured them each a second glass of wine, and when she rearranged herself - folding her legs to the side, leaning against him with her cheek pressed to his bicep - he was dismayed to realize only twenty minutes of the movie remained.
“You called this a film festival,” he pointed out as the credits rolled. “Do you have more Fellini lined up?”
Penelope’s eyes brightened. “More? You’d watch another one?”
He barely had time to answer before she was opening the case to her boxed set of the director’s greatest hits. “I’d take more of these cookies, too.” They were little buttery, almond-kissed clouds. He hadn’t been much for desserts until he started spending more time with Penelope, but he’d developed a sweet tooth from sampling her peach scones, key lime muffins, raspberry swirl cheesecake, and all of the delicious cookies she baked. He couldn’t believe what he’d been missing out on.
The truth was, quite a few things had been missing from Luke’s life before he met her.
Movie night paired with a sweet treat became their ‘thing.’
It didn’t happen on a schedule. Luke would text Penelope from the plane at the end of a gruesome case, suggesting she meet at his place for brownies and a movie. Something funny, please would be his only request. Once, they streamed the same movie from opposite sides of the country while he ate a candy bar from a Barstow motel’s vending machine and she savored two milk chocolate truffles cuddled up in her bed with the cats.
Sometimes there was no movie involved. They used the occasion to catch up on a show they both watched, or Luke would fall asleep on his couch and Penelope would take Roxy for a walk to give him time to rest before they had a snack standing on opposite sides of his small kitchen island.
More than once it was spontaneous, starting with an I’m going to be driving by that ice cream place you like so much, want me to bring you something message from Luke, or Penelope suggesting that if they’re going to spend all night texting about her car problems or his upcoming high school reunion while she baked apricot pastries, they might as well be in the same room and fit a movie in, too.
“We could go to a theater and see something made before 1985,” Luke suggested on one occasion.
They had a nice time, but the snacks were expensive and subpar, and he missed the intimacy of being alone with her. He missed the incidental physical contact of sitting together on a couch; theater seats were roomier than ever, and being close enough to touch Penelope would have meant being deliberate about it. He only touched her on purpose when they were at work or other people were in the room; that made it easier to keep his hands from wandering or holding her a little too close to still qualify as friendly.
It was Luke’s turn to pick the movie. Penelope was pleasantly surprised when he showed up with peanut butter cups from the chocolate shop she loved and a documentary about the efforts of women in the 1970s to secure equality in the workplace. But ten minutes in, their phones buzzed at the same time. “Work,” they groused in unison.
“I’ll drive,” he offered.
Penelope pinched her sweatshirt - she’d dribbled wine down the front - and said, “Be right back.”.
In record time, she reemerged wearing fresh makeup and a sleeveless pink, butterfly-print dress he’d never seen before, paired with chunky heels adorned with a bow. A short-sleeved black blazer was folded over her arm. “How long were you gone?” he asked, mystified, looking at his watch.
“What,” she balked, exaggerating offense, “you thought it must take hours for me to get glammed up?”
“No. It’s just… I mean… It’s impressive.”
“Well, I can’t do it all that quickly.” She spun, turning her back to him, and swept all of her hair to one shoulder. “Can you zip me up?”
Luke swallowed thickly. His eyes grazed the sliver of bare skin between the open fabric, passing over the cobalt blue band of her bra down to the hint of lace, in the same shade, at the base of her spine.
“Luke?” she prompted.
“Uh, yeah.” He took three slow steps forward, clenching his hands into fists and stretching his fingers out again and again. He pinched the small metal slider, dragging it up, the teeth closing with a rasp. “Okay,” he said, smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the fabric. “All set.”
Penelope thanked him and slipped her arms into the sleeves of the blazer as they made their way out the door.
As he drove, Luke tried to make conversation about the documentary they were going to watch, but his thoughts continually returned to the striking blue color of her bra. Wondering what the front looked like. Imagining sheer cups, her pert nipples showing through-
“Luke! Green means go,” she said, pointing to the light ahead of them.
“S-sorry.” He pulled himself out of the haze of satin, mesh, and lace, but every shade of blue he saw for the next several days - the sky surrounding the jet bound for Cincinnati, the pool at the hotel - reminded him of it. Of her. Of all her secrets he wished to know.
Every time someone Luke knew got married, the newlyweds insisted on setting him up, as if settling down with the one could be contagious. He never agreed to it, but his cousin Lucia had moved to Montclair with her new husband, and repeatedly turning down a member of his family had proven problematic; he got calls from his aunt and Lucia’s five sisters wanting to know exactly what he thought was wrong with her lovely friend.
They broke him down, and Luke intended to have a pleasant dinner with Simone, the real estate agent. The best case scenario was that his line of work and schedule would repel the woman, but if not, he would nicely turn down a second date.
He was too much of a gentleman to half-ass anything, so he’d showered and spritzed cologne on his neck, and he was tucking a light blue dress shirt under the waistband of his black jeans when the doorbell buzzed.
Curious, Luke crossed the floor, shooing Roxy out of the way. He squinted to see through the small circle of glass on his door, and the sight of Penelope standing in the hallway made him smile. She was holding a canvas tote, and even her casual appearance - hair clipped into low pigtails, patterned leggings, and an oversized sweatshirt with a wide neckline that bared part of her collarbone and the pink strap of her bra - was alluring. He centered himself with a deep breath and turned the knob.
“Hi!” she greeted him, and he naturally stepped aside, giving her room to enter. “I’m sorry I didn’t call first.”
“But,” she went on, “I took Michael to his karate class, and apparently the last time he saw you, he promised you could borrow this.” She pulled a blu-ray case out from the bag and showed him the superhero movie. “He said I have to see it, too, and I can’t deny that sweet little face a single thing, so of course I-” She paused abruptly, sniffing the air between them. “You smell good.”
Luke smirked. He took the movie from her. “I was just making conversation with Michael. We don’t actually have to watch this.”
She looked down at his dressy, lace-up leather sneakers, and up to the stiff collar of his shirt. He hadn’t shaved, but she could smell the clean trifecta of soap, recently applied deodorant, and a fresh layer of woodsy cologne. “Oh!” She took a wide, dramatic step backward. “You have plans. You’re going on a date.”
His lips parted in protest. He’d pretty much forgotten about Simone and the reservation for a table for two at Claudio’s, but she wasn’t wrong.
“I’m sorry.” She looked everywhere but at Luke. “I shouldn’t have… Of course you have plans. It’s Saturday night. I’ll go.”
Roxy bounded up from her bed and hurried to Penelope, circling her legs. The dog wasn’t the only one who wanted her to stay.
“No,” Luke said. “I mean, yeah, I’m supposed to… But it’s-”
“What’s her name?” she asked, crouched down to pet Roxy.
Luke turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Simone.”
Penelope mouthed, “Simone,” and rolled her eyes, sharing a look of disdain with the dog. She stood and said, “How did you meet Simone?”
“I didn’t.” Luke rotated, slowly. “It’s a…”
“Blind date.”
He nodded once.
She felt a sudden wave of irritation. He was trying to sound disinterested for her benefit, and that was unnecessary. She didn’t care about his date, and obviously Luke did , or he wouldn’t have smelled like cedar and leather, wearing a shirt that wasn’t black or brown or gray. It was silly for him to pretend he was only meeting Simone out of a sense of obligation. She was most likely a gorgeous, bronzed beauty with long, impossibly soft brown hair and bewitching hazel eyes. In another month Penelope would probably be helping plan their housewarming party and curating a piece of art for their wall.
“What else did you bring?” he asked, changing the subject.
Penelope looked inside the bag. “I made dark chocolate pistachio cookies. With sea salt. And orange zest.”
He clapped a hand over his heart and moaned in a way that made her toes curl inside her sparkly sneakers.
“You don’t have to… I know you’re not really a sweets guy. You just eat them to…” She shrugged, leaving him to fill in the blank with appease me .
“Are you kidding me?” he asked with a laugh. “That sounds amazing. I’d eat a dozen and ask for more.”
Maybe Simone bakes , she thought.
“What?”
Penelope sealed her lips. She’d said it out loud.
Luke bit back a grin. “You don’t need to be jealous.”
She gasped. “I’m not! I don’t even know this woman.”
“Neither do I. Which is exactly why-”
“I’m sorry I interrupted. You keep the movie. I’ll take the cookies.” She backed up toward the door with each sentence. “Have fun, Luke.”
“Penelope-”
“You deserve it.”
“I don’t even want to do this,” he told her. But they both knew he was too kind to change his mind twenty minutes before he was supposed to meet a woman at a restaurant, leaving her to sit alone, waiting.
“I’ll see you Monday,” she said, turning, fumbling with the knob.
Luke winced when the door sealed shut.
Simone ordered a salad with dressing on the side. She drank unsweetened tea and had no interest in seeing the dessert menu. She was pretty, but there was nothing distinctive about her.
Luke caught himself comparing Simone to Penelope again and again, which was unfair to the former. His date seemed rude to the restaurant staff, but Penelope would have been remarkably kind, wanting to know if the young woman taking her order was in school and where she got the pendant of pressed flowers she wore around her neck. Anyone would come across as too shy or a bit cold in contrast to her.
Luke walked Simone to her car, parked on the other side of the street from the restaurant. She invited him to continue their evening at a bar three blocks away, but he was craving something sweet after his steak au poivre.
“I had a nice time,” he fibbed, “but I have somewhere else to be.”
“You mean someone else to be with?”
His eyes widened, then narrowed.
She surprised him with an affable laugh. “Lucia said she couldn’t figure out why you’ve been single so long. It was pretty obvious the moment you walked in. Is she an ex-girlfriend?”
Luke shook his head. “My best friend.”
Simone replied with a sharp, sympathetic breath. A knowing look.
“I’m really sorry,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”
“You didn’t. I got a free dinner.” She shrugged. “But, maybe, the next time Lucia wants to set you up… Just tell her about this other woman. Better yet, make a move and stop wasting your own time.”
Penelope looked at the time on her phone. She had been trying to distract herself with cute cat videos and crochet, but the evening was dragging. Her thoughts always returned to Luke and his date, and in the privacy of her own home, she could admit the truth. She was jealous. Insanely jealous.
It didn’t make sense. She had no right to begrudge Luke an eventful romantic life. Hell, she had been on plenty of dates in recent months. But somewhere between their own failed dinner years ago and barging in on him earlier that night, Penelope had realized the error of her ways.
No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t somewhere between then and now - it was then. It was in that empty restaurant in the winter of 2020. Even as she said the words - there is absolutely something there but not that - she knew it was a lie. A mechanism to protect herself. To spare him. Luke had asked her out when their emotions were heightened and they’d been dancing to David Bowie, so she did him a favor by making sure their dinner was clunky. Gave him an easy out. Let him off the hook.
It was inevitable Luke would find the person she told him was out there, but faced with that possibility, Penelope fell apart. She’d gotten used to him being around. The company. The comfort. When the people she pursued disappointed her, Luke was there, lifting her spirits. The idea of losing that split her heart in half. The movies were just an excuse to be near him. To have him all to herself.
She picked up the nearest throw pillow and buried her face in the velvet, intending to scream. But a soft tap at the door interrupted her. She panicked, checking the app for her security system. Her heart hammered even faster at the realization Luke was standing there, separated from her by the door and her foolishness.
“Hold on, hold on,” she called out, brushing crumbs from her chest and throwing out the crumpled tissues she’d used to wipe her tears. She collected herself and opened the door. “Hi. What are you…”
“Can I come in?” he asked, breathless.
Penelope stepped aside and opened the door wider. “I thought you’d be walking Simone to her door and-”
“No,” he interjected.
She closed the door and turned to face him.
As he said, “I wanted it to be you,” she told him, “I was jealous.”
They both paused and asked, “What?” in unison.
Luke smiled, his nerves relaxing into a restless excitement. “You were jealous?”
“You wanted it to be me?”
He took a step closer and she moved away until her back was flush against the door. “I should have cancelled. I should have never let you leave my apartment. I was walking Simone to her car and all I could think is… You’re the only woman I want to kiss goodnight.”
Her lips parted with a raspy breath.
Luke closed the distance between them, settling his hands at her hips, fisting the loose fabric of her sweatshirt. Without the added height of her shoes, he towered over Penelope. He bowed his head, lips brushing her forehead. Across her brow. He bent his knees and leveled her with an intense gaze. Studying the flecks of gold in her eyes, where the light sparkled.
She rose onto the tips of her toes, clutched the front of his shirt, and tipped toward him. His lips cushioned hers, locked in a tight, still embrace until she felt emboldened enough to trace the seam of his mouth with her tongue.
Luke opened to her. Tasted her. The sweetness of her. A hint of chocolate. His craving was far from satiated, though, and he needed more. He moved one hand to the back of her head, cradling her, protecting her from the needy way his body pinned her there. One thigh slotted between her legs. Grinding. Rough and soft. Heat pulsing between their bodies.
He slipped his arm between her and the door, his hand splayed at her backside, pulling her with him. He felt the front of the couch against his calves and dropped down, bringing Penelope with him, her body strewn across his.
She adjusted on his lap, straddling him. She felt his hands everywhere, and he kissed her neck and suckled her earlobe and then his tongue licked into her mouth with a desperate hunger.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he panted in between kisses. He rolled her aside, shifting their bodies, pressing Penelope into the cushions as she stretched her legs out beneath him. Around him. Luke was ravenous, sucking a mark on her neck, biting her shirt, teeth scraping her through the barrier of cotton. He stopped with a ragged breath, holding himself above her. “Too fast?” he managed to ask.
She considered the question a moment, and laughter bubbled in her chest, pouring out as a bright, sweet sound.
“What?” he asked, amused.
“Too fast?” Penelope repeated, laughing harder. “Our first date was five years ago, Luke.”
And I wanted you long before then, he thought, smiling. He eased himself back, offered a hand, and pulled her up into a seated position beside him. Luke took a moment to notice the movie playing silently on the television. To smell the lingering aroma of sugar and citrus from the kitchen. He agreed with a nod, but as he pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear, he said, “Still. I don’t want to rush. I don’t want to miss a moment.”
She cuddled up beside him, looping her arm around his. “I’m really glad no one showed up that night,” she said, referring to the evening she shared her love of Italian cinema, and he devoured Amaretti cookies, and she wiped a smear of powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth.
Luke wanted her badly, but he couldn’t sleep with Penelope for the first time after he’d had dinner with another woman. “I’m going to take you out, and this time it won’t be clunky. We’ll have a delicious dinner and wine and-”
“Come back here for dessert?”
“I like the way you think, Penelope Garcia.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, reached for a cookie from the plate on the coffee table, and turned the sound up.