Cassian

Penelope falls asleep on the ride home, leaving me to battle with internal turmoil.

Head screwed on right, my ass.

If Pen's words held any accountability, I wouldn't be questioning my feelings. I don't know if she noticed my moment of hesitation before I climbed into the vehicle, but I'm hoping she didn't. Despite my ignorance toward Halloween, I had an enjoyable time with her. And her questioning my hesitance would only complicate things. I didn't want to climb into the vehicle. I couldn't tear my gaze away from her full lips or her supportive attitude. Penelope has a way with people; no matter who you are or what you're discussing, she can always make you feel welcome. The entire night felt different. I'm not blaming this on Pen—she was the same outgoing woman I enjoy spending time with. Something's different with me. I can't put my finger on what, but I think it has something to do with my inability to stop thinking about Pen.

Glancing over my shoulder, I turn my indicator on and switch into the left lane. The turnoff down to our rental house is coming up soon. I rub my neck, coasting to a stop. A sigh escapes my lips. Tonight felt more like a date than a friendly outing.

And there was a lot of touching.

Touching I can't make sense of despite it being innocent.

I flex my hand against the steering wheel, feeling the lasting effects of her touch.

God, when did hand-holding become intimate?

When the turning light changes to green, I make the turn through the intersection and drive past McDonalds and several other chain restaurants. We're heading down a winding hill toward the docks, a popular place where teenagers hang out during the summer—according to Penelope. I glance at her, worry creasing my brow when I see the awkward angle her neck is bent at. The way the seatbelt digs into her skin. Although she's oblivious, she looks uncomfortable. There's nothing I can do, though. Pushing aside my worry, I continue to drive down the hill. At the bottom, I take a left. The road takes me along the lakeside, past the docks and beach houses. I pass a trailer park and then a condominium before I'm able to take a right. The back roads are quieter, giving me a sense of peace. And when I see the house we're renting up ahead, I breathe a sigh of relief. While tonight was fun, I'm looking forward to going to bed. The drive back from Vernon in the dark was stressful. I've never been a fan of driving at night.

Once I've parked in the driveway, I kill the engine and pocket the keys. I then climb out of my SUV and jog around to the passenger's side. Waking Pen up is something I want to avoid, so I'm careful when I unbuckle her seatbelt and pull her into my arms. She stirs, rubbing her cheek against my jacket. A soft moan-like noise is expelled from her mouth before she falls back into a peaceful sleep.

Slamming the car door behind me, I carry Pen in through the front door, careful to not hit her head on the framing of the entrance. I kick my shoes off so I don't trudge mud through the house. I'm heading for Penelope's room. As I carry her, I can't help but acknowledge how delicious she smells. It's sweet, but not sickening. It reminds me of the cinnamon bannock Mom makes; there's a hint of fried oil combined with spices like cinnamon or allspice, and sugar. She smells like home, fresh air, and a fair. I'm tempted to bury my face in her hair and inhale.

In Penelope's room, I lay her down on the bed. Leaving her in her shoes and jacket seems wrong. I see the indent across her chest from the seatbelt, so I do her a favour. Removing her jacket is a pain in the ass, but by some miracle I remove it without waking her up. It's awkward to remove her shoes—I feel like I'm doing something wrong. Hell, if someone were to walk into the room, they'd get the wrong idea. I push past that feeling. I'm helping a friend and my intentions are morally acceptable. I want her to be comfortable while she sleeps.

After I've removed her shoes, tucking them beside the nightstand, I pull the covers up to her shoulders and make sure I fluff her pillows. I try to tell myself I'm putting in effort because that's what she would do for me, but I know it's a lie. I'm doing it because I care about her.

Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair. My fingers snag on several knots, making me curse. A haircut is going to happen in my future. Soon.

I stare down at Penelope's peaceful face. She looks like the same old Penelope to me, but there's something fascinating about watching her sleep. While she knows how to relax and have fun, it's good to know her mind isn't split between twenty different topics. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Ever since the truth about the blood relation between Patrick and Pen blew up, she's been stressed. She can put on a good act, but the subtle hints are easy to spot. I notice when she pokes her food around a plate but doesn't eat. Or she's subconsciously picking at her cuticles. I know the fear of meeting her parents is getting to her head.

What I also know is how wrong this feels. Why do I feel attracted to her? It feels wrong to rebound from Ophelia so quickly. Just like it feels wrong to throw my friendship with Pen to the wind and say Fuck it. It's a risk I'm not sure I want to take. Losing Pen's support and kindness and...

A thought occurs to me.

"Fuck," I mutter, pulling my phone from my pocket. I get to my feet and dial Jake's number. It's late, but I'm sure he's up. If not... well, that's too fucking bad for him.

Jake answers on the third ring. "Hello?"

His voice is groggy and disoriented. A pang of guilt goes through my gut, but I shove it away. Although I rarely play the "Jake Owes Me" card, I think now's a good time to play it. "She's been nothing but supportive," I ramble, shutting the door behind me. I head for my bedroom. "She tries to improve my day and always wants to hear my opinions. Jake, when you and Gemma left, what were you hinting at? Is Penelope in love with me?"

On the other end, I hear a bed creak beneath his weight. "What's going on, Cassian?"

Once I'm in my bedroom, the door closed behind me, I sit down on the floor and knock my head against the wall. "Come on, man. Don't play stupid. Does Penelope love me?"

"Cassian," he sighs. "It's not my place to answer."

"Fuck," I repeat. After living with Jake for a few years and being his best friend, it's easy to pick up on when something means yes. How have I been this oblivious? No, that's not even a question I can ask. I was oblivious because I was too focused on Ophelia. I curse under my breath. I can't imagine how Pen felt watching me pine after Ophelia. Those words of encouragement must've tasted like tar on her tongue. "I'm a fucking idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Jake argues. "Penelope knows how to hide her feelings. The only reason Gemma and I knew was because she told us. The signs were easy to spot after..."

I run my hand along the edge of the mattress, tracing the strange blue patterns. It's dark in my bedroom—the only light comes from the lamp I forgot to turn off before Pen and I left. "Is it wrong?" I ask. "To have feelings for your best friend?"

"I don't think so," Jake replies. In the background, I hear a sliding glass door open. Jake exhales and then continues to speak. "Gemma and I weren't the best of friends when I hired her. But if I go back far enough, to the night of the Spring Dance, I can admit to being in love with my best friend."

"Excuse me?" I frown.

"One of my best friends," he corrects. There's a note of laughter in his voice. Several seconds pass and then Jake sighs. "Cass, you sound unsure of yourself. The only advice I can give you is to investigate the situation. Don't commit to something you're unsure of. That will only hurt Penelope. And God knows she doesn't deserve more hurt in her life."

With guilt weighing on my conscience, I run a hand through my hair. I wonder if that comment is directed at me or finding out her parents gave her up and not Patrick. Maybe a bit of both. "Okay," I sigh, trying to sort through my jumbled feelings. "Thanks, man."

"Any time," Jake yawns.

"Sorry I woke you," I say sheepishly.

"You needed someone to talk to," he replies. "It's fine.I would like to go back to bed, though. Gemma and I have a class to attend tomorrow."

A smile curves my lips. "How's the pregnancy going?"

"So far, so good," he breathes. I can picture him sitting outside, staring at a view of the ocean while his knee bobs up and down. "It's nerve-wracking, but I'm coming to terms with everything."

"Glad to hear it. Well, I'll let you go now. Call me and tell me how the class goes."

"Will do," he chuckles. "Night, Cass."

"Bye, Jake."

After we've hung up, I toss my phone onto the bed and knock my head against the wall one more time. I feel like a fool for not seeing the obvious, and I can't help but wonder what would have happened had I kissed Penelope in the parking lot. But as soon as I weigh the outcomes, I feel weary. What happens if things don't work out between us? How could we continue on with our business?

I sigh again, realizing just what Penelope meant when she warned me about trying to win Ophelia over.