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Penelope was sure that this night would be a success.
…Or at least she desperately hoped it would be.
Penelope considered herself to be an optimist when it came to facing the challenges of life, never one to give up so easily. She wanted to prove to the world that those who persevere end up winning in the end.
But after two unsuccessful dates, she couldn't help but feel like the world's biggest loner.
Her past dates were far from ideal. The first one was a Norwegian cross-trainer who had a very disturbing love for violence. He wouldn't stop yelling every time he spoke and then at the end of it all, he said her calves looked like a 'malnourished goat.' She would’ve slapped him if she weren't so socially awkward and if the man wasn't almost twice her size. Her slap wouldn't have done any damage to that stone chiseled face of his. Yeah…maybe it's a good thing she didn't slap Kristof. It would’ve saved her a broken wrist and a broken ego.
And then there was the other—an emotionally unstable shelf who cried her eyes out like there was no tomorrow.
Penelope sighed at the memory.
She tried to be understanding, she really did. She even offered tissues. (Several tissues, actually.) The whole situation somehow turned into her comforting Shelly through her anxiety episode. Shelly had hugged her so tight as she cried that it left Penelope with bruises the next day. She also had part of her dress suit covered in the woman's snot and tears—all of it far from the romantic date she had imagined in her head…
Still—third time’s the charm!
That’s what all the magazines said, anyway.
Penelope had read at least three different articles that claimed the exact same thing. Office Romance Monthly had even printed it in bold letters right under a photo of a stapler couple holding hands: 'Persistence leads to partnership!'
She glanced at the magazine now, her hands flipping through the glossy pages.
"…This has to be my year," She mutters. "I'm sure this time it will be different."
And maybe it would be different.
This next date she had found seemed the most promising. Whereas Kristof and Shelly were big and athletic brutes, Chance was the opposite.
Smaller, for one thing, and far less intimidating.
From what Penelope could tell through their conversations in the office, he was enthusiastic—very enthusiastic—but also polite, friendly, and a little nerdy, but she didn’t mind that at all. In fact, she thought it was rather charming.
When she first went to Chance in the hopes of asking him out, he had started their conversation with:
"Hello there, fair maiden! What fortune brings thee to this part of the office?"
Penelope hadn’t quite known how to respond to that at first. She blinked a few times before trying to reply with something equally dramatic.
"Why, Chance, I seek adventure…and perhaps a nice dinner?"
(Hey, she said she tried to give a dramatic reply—she never said it was a good one.)
Chance had lit up at her words, or more so, at her effort rather than the request. He was clueless like that. She asked again in regular English if he would like to go out with her sometime, and Chance couldn’t find it in himself to say no.
Not that he seemed opposed to the idea. If anything, he had looked delighted.
"Ah! A quest!" he had declared, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with excitement. "A noble outing between companions! Yes, yes, I would gladly accept such an invitation, Penelope!"
The office supplies had walked away from that conversation feeling oddly triumphant—a little embarrassed, but mostly triumphant.
Which is why tonight had to work.
She deserved at least one successful date. Right?
Penelope closed the magazine with a determined nod. All she had to do now was finish getting ready.
She turned toward the small mirror propped up beside a stack of papers on the desk. Her outfit was already perfect, or at least as perfect as she could make it. Her blazer was neatly pressed, the little scribbled flower on her lapel bright and cheerful. The clips in her hair aligned neatly, and the pens tucked into her holder were color-coordinated. Overall, Date-worthy.
Watch out, world, here comes Penelope!
There was just one last thing left.
Penelope reached for the tube of lipstick resting beside the mirror.
The shade was a soft red. Originally, she had planned to wear a pink shade, but according to her Office Romance Magazine, red lipstick was supposed to signal confidence, charm, and romantic interest. Penelope could definitely use at least one of those things tonight.
She twisted the base slowly, watching the lipstick rise.
"Okay," she murmured to herself. "Steady hand…"
She leaned closer to the mirror and carefully applied the lipstick to her lower lip, then the upper. Penelope leaned back to examine the result and…
Her smile faded.
"Oh…"
The lipstick was crooked. Not just a little crooked—very crooked.
One side curved too high, while the other barely reached the corner of her mouth. Penelope stared at her reflection in shock.
"…How did I manage that?"
She grabbed a tissue quickly and wiped it off before it could stain.
"That’s fine," she said aloud, trying to sound confident. "Practice makes perfect."
She leaned forward again. And with a steady hand, the lipstick touched her lip—
—and slipped.
A bright red streak appeared just above her lip. Penelope froze, looking at her repeated disaster.
She wiped it again.
"Come on, I can do this…" she muttered, trying to ignore the slight trembling in her hand.
She leaned in again, but with no luck—the lipstick dragged again too far from her lip line, leaving the color uneven once more.
Penelope groaned and rested her forehead against the desk. This is ridiculous. She should have known better than to attempt putting on makeup herself. It would have been better to have asked Barry for help. He would have been able to do this blindfolded, Penelope could bet on it.
"…Why is this so hard?"
"Penelope?"
Penelope jumped, her head whipping around to the direction of the voice.
Her eyes went wide.
There you were, her lovely human friend, standing a few steps away from the doorway of the office. You gave her a warm smile, one that made her stomach do funny flips. How strange…
"Hey there, thought I'd find you here." You make your way inside the office, your face cool and collected. You walked with such confidence that Penelope couldn't help but feel slightly envious of you.
“Oh—Hi!” she squeaked, trying to quickly hide the lipstick in her hand, fingers fiddling with the cap.
"You alright?" You ask as you get closer to the desk. Her frazzled reaction didn’t escape your notice.
"Oh yeah, peachy!" Penelope waved you off, sweat on her temple.
You stepped closer, and Penelope almost fell off the chair, trying to 'casually' shift to block the mirror from your view. It didn’t work.
Your eyes landed on the faint red smudge near her cheek. You touch your own cheek around the same spot.
"Heh, you’ve got some lipstick there."
Penelope squeaked again, her face blooming scarlet. "Really?!"
She grabbed another tissue and wiped her face quickly. "Oh, clumsy me!"
Your gaze drifted to the lipstick still in her hand. "Big date?"
Penelope stiffened a little before hurrying to put on her most cheery smile.
"Uh—yes! Yes, actually!" she said quickly. "I have a date tonight with Chance."
You gave her a nod.
"That's nice."
Penelope blinked.
That was… all?
Just nice?
She wasn’t sure why that felt a little…disappointing.
She cleared her throat. "I was just trying to finish up with some lipstick. You know, trying something new."
You gave a hum and glanced at the mirror, the tube of lipstick, and then at Penelope's flushed face, red smudging at the corner of her lips.
You held out your hand. "Here."
Penelope looked down at it, eyes perplexed. "W-what?"
"Give me the lipstick. I'll help you put it on."
"You know how?" Penelope asked.
You smile softly at her, and her stomach does those crazy flips again.
"I'm assuming Barry gave you that. It happens to be one of my lipsticks, " You chuckled. "So I know a thing or two about putting makeup on."
Penelope hesitated only a second before slowly placing the tube of lipstick in your hand, knowing it would be better used in your hands.
You stepped closer, much closer, as you adjusted the base of the lipstick. Penelope felt her spine stiffen as you gently placed your fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face upward so the light from the window fell across her lips.
"Hold still for me, alright?" You muttered.
Your voice was light and reassuring. It made her obey the request immediately.
Your hand was warm against her jaw, steady and careful as you brought the lipstick toward her mouth. Your eyes focused intently on your work, brows slightly knit in concentration.
Penelope, however, was having a completely different experience.
Her heart was pounding—hard.
She hadn’t realized just how close you were until now. You were right there.
Close enough that she could see the faint flutter of your eyelashes when you blinked. Close enough to notice the way the sunlight spilling through the office window caught in your hair and softened the edges of your lovely face.
You looked…radiant. Almost unreal.
The gentle glide of the lipstick across her lower lip made her breath hitch.
Your thumb shifted slightly against her chin as you adjusted the angle, steadying her face while you traced the color carefully along the edge of her mouth.
Penelope became painfully aware of the fact that your face was only inches away.
Your lips were so close.
If she leaned forward just a little, she could—
—But no, no! She couldn’t do that!
It takes all of her might not to shake her head to block out the thought.
She doesn't understand why she can't seem to look away from your lips, it's like you've bewitched her. She suddenly feels the desire to touch them, with her fingers, her own lips—
She had never thought of you this way…
You two were friends—just friends. Friends don't kiss other friends, right?
Besides, you already had a bunch of other lovers around the house. Objects that were much more charismatic, collected, and beautiful than she will ever be.
So many other handsome and pretty people to kiss and make out with. You wouldn’t want to kiss her. Penelope would understand that.
How could you ever love a frazzled and awkward girl like her? She wasn't that interesting to look at or the most grounded person to talk to, but you—you were the most breathtaking thing she had ever seen.
You leaned in a bit more as you finished up her bottom lip, and Penelope—out of some deranged instinct—moved closer.
You pause your movements to look up at her, eyes gentle but curious.
Once Penelope realized her mistake, she wanted to dig up her grave, her cheeks flaring from the embarrassment.
"You okay, Penny? You're trembling."
Had she been trembling? She had no idea!
"S-sorry!" She squeaked. You said it was fine and continued your work without hassle.
Penelope noticed that your grip on her jaw became more purposeful, it felt like fire burning painlessly against her pale skin. Your eyes, too, became sharper and more attentive to every breath she let out.
You were driving her crazy!
Before Penelope could burst from the overwhelming tension, you pulled back.
"There, all done." You said softly, your thumb brushed the corner of her lip to fix the last smudge.
Penelope blinked, the spell broke instantly.
You handed the lipstick back to her. "I'd say it looks good."
Penelope stared at you for a moment before hurriedly turning toward the mirror and—Oh!
It did look good.
Neat and even. Exactly the way it was supposed to look. She couldn’t help but think that this new version of herself looked…pretty. Wow.
Her shoulders sagged with relief.
"Oh, thank goodness," she breathed.
She turned back toward you, clutching the lipstick in her hand.
"Thank you!"
"No problem, Pen. Glad you liked it." You gave an easy shrug. "The color looks nice on you."
Penelope's eyes widen at the comment.
"…Y-you think so?"
You gave a small nod, leaning casually against the desk.
"Yeah. It suits you."
Penelope felt her face heat up all over again.
"Oh—well—thank you," she stammered, quickly turning back to the mirror, trying to avoid your gaze. "I mean, if it looks decent, then that's good! I don't want Chance thinking I lost a fight with a crayon."
You laughed softly behind her and Penelope’s shoulders relaxed a little at the sound.
She fiddled with the lipstick cap, twisting it closed before setting it carefully beside the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—flushed cheeks, slightly wide eyes, and lips painted neatly in red.
She looked…different. Maybe tonight would really go well after all.
"So," you said after a moment, pushing yourself away from the desk, "when’s the big date?"
Penelope blinked before remembering.
"The—oh! The date!" she said, looking at the clock on the computer screen. She would be late if she didn't hurry.
"Right! Yes! I should probably get going soon."
She hopped off the chair a little too quickly and nearly tripped before catching herself.
Smooth, Penelope. Very smooth.
You reached out instinctively to steady her elbow. "Whoa, careful there."
Your hand lingered for a second before letting go. Penelope’s heart was about ready to burst from her chest.
"R-right!" she said quickly, straightening her blazer. "Wouldn’t want to be late."
She grabbed her bag from the corner of the desk and slung it over her shoulder.
For a moment, the two of you just stood there. Quiet enveloped the room. Somehow, even with the urgency of time, Penelope didn't make an effort to move—she didn’t want to move…
"Well… um… wish me luck?" She said after a moment.
You smiled at her. God, you were so perfect!
"Good luck, Penny."
The nickname made her chest flutter. She nodded quickly and turned toward the door before her nerves could convince her to say something embarrassing or worse, do something she might regret...
"Thanks! I’ll—uh—I’ll see you later!"
"See you."
Penelope hurried out into the hallway, her footsteps quick and light.
Only when she was safely around the corner did she press a hand against her chest. Her heart was still racing crazy fast.
What was wrong with her?!
She couldn't get her mind off the way your soft hands touched her face with such tenderness or the way your thumb had brushed against her lip, eyes never leaving hers. Your face, your smell, your closeness—it was all too much for her!
Penelope shook her head violently, trying to erase those images from her head.
No, this was ridiculous.
She was just nervous about the date. That had to be it. Anyone would feel a little flustered before something like this.
Tonight was about her and Chance.
Not you.
And yet…
How she wished you would be the one waiting for her at the other side of that dinner table…