Archive of Our Own ^beta

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She's going to do it. If there is one piece of advice a girl should take from Taylor Swift, it's this one. It's as if the song was written for HER. For them. She would never tell him that, of course. That would be silly. “I kissed you because Taylor Swift told me to,” sounds actually certifiable. But he doesn't have to know that part of it.

Penelope attempts to smooth her wild auburn curls into a bun atop her head, but without smearing more product into it, all she can manage is a messy bun with little curling strays escaping around her face. Cool and casual, she tells herself as she inspects the final look in the mirror. Oversized cowl neck jumper, corduroy miniskirt and colourful tights, the perfect autumn ensemble. She's not even sure why she is so focused on the outfit; guys don't care about what you wear … unless it's something ugly. But maybe he does. Colin probably does notice.

Because he's not like other guys. He's thoughtful, and sweet, and lately when he looks at her it's like he looks at her. At least that's what she tells herself. Because for as long as she has known him, she's looked at him like that. She knows her eyes light up when she sees his handsome smile, and her face gets hot when he asks her how she's been. Even now that he’s done his A-levels and has spent the last six months travelling the world, he still makes it a point to check in with her. Facetime, voice notes, emails, endless text chains of memes and photos.

Ever since she’d plowed into him on that first day of school, sending both their arms full of books sliding across the hallway floor he has been so kind to her. He could have been an absolute asshole about it, a popular and gorgeous year 12 student being knocked over by a clumsy new year 10. He didn’t have to be so nice and help her gather up all her papers, and then tell her a joke to make her laugh instead of letting her cry from embarrassment. And he definitely didn’t need to introduce her to his younger sister, Eloise, who was also in year 10.

Suddenly some stupid, clumsy mistake had shifted her life from something small and dark, to wide open and pink-tinged. Maybe she lied to herself about that part, because it was definitely emerald-hued like his eyes when he was around. And he always seemed to be around after that. 

She and Eloise had become fast-friends, with so many things in common. Things like their love of classic literature, opinions about the patriarchy, and the need to always know what everyone was whispering about. No one seemed to be better at collecting gossip than Eloise; and as someone always feeling like she waited on the edge of the outside, Penelope drew comfort from the access and belonging she felt just knowing what was happening with the in-crowd. Penelope had never been popular, or well-liked. She wasn’t disliked, but just never noticed. Even though she was best friends with Eloise Bridgerton, one of eight children from a well known, gorgeous, rich family, and accepted and liked by all of the Bridgertons, Penelope was still on the outside of the bubble of everyone else at school. Everyone else that mattered. Now she was in year 12, but would never be considered gorgeous and popular. She just wanted to keep her head down and survive through her A-levels, and escape to a university to read English, studying plays and poetry.

She has of course thought about doing this before. Dreamed about it, really. Since the day they met, she has looked at his lips, almost always in a charming smile, and thought about kissing him. But of course she would never actually have the bravery to do such a thing. It would make it so awkward, and what about their friendship? And what about Eloise? And what about all the other reasons that he would have to turn her down because he would never see her as anything more than a friend. Worse, his little sister’s friend. That silly, chubby, red head, who snorts when she laughs too hard at his jokes, and almost always spills something on herself at dinner. Penelope groans at the memory of dropping a piece of chocolate cake (landing frosting side down, of course) on the floor right between their feet at his going away party last Spring. She wanted to melt into the floor as he stood there, biting his lip to hold in his laughter. He’s so nice like that, not laughing right in her face. Instead he always makes her feel better in situations like that. Makes her feel less awkward, and more comfortable than she ever actually is with herself. Maybe that was why it happened in the first place. They had been laughing so hard at her travel puns she let her plate tip … and there went the cake onto the hardwood, barely missing the toes of his worn leather boots.

That was the last time she’s seen him in person. That night capped off with one last tight, tippy-toed, too long hug before he was off on his adventure, and she was left behind. She can remember the feel of his arms around her waist, and the clove-laced smell of his cologne. She remembers the touch of his finger tips against her shoulder blades, pressing into exposed flesh of her back in the heart-shaped cut-out of her favourite pink dress. And the delicious scratch of his five o’clock shadow on her cheek. But now all she can think about that night is the cake on the floor, and the sparkle in his eyes when he dropped a linen napkin over it and then grabbed her hand to pull her several steps away from the crime scene so they could both pretend it never happened. A few minutes later his eldest brother Anthony had bent to pick up the piece of cloth from the floor and discovered the mess. She thought she could see the steam coming out of the man's ears, and the duo had to sneak behind a large potted plant to prevent being found out because they were laughing so hard.

Why did she want to risk something so precious to her, again? This guy in her life that makes her buzz from within just being in his presence; whose smile makes her knees weak, and her breath short. Right, because the buzzing and breathing is downright painful after a while experiencing it alone, and in secret. And the way he watched her at the formal last Spring. How he watched her like maybe he was buzzing too. She can’t forget that anymore. The image of him slack-jawed and staring in the dim light of that hotel ballroom. 

She especially hasn't stopped thinking about that since last Friday night when she and Daphne dragged Eloise to the cinema for the Life of a Showgirl album release party. As she sat in that theatre dressed in an orange sparkly dress, she nearly wept as she watched the lyrics for track six fade on and off the large screen. It had felt like Taylor Swift was yelling very personal guidance specifically at her, and all of a sudden time felt fleeting. Now the fact that Colin is going to be in town for two weeks before he flies to Australia seems like too important of an opportunity to let pass.

So Penelope gives up on getting her hair to behave and just pulls the hair tie out completely, fluffing the cascading curls with a few practiced head flips. She remembers Colin saying he liked her wild curls once before, so she’ll rely on that memory for the confidence to go through with this half-baked idea. Grabbing her purse and heading for the door, she doesn’t allow herself to think about what she is planning to do when she emerges from the Piccadilly Circus tube station. Instead she shoves her earbuds in and presses play on her new favourite album for the hundred-and-forty-second time since last Friday.

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He bets her favourite song is ‘Actually Romantic’, because of all those nasty mean girls at school that were always so obsessed with making her life miserable. And why? Probably  because they are jealous. Because they will never be as clever, or poised, or have her sparkle, or be as adorable …

“My advice is always ruin the friendship ..” he sings along to himself under his breath. God dammit Taylor.

How should he approach this? It should be a surprise, he thinks. But of course it will be a surprise. Because why would Penelope ever think he would do something so certifiable. Something as shocking as kissing her out of nowhere, and potentially ruining their friendship? But maybe it won’t be so shocking. He hopes it won’t be, since the more he thinks back over the last few years of their friendship, the little pieces of them have suddenly clicked into place. Since they met two years ago her presence in his life has seemed so natural. She just fits, like she’s always been there, always meant to be in his life, with him.

He hadn’t meant to spend his past week thinking about all of this; but on Friday night he saw on Instagram Pen and his sisters had dressed up in orange and turquoise and went to dance around at the cinema. They all looked beautiful, even Eloise in her orange crewneck sweatshirt – the maximum amount of fancy dress she was going to manage for the event. Penelope looked especially perfect, with little blue stars scattered over her cheeks, her arm stacked with beaded bracelets and her grin a mile wide as she sandwiched between Daphne and Eloise for the photo. So he had laid on his bed in a generic hotel room in Milan and listened to the album the entire internet was talking about. And now his mind cannot seem to focus on anything else. Not the songs, not the lyrics, but her. Penelope.

So now he’s sitting in the airport lounge, about to board the plane that will take him home to London for a couple of weeks and he can’t stop his leg from jittering. He’s listening to it again and hitting repeat on the few songs that keep clawing into his heart. They kind of make it hard to breathe, like his lungs are tight and the air is sharp – but that feels good in a way. He likes the stab reminding him he’s still alive. Sometimes it feels like he is just wandering through life. As if he is waiting for something to happen, but he’s not sure what that something is, precisely. So he just keeps moving, not exactly looking for it, but maybe instead running so it doesn’t catch him unawares. But since last Friday, as he sprawled across that hotel bed with his headphones on,  the idea of running does not feel very rewarding anymore. Instead, the idea of being caught up in something feels comforting, not suffocating. He just hopes he’s correct about the something – that’s it is actually someone, and his instincts are pulling him to the right person.

He winces at this thought, because really he should not be trusted to follow his own (lacking) instincts. Especially since apparently it was not some innate feeling that has drawn him to this very important conclusion, instead he needed the globe’s most famous woman to offer advice that seems to be tailor-made for him. Colin smirks at himself and quietly tucks that pun into the back of his brain to tell Penelope later. After the kiss, he thinks.

An attendant clears away his empty champagne glass and leaves a fresh mimosa, he barely registers it, but nods his thanks almost automatically. He’s so used to this routine of travelling; every airport lounge looks the same, the drinks always taste the same. He pushes his half-eaten breakfast aside and pulls his worn notebook from his canvas rucksack in an attempt to distract his whirling thoughts until his boarding call by forcing himself to write some words about this leg of his trip. What did he think about Milan? What were his favourite sights and museums? He stares at the blank page for a full five minutes until he realizes his black pen has left a splotch of ink on the page where it’s been pressed on the white paper for too long. What has he thought about the city? Honestly, every spot he’s been has been a spot he wishes Penelope was standing next to him at. She would have loved the collection of Romantics at the Cimitero Monumentale, and she would have loved to hate the modern art at the Fondazione Prada.

The announcement for his flight interrupts his train of thought and he throws his belongings into his bag, stretching his long legs when he stands to leave the lounge for his gate. He keeps his headphones on the entire way through the airport and onto the plane, locked into the playlist of favourite Taylor Swift songs he and Penelope have been building for the last two years. Neither of them has added anything from this new album to it yet, and he wonders if that means anything. If she doesn’t like any of it, or if she likes them all but doesn’t want to crowd their existing curated mix. He wonders if track six is one of her favourites, or if it’s a skip for her.

Right before take off he sends her a text. The first time he's reached out since Friday. Since he heard the pop song that he's about to let potentially ruin his life.

Colin arrives back to his mother's empty house mid-afternoon. He's not sure why he thinks of it as his mother's house since he's never actually lived anywhere else. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been sleeping in his bed here for nearly half a year. Or maybe because Anthony has told him he can have his own flat if he enrolls in university; and although he likes to irritate his brother by pretending he's not interested in higher education, they both know he's going to do at least some type of higher education next year, if only for the opportunity to play rugby for a university team for a few terms. Eloise is due to arrive back from school soon by the time he grabs a snack and dumps the contents of his suitcase into the laundry room. He's not sure if he wants Penelope to be with her or not. He is still unsure what might happen the next time he sees her in person, and he thought he'd have time to figure it out. 

In an extreme act of bravery (avoidance) he walks to the closest café and sits staring at his empty journal page until it's properly tea time before he saunters home. He's actually sad when he arrives back at Bridgerton house and after his mother smothers him with hugs and kisses and only his younger sisters are around to greet him. Apparently he would rather see Penelope without a plan than not seeing her at all. He shoves that feeling to the back of his heart to deal with later, after he eats a proper meal, he decides.

Later that night as he lies in bed he tries to think of how to tell her, what to tell her, right before he kisses her. But every time he starts to think about the moment, the thought of those perfect, plush, rosy pink lips distracts him from making any actual plans for their date. Date? No. It's not a date exactly. It's just a meeting of friends so he can flirt with her and then kiss her, and then start their lives intertwined together, forever. Forever? Yes.

When was it that her lips got so kissable looking? He scrolls through his camera roll and realizes they always looked that kissable, and he's just been a fool this whole time. He accidentally plowed down his perfect match in the school hallway two years ago, and instead of noticing how beautiful she was, he made a joke about floor wax. At least he's always noticed her eyes. The amber hue and gold flecks. He's always thought they shone like gemstones.

Colin reviews his itinerary for his Australian trip, noting the number of days planned for camping and knows he doesn't have gear for sleeping outdoors in the weather of the southern hemisphere at this time of year. He snaps a photo of himself while he reclines in his bed, and sends it to Penelope with an offer for Saturday shopping.

When she emerges from the crowd flowing up the stairs from the underground he checks his hair in the reflection of the store window for the fifth time. He might have used too much product this morning, trying to tame the curls at the nape of his neck. Of course she looks absolutely perfect. The royal blue of her jumper makes the red of her hair pop out in technicolour, and when her smile brightens as she notices him it makes his heart lurch. Maybe it’s just because he’s been away for months, maybe it's because he missed his dear friend, maybe because he’s in love with her; he can’t tell anymore.

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He had asked to meet at Arc’Teryx to help him get some camping gear for his month-long trek through Australia, and promised her a jaunt up the road to Waterstone's as a reward. Of course she would have agreed to just his errand, but she wasn’t going to turn down a trip to a bookshop – he knew how to convince her to agree to anything, really. If only he knew how true that really was; how quickly she would go with him anywhere in the city if he simply asked. In truth, once she has finished her A-levels she would follow him anywhere in the world. If only he’d want her to.

He grins when he sees her in the crowd. It’s a genuine smile, she knows that much, and it gives her just a little more hope that things can work out, that she’s not wrong about this. It gives her a little more bravery. When she reaches him in front of the shop he picks her off her feet into a tight hug, she feels his hot breath against her neck.

“Hi, you.” He says into her hair, not releasing her for a long beat. The feel of his body against hers has her courage retreating a little. She forgot how much his physical presence affected her after all these months of only seeing him through screens. He holds her up in his arms when she pushes back against his shoulders slightly, so that they are still face-to-face and it almost feels like he is inspecting her, his eyes boring into hers. One thing she will never forget is how stunning his eyes are, and how it makes her throat feel dry.

He slowly releases her and she awkwardly slides down his body until she feels her boots touch the pavement so she can steady herself on the ground. She can’t quite read his expression, and wonders if it’s because he’s mirroring her confused look back. Her desperation and uncertainty must be wafting off her at this point, but she can’t help that even after all this time of loving him in secret, she cannot stop the squeeze she feels in her chest when she’s with him. The fear and the hope that mixes up in her head and her heart making it hard to speak without a nervous giggle. He gives her a kind smile, as if he recognizes they have been standing outside this shop staring at each other for far too long, and then he pulls open the door and motions for her to enter in front of him.

“How was Italy?” she asks in her most nonchalant tone as she flips through the rack of fleece jackets for his size.

“Meh,” he shrugs, keeping his focus on the stacks of trousers on the table he’s standing next to. “The food was good, sights were pretty, the hotel was bland.”

“You’ve been travelling the world for six months and you’re already bored with being back in London for only three days? She gives him a rueful smile.

His eyes dart to hers, “I’m not bored being at home,” he insists.

She shrugs, “you just seem over it.”

“I’m not.” He pauses, and she can’t seem to look away from him. She knows he has something else to say. “Maybe I’m getting bored with travelling.”

“Like staying in one place is the next exciting thing?” She doesn’t mean for it to sound teasing, but she is so surprised by his words she puts up her defenses as a form of self preservation. How is she going to kiss him if he’s not planning to leave immediately afterwards? What if he rejects her and then STAYS in London? She doesn’t think she can handle that possibility.

“Maybe it is …” he mumbles, but then gets distracted inspecting a camping rucksack on the wall display around the corner. Penelope follows him and busies herself with another rack of clothes, pulling out a navy fleece vest and holding it out to him with a smirk.

He tips his head to the side, “do I look like a finance bro to you?” He practically groans.

She bites back a laugh, “Do you really want me to answer that question?” Looking him up and down teasingly.

“Ouch.” He holds his hand over his heart, “it feels like you’re flirting with me.”

Penelope nearly drops the hanger in shock. That wasn’t … No. She spins around and returns the hanger to the rack, back tracking to pick up the jacket she had been looking at earlier. 

“This has lots of pockets, and the colour is neutral,” she rushes out, shoving the jacket into his hand without making eye contact.

“Yeah … the blue is nice …” he says as he accepts the piece of clothing. 

They don’t speak for several minutes, wandering through the store in separate directions. Penelope finds the display of women’s shoes and pretends she needs a pair of hiking boots. She's assessing the options intently so she can ignore whatever Colin is doing on the other side of the store. Colin’s voice and the feel of his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear pull her out of her own thoughts.

“Book shopping?”

When she turns her face towards his, hunched over her shoulder from behind her, his eyes penetrate hers and their faces are so close together she can almost feel the memory of his stubble scraping against her cheek from all those months ago.

“Yeah,” she says so quietly she wonders if he heard the sound of the word, or just read it off her lips. He holds up his shopping bag, showing he’s done purchasing his jacket, so she follows him out of the shop silently. The bustle of the crowd on the street fills the space between them, giving them both an excuse to not say anything during the walk to the towering Waterstone’s location.

Once again he opens the door for her, because he's always doing gentlemanly things like that. Violet and his older brothers taught him well. It used to make Penelope’s heart skip a beat when he did things like that. When they first met, he would pull out her chair, or help her into his car and she would think it meant something, like there was something so special between them. But then she realized he was just raised like that. Old fashioned and well mannered. She knew it was selfish that it made her sad. That he opened doors for all the women in his life, and anyone passing by, really. It made her crush that much more crushing. She wasn't anything significant to him, it wasn't special treatment. 

She quickly realizes she’s just trying to talk herself out of her plan. Thinking about all the ways what they have between them isn’t what she thinks it is; giving herself excuses. But when his green eyes widen at her as she stands paused in the doorway, she notices his smile falter slightly. He’s nervous. The thought floats by her so briefly, but it makes her realize she can still read so much of him just from his eyes. When his expression narrows at her slightly, she knows he can do just the same to her. He’s probably doing it now.

Penelope walks through the door and takes a moment to observe the large, bright space. Her eyes trace up the spiral staircase and along the upper stacks of shelves. No matter how many times she's been here, no matter what worries about school, or family, or friends, or love are swirling around in her head, the sight of all these books always makes her smile.

“You still do this every time?” He says with warmth in his voice. “You're such a nerd.” He nudges her shoulder with his arm, flashing a wide smile. Then he pulls her by the hand up the stairs to the first floor so they can get lost in the fiction section. She knows she doesn't need to add anything to her pile of books to read at home, but that has never stopped her before.

“Help me pick something new for my twenty hour flight,” Colin suggests as they casually browse new releases.

“What do you think you'll want to read?” she asks.

He pretends to ponder for a moment, making a show of rubbing his chin thoughtfully until she giggles.

“Isn’t that what you're meant to help me decide? You're the book pro.” 

She scoffs, “at least give me a genre …” Penelope stops in front of a shelf of Biographies and fiddles with a few covers to distract herself from staring up at him.

He shrugs as he plants himself directly next to her. “Sci fi … but nothing about planes crashing.” He says it in a serious tone, but his crooked smile betrays him when she turns to peer at him.

“You know that's the genre I know the least about. You shouldn't trust my recommendations for that.”

He leans to bump into her shoulder, “I trust you implicitly.” He says it so earnestly she has to force herself to swallow the lump in her throat. “Find me a suspense then,” he adds lightly. They wind their way through the shelves, slowing at a display table, Penelope flips a few over to read the blurbs and tucks a couple hardcovers into the crook of her arm before they delve further into the thrillers section.

“Lisa Jewell has a new book, she's always good for something compelling,” she suggests.

“Sure,” he shrugs and runs his fingers along the shelf to the J section. The new release is stacked cover-out among the other titles so he picks it up and surveys the back cover. “I guess that's me done then,” he grins. “Now what are you in the mood for?”

“For a twenty hour flight you might need two books.” She smirks, “I know how fast you read.”

He reaches out his arm to the shelf blindly, his eyes trained on her instead of the books, his face is set with a mischievous as pulls a softcover off at random. “I Found You” he reads from the cover.

The way his eyes soften on the word you makes Penelope’s cheeks feel hot.

“That’s a good one …” she mutters.

They stroll through the stacks quietly, before circling back to the stairway.

“Can we head up to the kids section? Franny wants a copy of Heartstopper for her birthday.”

She can’t help her goofy smile at the sweetness of his gift idea for his sister as she follows him up the stairs. The mood in the teen section is decidedly more lively than the first floor, with music playing and the sound of children playing floating over to them from the toy department.

The books he wants aren’t hard to find amongst the other graphic novels; books that get turned into Netflix shows are always given extra shelf space and a nice cover-out display.

“How was the Showgirl release party film thing?” He asks out of nowhere.

“It was fun.” She responds in a clipped tone. Wondering if he is going to take this somewhere, or if he is just curious about her Friday night.

“Did you dance?” He cocks an eyebrow with a smirk.

“A little,” she giggles.

“So are we adding any new songs to our playlist? I have some ideas.”

Penelope bites her lip so hard she thinks she tastes blood. So he has listened to it … She clears her throat and gazes up at him for a second.

“Fate of Ophelia, obviously,” she offers.

“Her best lead single ever, I’d say.”

She nods in agreement, “Elizabeth Taylor.”

“She didn’t have to go that hard on the chorus,” he agrees.

She scrunches her nose, “Wood?”

He narrows his eyes at her, “horny. But definitely a bop.”

She turns and continues down the aisle, pretending she is very interested in the copy of 'Dating and Dragons' perched on the end cap.

There is a sudden uptick in laughter and movement from the children’s section, and she realizes it’s because ‘The Fate of Ophelia’ is playing throughout this level of the store. Colin begins to dance around her, placing his books down on a nearby table, and reaching for her hands.

“Colin! We’re in a bookshop!” She exclaims in a stage whisper. He just shrugs, taking her books out of her arms and pulling her into a twirl.

“So? I’ve never danced in a bookshop.”

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Well now he has to do this, doesn’t he? She’s in his arms, he has her dancing around in an aisle of Waterstone’s. He’s flirted too close to the sun. At least her nervous smile has brightened into something genuinely happy. She is so beautiful and free at this moment, and he has wasted too much time already.

“Can I ask you something?” He says tentatively.

She looks up at him with those amber eyes that practically sparkle, “better to answer the question, than to ask it all your life.” She says in a whisper. 

This is an opening … an offering. They are literally dancing around the point of it now, aren’t they?

They stop moving suddenly, just holding each other’s gaze for what feels like an eternity. He can see her bottom lip quivering slightly when his eyes flick down to her lips. He brushes his fingers over her cheek and she feels flushed and warm, but she pliantly follows his motions when he tips her face up towards his. When he first puts his lips on hers, it’s soft and slow. He feels her hands at the nape of his neck, tentative fingers threading into his hair and this encourages him to pull her in for another kiss. This kiss, these next kisses, are what he dreamed they might be like. She reciprocates every movement of his lips and tongue. Their mouths slot together, moving against each other with matching enthusiasm. Colin's hand cups her face, and then it’s in her hair, and then at her waist, pulling her into him harder. He doesn't ever want to let go, it's the perfect answer to his question, and this is something he knows he'll never regret now that he knows how it feels.

The air shifts around them as someone walks past, and Penelope giggles into his mouth awkwardly at being caught out. When they break away from each other their staring contest resumes.

“We should put ‘Ruin the Friendship’ on the playlist,” he says breathlessly.

She nods, the curve of her smile dimpling her cheeks. He can’t help but push back in for one more kiss, before grabbing her hand, and pulling her towards the stairs. She quickly reaches to grab their abandoned pile of books and trails slightly behind him as he tugs her along at a swift, determined pace.

“We’re going to get a cinnamon bun and talk,” he declares.

“How long have you known?” She asks as soon as he settles into his seat. They have tucked themselves side-by-side at a table near the corner at Embertons Café. His chair is right next to hers so that their shoulders are touching, and lays his arm around the back of hers.

“Known what?” Colin replies lightly before taking a bite of his gooey treat.

“That you … that you wanted to kiss me?” She says it like it’s a secret for some reason. But they kissed in a very public place, clearly this is not something hidden anymore. He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. Why had he suggested talking again? The kissing part was a lot more enjoyable. But she has the right to know why he’s done this, and hopefully it will help clear the panic that is starting to take over her expression. 

Maybe he should pretend it was all spontaneous. But it’s Pen. He can’t lie to Pen. Especially about this; if this is going to be real it has to be the truth. He swallows down his nerves.

“I uh … well, that part is kind of new …” He starts out slowly, “The idea to kiss you, I mean. But if I think back on it … since the second week I was on my trip.” He quietly admits.

He’s already spent the last week sorting through his memories and feelings from the last few months. Remembering the freedom he felt when he first left England on his own, eighteen and pumped to take on the world. A proper adult, he thought. He jetted off to Brazil after his last set of A-level examinations and was ready for his grand adventure. That first week had been amazing, really the whole six months of his trip was amazing. Everything he’d dreamed it would be. By day ten his urge to call home hadn’t picked up like everyone had guessed it would. He didn’t feel homesick in the least. But he did miss Penelope. That’s the only person he felt like he missed. He started writing her emails every night, but not sending them. He thought that was too much, she'd never read every detail of every thought he put on to the page. So every few days he would edit them down into one friend-appropriate summary and send that instead. But he still texted her and called her a lot too. Seeing her smiling face, even just through a screen, was always the best part of his day, no matter where in the world he was, or the tiredness from the time difference. 

Maybe he should have realized what it meant right away. That he would count the hours until the next call or chat, that his heart flipped and stomach lurched when he'd see a message from her pop up on his phone. That even before he’d actually left there were times when pauses in conversation would feel heady and tingle with tension. That he had already started keeping track of the days until he'd be back in London. Back where he'd be able to see her. It probably shouldn't have taken a Taylor Swift song for him to make sense of his own feelings.

He’s been staring at the cinnamon bun on his plate for too long so he forces himself to pull his eyes up to hers. The glow in them, the gold flecks are like shards of glass that penetrate into his worried thoughts. She doesn’t seem upset, really. He can’t quite pin down what is meant to happen now in truth. She definitely kissed him back. And giggled, and smiled. But now as they sit here they can barely get three words out without retreating into nervous lip biting and distracted sips of their lattes. Maybe this has ruined their friendship. Maybe he is going to live with this regret for the rest of his life, without her.

“Would you have been surprised if I kissed you?” She breaks the uncomfortable silence suddenly.

He hesitates before he gives an answer. Inspecting her face for a clue about what she means about this hypothetical.

“Because I was going to. Kiss you, I mean.” She rushes out, and then she can't seem to meet his eyes again. Everything in the café is more interesting than looking at him again.

“When did you realize you wanted to?” He asks with a smirk. Returning her earlier question to keep the conversation flowing, and because he is innately curious. He places his hand over hers and gives it a firm squeeze in an attempt to comfort her, but also because he wants to. He wants to touch her, and feel her warmth. And know if she’s going to pull away for him. It has the desired effect, drawing her to look at him again. He leans into her, hovering his lips over hers for a moment before he kisses her again. Kissing her seems to put them both at ease. Like the words are the hardest part all of a sudden. Despite the fact that all they have done for the last two years, their whole friendship, is exchange words. Talked, and joked, and traded notes and letters. But now that they have kissed there is a strange vacuum of nothing left to say.

“I’m not sure if I will ever get used to this,” She says with a smile when their mouths part.

“Do you want to get used to it?” He jumps on her statement with a hopeful tinge.

“Yes,” flows out of her mouth like a dream. “I’ve wanted to kiss you, be kissed by you since the day we met.”

She says it so plainly he nearly chokes. He is a fool. For many reasons – so many reasons. But overlooking this woman for two years is the most foolish thing he's ever done. He sends up a silent prayer that she’ll let him make it up to her for the next twenty-two.

“Was it the song?” She asks. He notices her eyes haven’t left his gaze since that last kiss. Like suddenly she’s being brave for both of them.

He winces, almost ashamed to admit the truth. “Yes.”

Her smile grows at this, a mile wide now. Glowing.

“I just had to know.” He adds.

“It was for me too.” She says with a giggle. “Taylor Swift made me want to do it. Wow … that sounds so lame.”

He shakes his head, “no it doesn’t. She gives good advice.” He straightens in his seat and notices he’s still covering her hand with his own and squeezes it again. Penelope pulls her hand away and his heart sinks, but then she intertwines her fingers through his so they are properly linked together, and he knows he’s a goner. 

Later as they walk hand-in-hand to his mother’s house on Bruton street, he thinks about how so much has changed for him, for them, in just one afternoon. With just one kiss, now several kisses, and a few terrifying, but honest words. Would he have survived it if she had rejected him after that first kiss? If he had ruined their friendship over a fantasy that was just that – a figment of his imagination and not a real connection he had sensed between them? He didn’t really want to think about such an outcome. How hard it would have been to be so wrong about the person you feel knows you best. But when he looks over to her, and her bright amber eyes are sparkling back up into his, he can’t help feeling reassured that nothing would have been ruined, in truth. Maybe it would have taken some time to heal from, even longer than the month-long trip he’ll embark on in ten days, but eventually he would have swallowed his hurt pride and sour feelings, because he wouldn’t survive without Penelope in his life in some capacity. Even if she had wanted it to be as only a friend.

“So are there any more songs to add to our playlist then?” She asks casually. Just like it’s always been between them. Like they can be best friends and so much more all at the same time.

He squeezes her hand, and pulls her into his arms, stopping them on the pavement face-to-face. She looks up at him, slightly confused, but smiling just the same.

“Why have we stopped?” She asks curiously, a nervous tinge in her voice as she slides her eyes to the few other pedestrians now shuffling to pass around them.

Colin lowers his face to hers to capture her lips in a searing kiss as he pulls his arms around her waist tightly. He can feel her lean into him, losing her balance on her tip-toes for her mouth to reach his to return his affections. They both smile slightly, but their lips do not break apart, not until they are both breathless.

Holding her gaze with his slightly crooked smile he watches her cheeks blush, under the heat of his finger tips across her face. “I’m very glad this did not ruin the friendship.” He whispers, before inviting himself for one more fervent kiss.