Cassian

Under the smokescreen of watching passing scenery, I can't stop myself from stealing glances at Pen. Or thinking about her. Fuck. Something's changed. I'd thought Penelope overcrowding my mind the other day had been a fluke. I thought I was worried about her well-being. It made sense when she was lying in bed and crying. It made sense when her DNA test was in action. Not anymore. This addictive thought pattern is real—almost worse. There's no sense present in my mind as my eyes follow the soft lines of her frown to the concentrated look in her eyes.

I take a deep breath in through my nose and avert my gaze, squinting through the front windshield into the sunlight and wishing it was raining. Maybe if the sun weren't beating down on Penelope and giving her peachy skin an obnoxious glow, I wouldn't be so transfixed. If the weather had cooperated and rained, I could have given myself an excuse to stay inside one more day. Instead of my usual routine of waking up, eating breakfast, and then heading to the winery to take some field notes, I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to go to a spin class with Penelope. My sudden motivation has nothing to do with Ophelia's second chance—nothing. But it has everything to do with Penelope's burst of energy. She's bouncing off the walls like a kid that's high on sugar. No matter how much effort I put in, I can't keep up with her.

That fucking spin class killed me. I feel like a limp noodle.

My phone dings. When I pick it up, I see we've missed our turn on Google Maps. "You were supposed to turn left."

"Cassian," Penelope says. "I know where I'm going. I grew up here."

"Yeah," I argue, "but the GPS system said to turn left."

From the driver's seat, Penelope shoots me a glare. "Those apps are bullshit. They make you take the longest routes so you'll waste gas and spend more money. Trust me. I know where I'm going."

I knock my head against the headrest and close the app, shutting my eyes. God, I want a nap. It's a good thing we didn't have to dress up for this meeting with Tessa. Today, my level of effort is zilch. Pulling on a suit and tie would have been disastrous. I think Pen would've had to dress me herself.

"Why did you take me to that spin class?" I groan.

Penelope snorts. "You sound like a baby."

"I am a baby," I reply. "You're supposed to pamper me and take care of me. Not attempt to murder me."

We putter past a school. It's next to a pond and there's a mutinous-looking mountain behind it, covered in pine trees and splashes of colour. A large group of kids are playing soccer on the field, dressed in their jeans and heavy sweaters. The younger ones are scattered around the playground like ants. A small smile curves my lips. I remember the days when I used to fight over who got on the swing next with Jake and Gemma. It was quite entertaining to challenge them to a game of jacks or hopscotch to win the next turn.

Penelope grabs her smoothie from the cupholder. It's green with little black flecks, and it makes me want to puke. Avocados aren't meant for smoothies. I can handle pineapple on pizza, but avocados mixed with fruit juice, bananas, and yogurt? No thanks. My gut flips while she takes a long sip, her perfect ruby-red lipstick flawless despite contact with the straw. "Look," she says, setting the smoothie down. "I offered you a spot in the class. I didn't force you to join me." She reaches over and pats my thigh. "You made that decision on your own."

My mouth opens and then closes. Fine. She's got a point. And maybe I lied to myself earlier. Maybe I wanted to join her. Ever since she found out about Patrick, we have spent little time together outside of work and sharing the house. I'm looking forward to dinner tonight. It's been a while since we hung out by ourselves.

She pats my thigh again and then returns her hand to the steering wheel, guiding the vehicle around a smooth corner. A sharp left follows. "Tessa's house is just up here," she murmurs. "I'm already jealous."

"Why?" I frown, leaning forward and staring out the front windshield. There isn't much to see. Aside from other houses and a dense canopy of trees surrounding the road, I see nothing spectacular.

Penelope sighs. "I loved this area when I was a kid." She points ahead. "If you continue up this road and take another left, you can access the regional park. We must go for a hike before the snow falls. You'd love it."

I rub the stubble on my jaw. While I agree with Penelope—I would love to go hiking—I don't know if my legs can handle it. "I don't know," I tease. "My muscles may be permanently damaged."

She turns into a steep driveway, giving my vehicle more gas as we climb the hill. God. It must be deadly in the winter. At the top, it's flat, giving us an impeccable view of a craftsman styled house. The siding is a dark green, blending with the forest behind, and the trim is light brown. A cobblestone pathway stems from the driveway to the front door. And, of course, the yard is perfection. Rose bushes line the cobblestone path and the law is smothered with leaves from the large maple tree.

After Penelope has cut the engine, she turns to me, a sardonic grin on her face. "If spin class has permanently damaged your muscles, then how did you jog over to the gas station and buy a new pack of cigarettes?"

I palm the fresh pack of cigarettes in my pocket, cursing under my breath. It's impossible to scheme. Penelope has the eyes of a hawk. It makes me sick. But I also love it. Being reprimanded by her is enjoyable because she's not overly serious—she knows how to joke around.

"Anyway," she continues, unbuckling her seatbelt and swivelling in her chair. She reaches over the console and grabs her bag. As she does this, my eyes flick down to the low dip of her shirt. A hint of black lace peeks out, and I have to tear my gaze away. "We need to get to work. Although your muscles are dying, will you please act like the businessman I know you can be? We have to make a good impression. Stick to the judging criteria I laid out and don't scare her off with your sense of humour."

"What's wrong with my sense of humour?" I frown.

Pen gives me a look as she slings her bag over her shoulder, stuffing the keys into the front leather pocket. "Nothing. I quite enjoy it. Some people may not be used to your oh so charming ways, Cassian. Act professional, okay?"

Before I can respond, Penelope exits the vehicle and heads for the front door.

I push myself out of the SUV with an annoyed groan, clutching the door for support. Where's the fun in not using my charm or sense of humour? When did Penelope become a buzzkill? And when the hell are my leg muscles going to quit screaming in agony?

Slamming the door behind me, I tug on the collar of my shirt, grimacing at my attitude. I'm being a dick because of tired and sore. Penelope did nothing wrong—I'm just looking for someone to blame my lack of fitness on. While I have been keeping up with my usual schedule, that spin class attacked muscles I didn't know I had.

When I join Penelope at the front door, she's already talking to a woman I'm assuming is Tessa. Her skin is two shades lighter than mine and her hair is the colour of coffee beans. She's shorter than Penelope, but her brown eyes are just as intimidating as Penelope's violet-blue ones.

"And this," Penelope smiles, looping her arm through mine. "Is Cassian Russell. He's the other CEO of Elemental Coffee. We're grateful for the time you've put aside to meet with us, Tessa. I think there's a wonderful business opportunity for both of us."

Tessa holds out her hand and I take it, returning her firm handshake. "It's nice to meet you, Tessa," I say, keeping my voice polite and collected.

Her gaze flicks from my head to my toes. "The pleasure is all mine." She steps aside, making room for Penelope and I to enter. Despite the outside design having an old-fashioned feel, the inside is much more modern. The walls are painted white and the floor is light grey. Through the open-concept main floor, I can see the kitchen and living room, and a sliding glass door leading to the backyard. The smell is warm and welcoming, reminding me of the cinnamon buns Mom makes on Christmas morning.

As Penelope and I kick off our shoes, Tessa elaborates on what she has planned for today. "From our conversation over the phone, you're looking for a bakery to supply your new coffee shop with. To provide a plausible example of my talents, I've baked my most popular products." She gestures for us to follow her into the kitchen. When we enter, I note how industrial the space is. It's not my style of kitchen, but she's added some nice flair to it. On the stainless steel counter, there are several plates full of cookies, buns, pastries, tarts, and mini cakes. Each one is decorated to the nines, reminding me of the food porn I see on Pinterest and the Food Network. "If you would like to take a seat at the breakfast bar, I'll serve you and give you a rundown of each item."

We round the corner of the island and take the seats next to the food. I'm not looking forward to stuffing myself with sweets again, but it's part of the job. We want quality treats for our customers, ones that pair well with our drinks.

Once we're situated, Tessa continues with her spiel. She pushes a folder of files toward us. "In this folder, you'll find my FoodSafe certificate, photos of past events I have catered to, budgets, and the procedures I take to make sure my products are sustainable. I also have several recipes that are gluten-free and vegan in order to meet the upward trend we've been seeing lately."

Penelope takes the folder and flips it open so she can leaf through the papers. I carefully watch her face, noting the hint of satisfaction on her ruby-red lips. To be honest, I'm already impressed with Tessa's work. Following Penelope's lead, I did some extensive research on her home business. Over the past three years, she's won multiple awards for best catering service and rising business.

"First," she continues, setting a glass of water down in front of each of us, "I would like to begin with the cinnamon buns."

And so the next hour comprises us tasting her baked products and taking notes in our notebooks while Tessa answers questions we have. By the time we're finished, I'm ready to throw up the contents of my stomach. Not because her baked goods are disgusting, but because they're too good; I've eaten way more than I intended to.

"So?" Tessa asks after I've stuffed the last bite of a butter tart in my mouth. I even go as far to lick my fingers clean.

Penelope exchanges a glance with me. There's a small smile on her lips that already holds the answer. "I think we've concluded."

"We have," I smile back.

Tessa leans forward in anticipation, her brown eyes glittering with excitement. If she thinks she's impressed us, she's correct. It's obvious we can depend on her to provide high-quality foods for our coffee shop. She'll also have full access to the kitchen area so she doesn't have to dirty her own kitchen every time.

"Cassian and I," Penelope says, "would like to welcome you to the team, Tessa."

Tessa squeals, throwing her arms around Penelope and I. A plastic plate slips from the counter and clatters to the floor, but no one cares. The excitement is contagious. "Ah!" she squeals. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You're very welcome," Penelope smiles. When Tessa pulls away, she reaches out and squeezes her arm. "We love the passion and style you bake with, Tessa. Our coffee shop won't be open until, at the latest, February, but we're looking forward to working with you." Penelope stands up and collects her bag and papers. "We'll keep in touch with you in the meantime. Does that work?"

"Of course!" Tessa beams. "Thanks again!"

While Tessa bustles around the kitchen, packing up the remaining treats she insists we take home to enjoy, Penelope and I exchange a smile.

We're one step closer to opening a successful coffee shop.

* * *

"This is nice," Penelope smiles, taking a long sip of her wine. She observes the restaurant, her eyes flickering across the purple walls, dark floors, and large windows. "What would you suggest ordering? I'm a sucker for Pad Thai, but I would like to branch out."

While I've always considered Penelope to be beautiful, I can't get over her dress. She bought it at the fucking winery. It's sinfully sexy, hugging her curves and bringing out the coppery tones of her blonde hair. And her ruby-red lipstick weakens my knees.

She cocks an eyebrow at me. "Cassian?"

I'm perfectly capable of speaking English—it's my native language. But when my gaze meets Penelope's, I find myself at a loss for words. There's no sense in pretending I'm not hoping and praying for that seam running down the middle of her breasts to rip. Pen's the embodiment of sin—and the dress isn't even that revealing. She can just pull it off. She's hot with a side of cute. A figure meant to curve against the palm of my hand... and dimples when she smiles. What I would give to see her in that lacy bra...

I cough, clearing my throat. What the fuck am I doing? I'm supposed to be enjoying my time with her—not picturing what it would be like to have her sitting on my lap and... Fuck no. Where are these thoughts coming from? "I had the Pad Thai. It's the best I've ever eaten," I reply, the words tumbling from my mouth. I pick up the menu, fanning myself with it. "Do you want to order the tofu bites? The whisky-barbecue are delicious. We should order them." I tug at my collar. "Do you want to order them?"

Giggling, Penelope sets down her glass of wine. "What's going on with you, Cassian? You're acting strange."

The knowing smile on her lips intimidates me. I search for a way to take my mind off Penelope's dress. "I'm delirious from spin class," I drawl, sipping my whisky on ice. "You can't blame me."

"As a matter of fact," she laughs, " I can blame you. You accepted the invitation." She pauses, cocking her head at me. "And you don't regret it, do you?"

A grin creeps across my face. Penelope knows me too well. Although my body is aching and begging me for an Advil and hot bath, spin class has combated the guilt of indulgence from Tessa's house. "Perhaps," I reply. "What do you think of Tessa?"

Penelope presses her lips in a flat line. "Why don't we save that for tomorrow? We're out to get our minds off of work. Pushing this conversation back won't hurt us."

Smiling, I raise my glass and knock it against hers. The ring echoes through the restaurant. Tonight's outing is much better compared to the one with Ophelia. No work and no drama. It's just Penelope and I relaxing and being ourselves. It's a breath of fresh air. Whenever I'm with her, I'm not afraid to let my guard down and relax.

She takes another sip of her red wine. When I stare at the seductive colour, I have to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"I forgot about the red wine. I believe I vowed to never let you have another glass."

Penelope rolls her eyes. "I made the mistake of not eating before opening the bottle, okay? Quit judging me."

"I'm not judging you," I reply. "Remember the wedding? I was just as bad."

Cringing, Penelope adjusts the alignment of her fork and knife. "Although I experienced the worst hangover in the world, the wedding was perfect. Don't you think?"

I think back to Quail's Gate Winery, Gemma's dress, the ceremony, and the following party. "It was," I admit. "When I get married, I may just copy their wedding."

Penelope's eyebrows raise in surprise. "You want to get married?"

"Of course," I shrug. "I also want to have kids. Do you?"

Her face turns sombre. "Yes. I want to have three kids. I also want to work part-time. Working too much results in neglect. I never want my kids to feel neglected."

I shoot her a sympathetic smile. While I know Penelope feels rooted to her family, her biological parents neglected her. It's easy to understand where she's coming from. "You'd be a wonderful mom," I say. "Though, I have to admit, a mini-Penelope running around the house would scare me."

Penelope snorts. "The world would burn down if a mini-Cassian existed."

Okay, maybe she's got a point. I know I can be daft and unaware, but I also have a big heart and act upon good intentions only. All beneficial and detrimental traits. "If you could have a kid with one celebrity," I say. "Who would it be?"

"Ouch," she replies, leaning back against the padded booth. "That's a tough question. If I had to choose, though, it would be Harry Styles or Ian Somerhalder."

I wrinkle my nose. "Harry Styles? Really?"

"Don't judge. He's a good-looking man. What about you? Which celebrity would you want to birth your babies?"

"Alexandra Daddario," I smirk, tracing the rim of my glass. "Or Margot Robbie."

Penelope laugh, pointing at me. "See, those are good ones. The gene pool would be unfair."

My laughter joins Penelope's. And while we laugh, I can't help but ponder over how much I'm enjoying this. I want to blame it on her boutique dress and the shadow of black lace. But spending time with Penelope is my favourite part of the day. Despite our different opinions, we can laugh and joke and have stupid, pointless conversations that mean nothing to this world. We can unwind and relax.

Penelope picks up her glass of wine and takes another sip.

"We should order the tofu bites," she winks.