Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

******

As “So High School” by Taylor Swift played in the resoning bathroom, Penelope was getting ready for her new school year at a new establishment. It was August 28th, the sun was still warm, the sweater wasn’t weather-appropriate yet, and Penelope was sick of underboon sweat. Yet, she needed to look presentable and professional so she could teach English to teenagers who barely knew how to spell their native language. She smiled, attaching a blue bow clip to her hair, before applying makeup. She debated on the eye shadow colour until she reminded herself that this was a private school. It was a soft, natural makeup. Sorry, blue eye shadow and pink glitter, you would be kept for the night out! She almost forgot how to apply anything on her face; after all, she spent the whole six weeks with nothing on her face other than sunscreen and moisturiser.

Penelope always loved learning and, therefore, school. That was why she became a teacher, sharing knowledge and never stopping to learn — and her writing career wasn’t going anywhere. However, things made all this harder, from complicated students to horrible colleagues, without forgetting budget cuts and governmental issues; her job felt like a titanic. Yet she loved it. She loved it when a student told her they liked literature thanks to her; she also loved seeing progress being made, teens sharing what they loved or disliked about a book or an author. She loved talking with other teachers about their specialities and learn much more than what she knew, debating with her peers about teaching methods.

She was more excited this year than she had been in any previous year. She was transferred to a private secondary school in North London. Better pay, recognition, equipment, team, students… and one very good thing about this place was the geography teacher. She had already known him for years. He was a nice, sweet, smart, funny, handsome, muscular, and chiselled dream! Pardon her, she was drooling just thinking about him. Get it together, Featherington! She scolded herself. But what could she do? He was truly charming, making it hard to resist. Resist what? He wasn’t making any advances to her. He was…flirty, but he was like that with everybody.

Additionally, they have been best friends since she was a teenager. Colin Bridgerton made it very clear that he would never have feelings for her! He said so about…twelve years ago? She was past this! They were just best friends now, and they were going to be colleagues in a matter of minutes. Her phone lit up as she received a text from Eloise.

“From: Eloulou 🫶

To: 🫶 Pepen

Good luck for ur first day 😘!

Tell me if my stupid brother annoyed U, I’ll take care of it 💀”

Penelope laughed and smiled at the screen.

“From: 🫶 Pepen

To: Eloulou 🫶

Thanks, bae🥰! Don’t worry, I can take care of myself💪”

The redhead would curse the sun later in the afternoon. Still, for now, at just seven past fifteen, she needed a cardigan, mainly her 1989 cardigan. It was too big for her, almost swallowing her, yet it looked pretty with her nude acrylic nails decorated with tiny pearls, and her little hair bow. She felt like Ariel in The Little Mermaid; unlike the Disney Princess, Penelope did not find her Eric. The few princes that she thought she found were truly just frogs…that was a little mean for such an adorable animal! They were toads! That was more appropriate. Her phone vibrated, and she looked at the notification. She smiled at the text from Colin.

“From: Col 🥰

To: Pen ✨

Goooood morning😁! It’s your first day😎🤯!! Meet at the gate?”

She taped so fast her thumbs could detach themself.

“From: Pen ✨

To: Col 🥰

Heeey! I know😅

Obviously, I don’t know how to navigate the school without you 😊”

Penelope put on her earphones as she walked out of her door, ready for the tube. Changing itinerary. She had to follow a different route to get to her new school. After fifteen plus years here, you get accustomed to the difficulties of the London tube. It was all in her head; she could go anywhere without looking at the map. She just needed the address. She could thank Colin for this. He used to take her everywhere when they were younger. Every time after school, every weekend, they would explore the city. Penelope knew it would be crowded, but she had grown accustomed to the almost empty tube, as many people were on vacation. “Good Luck, Babe” by Chappell Roan played in her ears as she got on the tube; she was going to need luck indeed!

She got out of the tube train and still had a ten-minute walk to the school. It was on the beat of “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor that she was stomping to the establishment. She really needed to survive that year. It was just the start. It wasn’t even the real start of the autumn term. Today was just an INSET day, consisting of staff meetings, safeguarding updates, training sessions, and department planning. As she passed the gates, she saw HIM! He was on his bike, with his luscious hair trapped under his helmet, his arm flexing in his too-tight t-shirt as he put on the brakes. He looked in her direction and smiled at her. “Pen! Wait for me.” She did. She was frozen, admiring him anyway. Colin got off his bike and put it in the bike shed. Penelope put her earphones away as he approached her, and he opened the pannier of his bike so he could put on his nerdy little blazer over his shirt. ONE of his nerdy little blazers, this one was brown, matching his hair, how perfectly. He looked so cute and clever with it. However, what killed her was when he put on his glasses, making him look like Clark Kent. He took his satchel, which looked like it belonged to a lawyer and a wealthy person. So elegant, so effortless, so…Colin!

He walked up to her with a big smile. He was so much taller than she, even with her platform shoes; she was still arriving past his torso. His very…attractive torso… Stop it, Penelope! “Good morning, Mrs. Featherington. How are you doing? Ready for your new school?” The way he used her last name, as if they didn’t have a nickname for each other since they were teenagers.

“Good morning, Mr. Bridgerton!” She laughed. “I am indeed…mentally not ready.” She confessed.

“It’s going to be okay, I’ll show you around if you need this, don’t worry!” He chukled as he badged the door and opened it. “After you.” All this actually felt like 2009, the year they met.

2009

Penelope adjusted her uniform as she entered the gate of her new school, marking the beginning of her Year 9 studies. Stray from the English countryside, Penelope was totally lost in London, too many people, too much traffic, too much noise…too much everything! She liked quiet, calm and desert places. Although she was enjoying the libraries, malls and coffee shops. She has never been a fan of nature; it was too dirty, too sunny, too wet or not enough, too…outside! Anyway, she was trying to find her way and not be late. It was sunny and windy, the light was assaulting her freckled skin, and the wind was tugging her curly hair, threatening to take her yellow beret, the one with he little sunflower over it. It didn’t matter anyway; she was asked to take it off the moment she passed the gate. "Hat off, please." A teacher pointed.

"Yes, miss, sorry," Penelope said, reaching up. But the wind snatched it first, sending it sailing across the playground.

"My hat!" she cried, watching in horror as it crashed into an older boy getting off his bike. He toppled sideways into a muddy patch near the trees. It rained two days ago, creating a lot of wet dirt around here.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Penelope ran over. "Are you hurt? I'm really sorry about my hat!"

The boy just laughed, mud streaking his uniform trousers. He had adorable dark blue eyes, brown hair, a beguiling smile and seemed just so charming. But why was he laughing? What was so funny about what happened?

"Why are you laughing?" she demanded. "You could've been hurt!"

"I've been assaulted by a flying daisy hat," he grinned. "It's not how I planned to start my morning."

"It's a sunflower," she corrected, feeling her cheeks flush. “Also, you’re not very good at balance if a simple hat can put you down.”

"Touché! I'm Colin," he said, retrieving her muddy beret. "I saw you around…you moved in last week, didn't you? Featherington, right? White house on the corner, right?"

"Right! I’m Penelope," she nodded, surprised he knew.

"Nice to meet you. I need to catch my siblings, they are already inside, but..." he hesitated. "If you need someone to show you around later?"

"Yes, please," she said, suddenly shy.

“Well, you come find me. It won’t be hard, I have mud all over me.”

“Sorry.” She whispered again as they walked to the door. He holds it for her. “After you.”

Why was Penelope feeling a little weak in the knees? She mumbled something that sounded like a thank you and entered. “Well, I have to go. Later, Penelope!” As he jogged away, Penelope clutched her dirty beret and thought: Perfect. He's absolutely perfect.

Twenty-one years later, she was still thinking the same thing as she watched him greet his old colleagues with easy handshakes and warm laughter. Penelope looked around her as she entered the building, which resembled a Victorian manor with its soaring marble archways and intricate crown moulding. The tall ceilings were giving her a torticollis just looking at them. There were enormous arched windows, their leaded glass polished to a gleam, that allowed the sun to pour across the parquet flooring, making artificial light unnecessary. She was used to historic buildings—they were as common as rain in England—the place transported her into another realm, like a romantic and fairy-tale atmosphere. Something so ethereal and enchanting, it felt like the fairy academy from "The Winx Club" she'd obsessed over as a girl. Her sensible loafers seemed to squeak too loudly against the immaculate floor; her cardigan suddenly felt like it came from a discount bin, yet it was costly merchandise from Taylor Swift…right, she had bought it on Etsy for half the price. Still, it wasn’t trash!

Meanwhile, Colin moved through the space with the unconscious grace of someone who'd attended schools like this his entire life, his tailored blazer and confident stride marking him as belonging to this gilded world in a way her middle-class upbringing never prepared her for. Penelope lived a little while like the kids around this school. After her grandparents died, her father inherited everything, from all the money to the estate. Penelope got to play rich kid for about four years until her father died after gambling all their money. She wasn’t unfamiliar with British high society, but she never felt like she truly belonged in it. Plus, except for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t spent any time in high society since she was eighteen. At thirty, it felt so long ago.

“That’s…that’s such a beautiful school.” Chuckled Penelope.

Colin smiled, stopping to watch her, admiring the place. “It is, right? And that’s just the hall! Wait until you see the assembly room, or the classes.”

“I feel a little underdressed for the place.”

“You are. But don’t worry, nobody cares. At least for today, on Monday, the students might tear you to shreds behind your back if you don’t show up to the super class.”

“Really? I thought kids here were nice.”

“To your face, and only if you have money.” He must have seen the terrified look on Penelope's face, because his own face became worried, and he took back what he had said. “Kidding! Don’t worry. There are only a few spoiled little brats who are here because their dad is a lawyer, and they are mean, like in any other school. The rest are angels, and nobody cares what you wear. As long as you follow the dress code, it’s fine. Sorry, it was a joke.”

“You had better joke.” She replied unamused.

Colin chuckled. He passed his arms around her waist, his hand on her back and made her walk faster. “We'd better get going, the teacher’s assembly will start in a few minutes, and you are already violating the dress code by the way.” He pointed out, making her confused.

They entered the assembly room. It was nice, but it was a let-down after the grandeur of the entrance hall. It looked just like what an assembly room would, with rows of chairs facing a small platform beneath an old-fashioned chandelier. Sleek chrome and glass tables lined the back wall, contrasting with the ornate Victorian bookshelves and the honey-coloured parquet. Teachers clustered in small groups—silver-haired department heads in tweed blazers with leather elbow patches, thirty-somethings in crisp button-downs and tailored slacks, even the young teaching assistants in smart pencil skirts and pressed shirts. She was not in the correct dress code. Penelope tugged at her own skirt; the length that was appropriate at her old school was too short here. Every glance felt like judgment, every whisper a critique; this was going to be a little more complicated than she thought. She was expecting strictness, for rules and less casualness, but not the crippling anxiety to come back. Her throat tightened as memories flooded back; she was indeed back in 2009, standing alone while everyone else seemed to know exactly where they belonged. Suddenly, the anxiety quieted down. Her hand was in Colin’s. Colin's warm fingers slipped between hers, his thumb brushing reassuringly across her knuckles. "You'll be fine," he whispered, guiding her toward a group of smiling faces. "Everyone, meet your new favourite English teacher, Penelope Featherington."

Penelope, hating being put on the spot, said in a shy and soft voice, “Hello.” It was pretty hilarious for a teacher not to like attention, especially since they were giving a lecture all day long.

A tall, fit, muscular brunette, with a bright smile, shook her hand. “Penelope, it is so nice to meet you. I’m Amelia Grant, the P.E teacher.” Penelope would have guessed that, even if Amelia was right now dressed in bright clothes, she screamed P.E. teacher” from afar. “We couldn’t wait to have you here.”

An older man with a dark complexion, brown hair slightly greying at the temples, and a neatly trimmed beard chuckled. “Well, it was in fact caused by Colin's never stopping talking about you. Since we learned you would replace Mrs. Smith, he talked nonstop. Penelope this and Penelope that…”

“We get it, Thomas.” Sighed Colin.

The older man readjusted his glasses and shook Penelope’s hand. “Thomas Hargrove, doctor in European history.”

“Glad to meet you.” She smiled, quite impressed by the fact that she would be working with a Phd level. Penelope always thought about getting a Phd in literature, but work got in the way. Maybe one day, it was either the Phd or the bestseller book. The second one sounded more fun. Thomas turned to two other colleagues to introduce them. “And these are Angelica Thomson, our art teacher and Eleanor Dawnson, head of the math department.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Finished Eleanor in a solemn tone. She looked very strict in her rigid and colourless clothes, but she seemed nice. That was all that mattered.

Angelica, with a black bob, flower pins and colourful trousers, shook her hand a little too enthusiastically. She seemed to be around Penelope’s age but sounded like a teenager. “You are so adorable! I get why Colin can not stop babbling about you, you are so pretty!”

“Thank you,” Penelope questioned, looking at Colin, who was becoming red. Was he talking about her? Telling people she was “pretty?” No, that was crazy to think about. He probably said “she’s nice”, and people misinterpreted. “So you are babbling about me?” She questioned Colin.

The young man thought a little too long before answering. “Well, you are an amazing teacher. I was selling your skills.”

“If this is how you want to call it.” Chuckle Amelia.

Colin's mouth opened for a retort, but the double doors swung wide as Madame Dunbury swept in, her presence commanding immediate silence. Penelope slid into a chair beside Colin, her eyes darting across the sea of people that would soon be her colleagues. Unfamiliar faces, wrong clothes, and only one person whose name she knew. Welcome back, 2009 Penelope!

******

When Colin woke up this morning, sunlight already streaming through his half-closed blinds, he practically leapt out of bed, ready for the best day of work yet. He was so hyped. He brushed his teeth, unable to stop grinning at his reflection. He couldn't believe his best friend had been transferred to the same establishment as him. Though they'd spent countless evenings together at pubs and dinner parties, those moments were always shared with Eloise chattering between them. Alone with Penelope, Colin felt truly seen; her blue eyes would lock onto his when he spoke, as if his mundane geography anecdotes were fascinating discoveries. She challenged him intellectually, made him laugh until his sides ached, and somehow always knew exactly when to offer that perfect word of encouragement that made him believe he could accomplish anything.

He selected his favourite linen trousers—the ones with the perfect break at the ankle—and a crisp short-sleeved shirt that complemented his eyes. The chocolate brown leather loafers completed the look, though his prized brown blazer would have to wait in the bike pannier; it wasn’t too hot yet at 7:30 a.m., but he didn’t want to sweat in his blazer first thing in the morning. Colin navigated London's congested streets on his Parlee Ouray, weaving between cars with practised precision. The London traffic was such a nightmare that the car was not even an option. And the tube? The bus? Not for him, he liked to ride anyway. He laughed, remembering he had met Penelope falling from his bike.

Colin arrived just as Penelope was walking up the stone steps. The morning light caught her auburn hair, making it glow like burnished copper around her round face. She was dressed in a cream skirt that Colin already knew would not meet the dress code here and a matching top, topped with Taylor Swift’s 1989 cardigan. A matching blue silk bow held back her curls, and her well-worn black loafers clicked against the pavement. Colin's breath caught as he secured his bike, slipped on his blazer to ward off the chill of the early morning, and perched his glasses on his nose, suddenly eager to see her more clearly. That damn cardigan, he thought.

2024

Colin climbed the narrow stairs to Penelope’s flat. Eloise was out of the country on a humanitarian mission, so this afternoon’s emergency call had fallen solely to him. Before he even reached the door, the walls trembled with Penelope’s heartbreak playlist—sad, wretched music, “fuck you” anthems, “I hate you” symphonies, and “go to hell” ballads. Yes, Penelope has just been dumped by her most recent boyfriend, Alfred Debbling. Colin was as angry as he was relieved. He felt awful for Penelope, and nobody was allowed to hurt his best friend. However, he never liked Alfred. He was a plant-eater, a workaholic, and a stoic man who was not right for Pen. She was bubbly, fun and colourful; he was boring! Just purely BORING!

He pressed the doorbell and knocked simultaneously, ensuring he was heard. The music stops, and the door opens. Enveloped in her fluffly rainbow cover, messy hair and puffy, teary eyes, wet cheeks, Penelope was standing in front of him. Colin didn’t bother with greetings—he slipped inside, closed the door against the drab corridor, and enfolded her in a warm embrace. Her sobs felt like tiny knives against his ribs; he whispered that it would be okay, though his own throat tightened. He shrugged off coat and shoes, guided her onto the low, velvet couch, and let her pour out every detail: how Alfred vanished at dawn for another country, leaving only a scrawled note on her pillow. This was infuriating. Colin’s fists twitched with righteous indignation. He fantasised about booking a one-way ticket to Antarctica just to track Alfred down and throw a punch.

Mid-afternoon, the doorbell chimed again. Colin opened it to find a deliveryman with a package addressed to Penelope. After signing, he handed it to her. “What is it?” he asked.

She lifted a corner of the wrapping: “1989 (Taylor’s Version) new cardigan.” Penelope set it aside on the coffee table. “I’m too sad for this.” Her voice cracked.

Colin’s eyes widened. TO SAD? For Taylor? The queen of break-up songs? The hopeless romantic leader? THIS was the moment for Taylor Swift. “No way,” he said. “You wanted this Gardigan since the album came out, it’s your favourite era and album, even though you relate to Fearless more. Anyway, who else knows heartbreak anthems like Taylor?”

Penelope blinked at him, surprised. “You know my favourite era? And my go-to album?”

He grinned. “You talk about it enough. I listen.”

She peeled back the wrapping and slipped the sky-blue cardigan over her shoulders. She went to her mirror and came back to him for his opinion. “Perfect!” He smiled. The cardigan was blue, matching her eyes. It was slightly too big for her, falling off her shoulder on one side and revealing the strap of her bra. The soft, cable-knit wool draped past her mid-thighs. Her little fists disappeared into the voluminous sleeves; she looked up at him with the brightest smile he’d seen all day. She was happy, and pretty… from that day, this cardigan became Colin’s favourite.

And it still was his favourite thing for her to wear. Colin’s day with Penelope was such fun, or as fun as preparing classes could be. They were ending their last meeting and making their way out. Sure, he had to try to conceal the fact that he was talking about her all the time to his colleague, but who wouldn’t? She was brilliant, smart, kind and pretty. Did he say pretty? He meant hot…what? No, he meant cute…as in physically irresistible! Bridgerton, what is happening? He scolded himself. He always thought she was attractive; you couldn’t objectively say that she wasn’t, but right now, and for a little while now, she was gorgeous to his eyes. Meaning she was becoming subjectively attractive. Meaning he wanted her…meaning he liked her…a lot. Oh, boy! That was not planned!

Colin got out of these thoughts with Penelope’s voice. “Colin?”

“Hum, you said something?”

“Yes, I asked where the library was. I’d like to go, since it’s empty and I have time.”

“Oh, there are multiple here…but I'll show you the one we’re told to use, come with me.”

There was one thing Colin really wanted to show Penelope, the restricted East Wing library with its first-edition Shakespeares, but they weren't allowed there. So he reluctantly led her toward the general faculty library instead. They walked past dozens of hallways, each more breathtaking than the last. Colin loved the beauty of this place; it was like floating through a castle, with its sweeping alabaster staircases wrapped in twinkling fairy lights, which they refused to remove after last term's dance. Ornate crown moulding adorned every ceiling, intricate whorls and flourishes framing each doorway like something from a fairy tale. The stained-glass windows—pale blues, blush pinks, and soft yellows—transformed the light into rainbows.

Colin pushed open one of the massive double doors, watching Penelope's face for her reaction. Her eyes widened, sparkling with appreciation despite the room's utilitarian design: standard-issue oak shelves, fluorescent lighting, and institutional beige carpet. However, the size was impressive. A little stair was leading to even more books, which was the best news to Penelope. MORE BOOKS! The librarian, a shorter man in his mid-thirties with very short black hair and the edge of what appeared to be a horse tattoo peeking from beneath his collar, was methodically shelving leather-bound volumes on a rolling ladder.

Colin walked up to him. “Hey Henry, didn’t see you at much of the meeting today.”

“Oh, no, I am done with everything about the school program, so I can get this place ready for Monday. I only attend the security meetings, organisation…those kinds of things.” He got down from his ladder and turned to the redhead. “Penelope Featherington, right?”

She nodded, and he shook her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t properly introduce myself this morning. Henry Basilio, I guess I will see you a lot here, since you’re teaching English.”

“You guessed right, Mr. Basilio.” She chuckled.

“Oh, please call me Henry. Mr.Basilio is my father.” He joked, making her laugh. That made Colin uncomfortable. Why was she laughing? It wasn’t funny. “How can I help you?” Asked Henry.

“I was showing Penelope around; she wanted to see the library.” Answered Colin.

“Obviously, that’s part of my job.” She replied, and Henry giggled with her, making Colin irritated.

Why were they laughing? Sure, it was funny, Penelope was hilarious, but it wasn’t THAT funny. “Well, hum, thanks, Henry, for having us. We saw the library, now we have to go.”

“We do?” Wondered Penelope, confused and oblivious.

“Yeah, we…we have drinks with El later.” Reminded Colin.

“That’s much later, though.” Penelope pointed out, as she was walking around, the first shelf of books.

Colin knew she had a point here, so he played another card. “And the tube would be packed if you don’t leave soon. I know you hate that, since you have a longer commute than before.”

“You’re right, I should go then. I wouldn’t even know where to start here anyway, it’s so big.”

Clin chuckled, knowing this was the small library in this establishment.

“Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” Henry winked at Penelope, who waved back.

Colin said goodbye, rolling his eyes when Henry turned to re-shelf a book. He clutched his tweed jacket in one hand, knuckles whitening slightly as they exited. Penelope walked beside him, her cardigan draped over her fake leather satchel, the soft blue wool contrasting with the worn brown material. Their footsteps echoed through the marble corridors as they made their way out of the school, the end of the summer sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows and painting kaleidoscope patterns across their path toward the wrought-iron gate.

“Henry’s nice.” Smiled Penelope.

“He is.” Colin tried to hide his… jealousy? What? No, he wasn’t jealous!

“Was that a horse tattooed down its neck?” Wondered, Penelope, confused.

Colin grinned mischievously, remembering the day Henry came back with it. It made a scandal, but it all ended well. “Crazy, right? You’d think with how strict they are here, you wouldn’t be allowed to get a tattoo? Well, you are right, they hate it! But, he’s kind of the best at his job, so firing him would be losing big.”

Penelope nodded, focused on his explanations. “I see, but why a horse?”

“He lost his beloved horse last year.” Casually dropped Colin.

She stopped in her tracks, staring at him, trying not to laugh. “He had a horse?”

“Yeah, why is it so surprising?”

Penelope looked for her words. “It’s not. That’s why this school is so…high-class.”

“I have horses at my family's country house.”

“Your ancestors were the Vitcount, of course, you have horses.”

“Your family comes from freaking barons.”

Penelope glared at him before softening. “Touché, but I never had a horse, though.”

“That’s because you're afraid of them.”

“They are massive, I’m short, they are too scary.” She defended.

They arrived at the gate, and he stood in front of her, wanting to say goodbye. “Right, well, I’ll see you later. I will…gallop along.”

She burst out laughing, her voice echoing across the courtyard. "Colin!" she gasped, trying to look stern but dissolving into giggles again. His cracked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite his best efforts to maintain a straight face. “Alright, my proud steed is awaiting.” He joked again, taking his bike.

“You are incorrigible.”

“You’re laughing, you liked it.” He pointed out.

Penelope chuckled one last time. “See you later, Col.”

“Later…Mrs. Featherington.” He teased as she glared at him.

He watched her walk away, smiling at the idea that he would spend even more time with her from now on.

Chapter Text

Penelope looked at herself in the mirror one last time, debating whether her outfit was appropriate for this school. She was wearing a brown straight dress that was perhaps slightly too short, but it was the longest she had. Mid-thigh length seemed appropriate, right? She paired it with a light, white shirt underneath and yellow court shoes with high heels. Penelope snapped a picture of today's choice. She sent it to Eloise, asking if this looked fashionable enough that a fourteen-year-old wouldn’t laugh at her. She wanted to send one to Colin to ask whether she was in compliance with the dress code, but even if she wanted to change, she had no other options. So she gave up on the idea. It was going to take a couple of days to re-adjust to what she was used to in her job.

Penelope received a fire emoji and a “u ate” from Eloise as she was putting on her makeup, making her smile. No reply from Colin, perhaps he was already on his bike to school. They were supposed to start class at the same time, but Colin had a little more road to drive, and the bike was still smaller than the tube. She brushed her teeth and applied her nude lipstick before she rearranged her freshly dried curly hair. Her locks bounced back as she flipped them back. She breathed out. It was going to be alright; she was going to slay the day. It was just the very first day in a new high school, where she knew almost nobody, and the only person she knew was her ultimate crush…it was fine? It will have to be. Penelope braced herself and left for work.

Outside, the city morning buzzed. It was weird, seeing so many people around the school or on the tube. Teenagers seemed thrilled to see their friends but not really glad to come back to class. Penelope arrived early, yet the teens were already clustered around the entrance. Some were being dropped off by their parents, others were stepping off a rumbling bus. The mismatch between parents' schedules and public transit always left you stranded or sprinting. No in between. Penelope spotted Colin by the bike racks, helmet in hand and hair still perfectly done. Two schoolgirls drifted past him, cheeks flushed, their squeaky greetings trailing off when his polite, awkward smile met theirs. Penelope bit back a giggle. Teenage girls were crushing on their handsome, young, cool teacher, and of course, it was awkward for Colin. Poor him, he didn’t know how to tell teenage girls that this was inappropriate, as it was weird. Penelope walked up to him and took him out of his thoughts as he was putting on his nerdy navy blazer.

Not the navy one! The fabric stretched across his shoulders like it was custom-tailored, straining slightly at the seams and impossible to button closed. The cut accentuated the difference between his broad shoulders and his more narrow waist, the rich colour making his skin glow with warmth. It was made for him. Penelope could not help but picture it with nothing under it. Why? Well… her mind flashed to that New Year's Eve at Bridgerton House two years ago: too much champagne and too many people. She'd woken on the couch with a pounding headache, dried mouth, smudged mascara, and no shoes on to find Colin sleeping in the armchair beside her. The blazer hung open over his bare chest, and tanned skin and defined muscles were blasted to Penelope’s view. His long legs were stretched out, dressed only in black boxer briefs, as he cuddled a fluffy white bath towel against his chest like a security blanket.
The picture she'd snapped of this ridiculous moment had been her secret weapon for blackmail against Colin, until Hyacinth discovered it and used it as payback against Colin. Even remembering it now made her pulse quicken. Yes, he was laughable in this picture, in this moment, but he was still the man she had ever seen. He wasn’t an unreachable muscular Hollywood actor on her screen, a ripped airbrushed swimsuit model on a magazine cover. No, he was a geography teacher. He was real; touchable, reachable…and yet he was built like a Greek god. His chest seemed soft to the touch with his perfectly rounded pecs and his rock-hard abs that made her fingers itch to explore. His arms, strong enough to hoist geography textbooks and surely strong enough to lift her against a wall, made her breath catch. Those powerful thighs could easily pin her in place if he were ever on top of her, ready to…God, she needed to stop. So yes, that blazer made her brain turn to mush and her thighs into a pedal of wetness. She pushed away the impure thoughts, trying to forget the blazer and put it down on his pedestal with a little teasing.

“You have a fan club, M. Bridgerton.” She joked without even saying hello.
Colin turned in surprise and gave her a jaded smile. “Very funny, Pen.” He straightened his blazer and took his bag from the basket. “It’s not a fan club, I just think students like me.”
“When students like you, they tell you hello like a regular person, with a little smile if you’re their favourite teacher, not in a fawning manner “Good morning, M. Bridgerton.” like they are almost drooling. You have a fan club." Penelope could not stop laughing; it was just hilarious to have Colin feeling this awkward.
“Alright, maybe I do, so what? You want to be the president of said club?” Joked Colin, putting his glasses on.

When she was younger, Penelope would have been the first one to be president of the Colin Bridgerton Fan Club. She was the president, and nobody loved her more than anyone else. Nobody was obsessed with him more than her. But she wasn’t fourteen anymore. Puppy love was gone; she tasted heartbreak and disappointment, and even if she loved him more than anything and had just lusted after him three minutes ago, he was not an option. Yet, they were friends, and she was happy to have him in her life. She was still a member of the fan club, but she was just more discreet and a VIP member. After all, she had all his little, secret, embarrassing pictures.

Penelope, fake a dramatic excitement. “Oh, can I be? So I can tell all your embarrassing secrets? Like the story behind this blazer.”
“Ah, ah, very funny.” He put on his annoyed voice. “I told you, I got cold that night and grabbed the first thing I had.”
“A blazer and a towel? Like, there were no plaids in the living room? You had three just on the sofa, and why were you in your underwear in the first place?”
“First, you know it, I was drunk, I didn’t think clearly, second…I don’t know. I don’t remember how I ended up like this. Nobody knows.”
“This night will always be a mystery.” She laughed.

They entered the building. Colin, as usual, acted like he always belonged here. It's like he was the most popular person in this place —well, he was. He always was —Colin Bridgerton. The man did this job out of pure passion for geography after he got homesick from travelling the world, and his family pressured him into settling down. That was ten years ago. He wanted to be a writer; he was convinced, in a way, that he was not good enough for it. So he went back to college and became a teacher. To Penelope’s view, it was a little sad.
Colin forced himself to fit into a box he did not belong in. Her dream of being a writer was crushed by the loss of her father and the need for a regular-paying job. His were crushed by insecurities and pressure. She knew he kept all his writing private; she had never been able to read it. Was it really terrible? Or was he a genius? She would never know. It wasn’t like she didn’t cheer for him since day one. However, at some point, she had to make life decisions and give up being Colin's personal cheerleader in his writing career. Yet, with all of this, he fit here. He had enough money to retire now, and he still looked and acted like he belonged here. Penelope wanted his secret. How was he doing this? How did it make it so effortless?

"You're alright?" His voice cut through her thoughts, low and concerned, as they navigated the hallways.
"What? Hum…" Heat rushed to her face. "I'm nervous." Her pulse quickened as his eyes locked onto hers.
He beamed at her, his fingers intertwined with hers. “Makes sense. Come on,” he whispered, tugging her closer until their shoulders brushed.”We’ll go to the teacher's lounge and then I’ll show you your classroom.” He said while walking with her, her hand still in his.
“Good”, she managed, breathless from his proximity. "I can't tell right from left in this place." She joked, and he laughed. It was that easy, and for a moment, the world disappeared around them.

His hand felt warm in hers. It always did, it always felt like it fit just there. When Colin wanted to take her somewhere, he never simply pointed or walked ahead; he seized her hand or pressed his palm against the small of her back, fingers splayed possessively. The hand-holding made her heart beat faster, but it was sweet and gentle; the back-touching sent electricity crackling down her spine, urging her forward, faster, hurry. After all, he was such a giant that she couldn’t always keep up with him. He did this exact thing the day they first met. She still remembered the jolt when he'd captured her fingers in his, dragging her through hallways she couldn't focus on because all she felt was his skin against hers.

Like silly teenagers, he took her through the enchanting hallways of this place, her pulse hammering so loudly she was certain he could feel it through her wrist.. Like a Taylor Swift song was ready to play, like the credits were ready to roll, like this feeling was 2009… This wasn't just déjà vu—this was drowning, this was burning alive, this was every cliché she'd ever taught her students to avoid in their writing. This was falling in love again with Colin Bridgerton, after realising she'd never stopped. She was, and would always be, the president of his stupid fan club.

******

The morning passed like lightning. Penelope did not have the time to learn her new class's name or remember where her assigned classroom was. All they did this morning was talk about schedules, the school rules and what they would do in this class this year. Just like that, three hours went by. However, Penelope was happy because the students in this school seemed nice and polite, unlike those at her last high school. Penelope never had to get angry, as teenagers usually liked her. Still, they weren’t as polite, as kind or as disciplined. The biggest problem here was that the printer was out of ink.

It was time for lunch, so Penelope met Colin in the staff room so they could eat together. The word “lounge” really did not do justice to the room where they were standing. White walls, 18th-century mould and windows. The big windows were built into the walls, providing a sill wide enough to sit on. The light shone golden on the beige couches below, illuminating the wooden floor, which was decorated with tasteful rugs. A simple, yet modern wooden bookcase was fitted in the corner of the room. Random books that everybody could read were starting to get dusty, but not as dusty as the ones in the old school. Next to it, a kitchenette with a wooden worktop and a beige cupboard stood. Kettles, coffee machines, microwaves, sinks, plates, mugs, coasters… it was all there. The biggest difference between this and an actual kitchen was the size. Round tables were placed in the centre, with a little cushion on every single chair. This morning, upon arrival, Penelope was already impressed by the immaculacy of the room. Still, after seeing that every teacher came, drank coffee and tea, took a break, put their belongings in the little wooden lockers, which looked like they were straight from another century, Penelope thought this would become a mess. But it did not. She was happy when one of the multiple microwaves warmed up her pasta to perfection. She sat looking at her meal. She put it on a clean plate; this school had plates in the break room! This was unbelievable.

“Is everything alright?” Colin asked her to the table. They were the first ones here, so they had about five to seven minutes alone before everybody else came in. Not every teacher was there, had the same schedule, or was eating in the breakroom. Thankfully, otherwise, there would be too many in here.
“Yeah, you guys have plates! In the break room! And great microwaves…this is heaven!”
“Really? That is enough to qualify as heaven? I call this decency and treating teachers with dignity.”
“You truly are from another world, Mr Bridgerton!”

They laughed and chatted about the morning, what they did this weekend, made a plan to go to the movies with Eloise and Francesca on Friday night, debated who had the best meal—her bolognese pasta or his mushroom risotto —and Colin caught her up on the school's greatest gossip. Time had stopped; it was like it was only the two of them, talking, laughing, joking, bantering. Penelope was indeed in heaven, because she was getting Colin Bridgerton for herself only. She didn’t even realise the room was getting filled with other teachers, ready for their break. It only hit them when Colin found himself speaking louder than usual to get himself heard. Getting interrupted was also a great clue.

Angelica's voice cut through their bubble. "Hey, guys."
Colin's smile tightened at the corners. Penelope recognised that smile—the one that didn't reach his eyes, the one that said he'd rather be anywhere but interrupted.
"Hello, Angie," he said, then gestured to Penelope. "Pen, you remember Angelica..."
"The art teacher," Penelope finished, her stomach knotting as she watched Colin's eyes flicker between them.
"Right! She learns fast." Angelica beamed at Colin before turning back. "So, how was the first day?"
"Good, for now," Penelope said, suddenly conscious of her posture. "I still have three hours to go through."
Colin leaned closer. "And then an entire year," he mumbled, making Penelope's laugh catch in her throat.
"Well, best of luck. Oh, I love your outfit, by the way. It is so cute."
"Thank you," Penelope said, wondering if "cute" was what she wanted to be. "I was afraid it wasn't in the dress code."
"It's right in the dress code," Colin interjected, his voice dropping. "And it's actually perfect on you. You look gorgeous."
The word hung between them. Penelope's heart stuttered. Colin cleared his throat. "I mean... it suits you."
"I'll leave you to your lunch," Angelica said, backing away.
When she was gone, Penelope leaned forward. "I heard 'gorgeous'?"
"Well..." Colin's eyes darted to her lips, then away. "I can't deny that you objectively are pretty."
"Yeah, but you didn't say 'pretty,' you said 'gorgeous.‘" She smiled micheviously.
"Can't I tell my favourite girl that she is?" His “favourite girl”. He was always on the verge of flirting, but never on the concrete practice. It kept it to the theory, as the teacher that he was. "Eloise tells it to you all the time," He defended himself before taking a sip of water.
"True." Penelope laughed, letting the debate go even as something inside her crumbled.

Maybe she just wanted to hear something that Coli couldn’t say. That they were more than friends, or at least he would like them to be. That she wasn’t “objectively” pretty, but that she was beautiful because he loved her. She guessed that she could take that win, at least he didn’t think she was an ugly toad from a swamp. Penelope almost laughed at the thought and kept the conversation going.

“Well, I’m glad this dress is good, because that is the only thing that would work in my entire dressing.” She acknowledge.
Colin raised an eyebrow and stopped chewing his food. He swallowed, still perplexed. “Your entire dressing? As it became smaller since I helped you move? Because I remember there were a lot of boxes of clothes. I spent more time in your dressing that day than in your entire apartment since you moved in. So I have a hard time believing you have nothing to wear.”
“That was like six years ago! The dressing did get smaller, and I got rid of so many things, mainly all the smart business clothes. I was never wearing them, plus some got too small.”
“Too small? There are people tinier than you? What are they wearing? You already wear doll clothes.”
“Colin…”
“No, really, your dresses are the same length as my whole pants!”
“Maybe you are just a giant!” He looked unamused, but she was laughing at her joke. “Look, I bought those smart clothes in college, that was ten years and three bra sizes smaller ago.” Colin's eyes widened at her words. And his brown rose. Like the cat that only gives its attention when you say the word “eat”. Like one word woke him up again. And yes, the word was indeed bra. “You get what I mean.” Sighted Penelope, not wanting to have this conversation.
Colin got back on hearth. “Yeah, I…I do.”
“It’s fine, I will just buy some. I’ll look at thrift stores, or maybe Vinted.” She decided as she was already scrolling through her phone.
Colin nodded. “Cool, I’m sure I have stuff I can give you.” He casually proposed.

The last time Penelope borrowed Colin’s clothes was a sweater on a summer night because she was cold. She never gave him that sweater back. She tried, but he refused to have it. So now it was winter pyjama. It was black, with a pirate boat on it, and it was a dress on her, but it was perfect. Sure, it didn’t smell like anything anymore; she washed it out in five years. But his actual clothes feel weird. She wasn’t his girlfriend; she couldn’t walk around with his shirt in her back, with his tie on, with his blazer…sure, it would be a great oversized moment with a masculine touch, but it was not a good idea.

Penelope blinked in disbelief. "You want to give me your clothes?"
Colin shrugged, his fingers drumming against the table. "Just some neutral shirts and jackets that don't fit anymore. Greg and my sisters usually get them, but..." His eyes flickered to her collarbone, then away. “But if you need them, they're yours.”
"Colin." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Do you understand why this is not a good idea?” She asked as he just raised an eyebrow. "Picture it. I'm walking into the staff meeting or class wearing your recognisable iconic brow jacket."
“Ah, of course; they will be way too big for you.” He replied as if he had solved a mystery.
"I'm five-foot-on, not Tinkerbelle." She held her hand at chest level. "And you're six-one, not the Jolly Green Giant. I am not as small as you think."
"You feel small when—" He stopped abruptly, Adam's apple bobbing.
"When what?"
His ears reddened. "You look small. To me.” He paused to think. “You're right, it’s a bad idea.”
Penelope tucked a curl behind her ear and sighed. "It's not just the size. This is a school, a playground for gossip. People see me in your clothes, and all of a sudden, Mrs Featherington wearing Mr Bridgerton's clothes would be front-page news in the school newsletter, and people will ask questions."
Colin's shoulders slumped. "Right."
“Don’t worry, I’ll text the girls, they’ll help.”
“I can help too.” He said with enthusiasm. Colin straightened, eyes brightening. "I know exactly which brand has clothes for this place."
Penelope tilted her head, studying him. "You really want to spend your Saturday watching me try on cardigans?"
"Yes." The word came quickly, firmly.
"Fine." She felt her cheeks warm. "I'll send you the details."
"Or," he leaned closer, "we could hit the vintage shops on Maple. Great options!"
"That's... actually perfect."
Colin high-fives himself. “Thrift store trip it is. By the way, it is for sustainability, right? Because if money…”
“It’s sustainability, Colin, the planet is dying.” She adopted her classroom voice.
"God, you sound exactly like Eloise." He grinned, shaking his head.

Penelope's laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep and genuine, and Colin's joined hers, his eyes never leaving her face.

******

Saturday arrived faster than expected. For the rest of the week, Colin saw Penelope trying to fit the dress code as well as she could. He still proposed his clothes, and she still refused. He fought the urge to give her his blazer on Thursday after she spilt tea on her shirt. He lied; he didn’t fight anything. He begged her to take it, and she refused again. She just put on her light sweater and was too hot for the rest of the day.

It was 2 p.m. when Colin found himself standing outside Penelope’s block, clutching a reusable coffee cup and feeling, for lack of a better word, idiotic. He’d crossed the entirety of North London on the tube because they weren't doing the whole trip on a bike. Penelope did not have one, and Eloise hated them. Also, a car to go shopping was just a suicide mission. There was too much traffic and too few parking spaces. So he took the public transportation, for Penelope, only for Penelope! That was love!

It wasn’t long, maybe three minutes, until his friend showed up, with Eloise by her side. His sister was wearing the same “Support Women in STEM” t-shirt she’d worn at Christmas, layered under a tartan blazer that looked suspiciously like one of their dad’s. Her hair was in a severe ponytail, and she was already mid-rant before she even clocked her brother.

“You know, Penelope, you could do better,” she said, by way of greeting. “You shouldn’t have to wait for people. It’s a microaggression.” Colin had no idea what they were talking about, but he had the bad feeling it was about him.
Penelope, phone in hand, looked up and laughed. “I was ready early, and he showed up on time. ”
Eloise glared, then turned to Colin. “Why are you even here? Don’t you live on the other side of town? Or is this one of your weird attempts to outdo the rest of us in Best Friend Olympics?”
Colin sipped his coffee, buying time. He could make up something about wanting to help, or about some sibling duty, but Eloise would see right through it. So he shrugged. “I like shopping.”
“You hate shopping. You once left me for dead in a mall because you said the lighting made everyone look like they had jaundice.”
“It does. But vintage is different,” he tried. “Besides, I thought you’d want backup when facing the combined force of Francesca, Daphne, and Kate in a confined retail environment. They’re like velociraptors, only with handbags.”

Penelope giggled, and Colin felt ridiculously pleased with himself. She was dressed in his favourite jeans of hers—the ones with the slightly frayed hem that made her ass even look even better—paired with a ruffled yellow top that made her skin look sun-warmed, and a little denim jacket. Her white sneakers were spotless, and her hair was half-pinned back with a gold butterfly clip that matched nothing and therefore everything. She was, in short, sunshine, and Colin could do nothing but suck up the light.

They set off for the tube, Eloise setting a brutal pace and Penelope keeping up with small, determined steps. The ride was exactly as Colin remembered from their teenage years: Eloise talking the entire way—this time about the ethics of fast fashion, the gender politics of dress codes, and why London’s public transport should be run by an algorithm designed by women. Penelope nodded at all the right moments, added thoughtful asides, and somehow managed to look genuinely interested in everything Eloise said. Colin, for his part, said nothing at all. He spent the entire ride watching Penelope’s reflection in the window, the way her eyes darted from Eloise to the passing blur of tunnel lights, her mouth twisting into a smile whenever she caught him looking.

They reached Camden and navigated the labyrinthine maze of side streets to the first shop that Colin recommended earlier that week. It was full of clothes from the sixties to the early two thousand. Colin felt old at the idea that his childhood in the 2000s was now vintage. Inside, Francesca, Daphne, and Kate were already waiting. Francesca, in a cream turtleneck and plaid skirt, was scrolling through her phone, probably reading anything related to piano. Daphne was comparing two nearly identical dresses, deeply, existentially troubled by the decision. Kate had already befriended the shop assistant and was interrogating her about the provenance of different pieces. They were all here, just to try on clothes, or because, like him, they loved Penelope.

Colin drifted to the side, content to watch the social chaos unfold. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, his sisters had become his favourite people, but it was definitely after they all stopped trying to kill each other over breakfast cereal. Penelope lingered next to him, her eyes as wide as children in a toy shop.

“It’s amazing,” she whispered, running her hands over a rack of sequined jackets. “Like a museum, only you can touch everything.”
“You know you can actually buy things, right?” Colin nudged her gently. “It’s not just for looking.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he did the same, acting like children in the middle of the store.

Their shenanigans made Colin step closer to Pen, so close they were almost touching. It would be fine if her eyes were not looking at him with such kindness, if her lips weren’t calling his name, and her cheeks weren’t the perfect shade of pink. They were friends, they hugged, high-fived, shook hands, and even cuddled when somebody was sad. But here, Colin wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her all the time, for so long. The moment was broken with Eloise’s piercing voice from the other side of the shop, bringing Colin back to the hearth.

Penelope spoke first. “Well, let’s go see what we can find.” Colin nodded, and his smile shrank. He wasn’t going to kiss her in the middle of the store, but they were sharing a moment. Right?

The afternoon unfolded like a montage from an early 2000s teen movie, except instead of a cool pop-rock song and a quick succession of outfit changes, it was three relentless hours of clothing, commentary, and chaos. Colin had not realised, until today, that shopping with six women was less of a leisure activity and more of an endurance sport. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d been asked, “Does this colour wash me out?” or “Would you say this is more ‘romantic poet’ or ‘Victorian ghost’?” By the third store, he had ceased offering opinions altogether because, even when he did, nobody listened. At this point, Colin was just admiring Pen’s beauty in any clothes; he was giving a yes or no, here and there. Sometimes it wasn’t appropriate for the school, and sometimes it was not her.

They were at the final shop. Colin felt like his prayer had been heard, and they could finally go home after this. Sure, he wanted to be here; he begged to be here, but he forgot how hard it was to have half of his sisters with him. They entered a cavernous warehouse-style boutique with exposed brick. The high ceilings made Colin feel small, and the large metal-framed windows made him feel exposed to the world. The one thing that saved the place was the clothing organisation and a playlist that alternated between The Cure and Dua Lipa. Colin liked both.

He looked at Penelope heading for the “Power Suits and Statement Pieces” section while bopping to the Barbie soundtrack by Dua Lipa. Anthony would laugh at him, but Colin was all so comfortable in his love for those “feminine” things. His sisters liked him more because of it, and women in general trusted him for it. So the joke was really on his older brother. Penelope had a pile of options, too many, in Colin’s opinion, for a single human to try on, balanced over her arm. He walked toward her to get them and help her, but Kate was faster. Next time, he should really ask to go alone with Penelope.

Minutes felt like hours as Penelope was trying on new outfits. Colin was asked to go grab the red blazer Daphne had spotted earlier. He grumbled, but did as told. As he made his way to the display, he caught sight of a pale blue suit on the end of a rack. It was elegant, the lines soft but structured, and it immediately brought to mind the colour of Penelope’s eyes when she was happy. He hesitated, then plucked it off the hanger. The best part was that the store was sorted by size, so there was no need to pray for a miracle; you just walked over and picked what you wanted.

He returned to the row of fitting rooms, but found none of his sisters. Instead, he heard a frustrated noise, half whimper, half growl, from the cabin. “Pen? Is everything alright?” He asked as he approached the door.
No sound for a second. “Colin? Can you help me? I’m stuck in that dress and there’s nobody else.” She replied, panicking. Colin looked around, not even a salesperson to help his friend, and his sisters had deserted the scene.
Colin hesitated. What if she were half-naked in there? “Are you decent?” He asked.
“I’m stuck,” she cried, voice muffled. “Just come in, please.”

Colin opened the curtain to find Penelope with her arms pinned behind her back, the zipper of a grey midi dress caught just below her shoulder blades. Her cheeks were pink, and her hair had come loose from the butterfly clip, tumbling in coppery waves down her back. He set down the blazers, stepped in, closed the curtain, and surveyed the situation. The zipper was indeed hopelessly jammed, and Penelope’s attempts to set it free had only made it worse. Colin reached out, careful not to touch more than absolutely necessary, and tugged at the zip. It didn’t budge.

“Hold still,” he instructed, and braced his fingers on either side of the fastening. He felt Penelope shivering under his finger, though the shop was perfectly warm.
“It’s not moving, is it?” she asked, defeated.
“Not yet.” He applied a bit more pressure, and the zip finally gave way, sliding down in one abrupt motion. His fingers grazed the soft skin at her waist. He realised that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and, in the mirror, he saw that piece of white lingerie on the little ottoman in the corner. Those informations made his mouth go dry and his brain briefly reboot.
Penelope twisted, holding the dress up with one hand and looking at him in the mirror. “You are a lifesaver,” she said. “Thank you.” She shyly smiled at him.
Colin stepped back, clearing his throat. “All in a day’s work.”
She sighed in relief, “I’m done, by the way. I think I’ve hit my limit for traumatic clothing incidents. Can we go home soon?”
“You planned this shopping trip, Pen,” he reminded her. “You can call time whenever you want.”
“Right. I’m calling it. But…” She eyed the blue suit he put aside. “Is that for me?”
“Thought it might look nice, it matches your eyes, it's elegant…and…You don’t have to try it if you’re sick of—”
“No, no, I want to.” She took the “If you can get your sisters, because this is the last try of the day. Even the month at this point.”
He grinned. “Deal.”

It took several minutes to round up his sisters—Eloise and Francesca were in a heated debate about “statement collars,” while Daphne and Kate were deeply invested in a game of “Who Wore It Worse” with two identical chartreuse jumpers. Eventually, he managed to get them back to the fitting rooms, where Penelope was waiting in the blue suit. The redhead stepped out, and the effect was immediate. The suit fit her perfectly, accentuating her figure, the colour making her eyes look impossibly bright. She did a little spin, and the jacket flared just enough to look both professional and fun. Colin was hypnotised. She never looked more confident or happier to wear something.

There was a collective gasp, followed by a chorus of admiration. “Oh my god, you look amazing.” Started Kate.
“That’s it, that’s the best one of the day.” Continued, Daphne clapping for the fit.
Even Eloise, who was constitutionally incapable of giving compliments, nodded in approval. “Is it weird to be jealous of your own best friend’s wardrobe? Because that’s very boss bitch energy, Penelope.”
“Not what we are going for, El.” Reminded Francesca.
Penelope looked at Colin, a question in her eyes. He was so deep in thought about her beauty that he forgot he had to speak. He came back to reality and smiled. “You look perfect.”
She smiled back, shy but luminous. “Thanks for finding it.”
“Anytime,” he replied, and meant it.
Eloise’s eyes widen. “Wait, that’s from you. Since when do you have taste, Col?” But the dig did not get to Colin’s head. All he was focused on was the redhead in front of him and how he really needed to make her more than a friend. And soon, or she would be snatched away by some stranger, because of course every single man wanted to marry her. She was indeed perfect.

They left the shop about twenty minutes later, bags in tow, everyone, except Colin, slightly poorer, as if it mattered with the amount of money they had, but considerably happier. Daphne and Kate went back to their car to go home, and Francesca forced Eloise to walk home with her. She said she didn’t want to be alone, and since they were leaving close to each other, it made more sense for Colin to walk Penelope back to the station. However, it was to let Colin and Penelope alone, as the younger Bridgerton sister saw something there that needed to be explored. On this note, everybody said goodbye. Colin intended to walk Penelope back to the station and to her home. He was not letting her carry those bags alone, and he wanted to spend more time with her.

On the walk back to the tube, Penelope bumped her shoulder against Colin’s. “You know,” she said, “I wouldn’t have survived today without you.”
He bumped her back. “I’m sure you would have managed. You are used to Bridgerton chaos”
“Yes, but you make it all easier. Even the embarrassing bits.”

He wanted to tell her that she made everything easier for him, too, but couldn’t quite get the words out. So instead, he just smiled and let the moment pass between them. As the tube rattled homeward, Penelope dozed off on his shoulder, the blue suit folded neatly in a bag at her feet. Colin closed his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo and thinking, for the first time in ages, that maybe—just maybe—he was exactly where he was supposed to be.