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Summary
"We'll have to actually do some writing, then, if it's raining." She gives him a hesitant smile. "Isn't that why we came here?"
"Y-es," he says slowly, frowning. He had said that, hadn't he? A writer's retreat, he said in that dark, frozen garden, his mouth so close to hers that he could taste her next words, taste his own saliva on her lips. Just me and you. "But — but no. Not just that, Pen."
Her cheeks flood pink again (God, it's nice making her blush) and she turns her face towards the fire, her teeth buttoning her lower lip. "No," she says softly. "Not just that."
OR
After telling Penelope he loves her, Colin takes her to the family chateau in France for a week to work out what their relationship is going to be