Penelope

On Monday, Cassian buys our usual muffin, strudel, and coffee before we go to the winery. It's strange to be on the receiving end, but I'm not complaining. The accumulation has taken a hit on my bank account. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop doing it. Enjoying coffee and sweets every morning we work has become a tradition. I enjoy sharing a tradition with Cassian.

"You didn't have to buy today," I smile, nudging him in the ribs.

He gives me a look. "A simple thank-you will suffice."

"Thanks," I chuckle, taking a sip of my coffee.

The fiery liquid sends a wave of warmth through my body, combating the crisp October air as we walk to the entrance of Utterly Uncorked. It's early—so early there's still frost on the browning grass. Aside from Cassian and I, there are few people here. When I scour the parking lot for Patrick's truck, I don't see it. Disappointment pokes at my mind. I'd been hoping to talk to him before he clocked in. Because of Cassian and Jake's commitment to Elemental Coffee, I want to incorporate a mural in amongst the design. I have finalized no ideas yet, but I'm leaning towards including a rustic map of their accomplishments. It'll be formatted to fit both Cassian and Jake's lineages. It's always good to show a bit of history, as it appeals to society's natural affinity for curiosity. But I want to run my idea by Patrick and see what he thinks. He's been building and designing for years. The experience under his belt will benefit me.

"You're welcome," Cassian smiles, nudging me back.

I don't know what's gotten in to Cassian since our night at the pumpkin patch. Ever since I woke up, my jacket hung on the hook behind the door and my shoes tucked away, he's been acting strange. There are moments where I catch him gazing at me. It's a gaze that makes my toes tingle. I also wonder if he can see right through me. If he can tell I'm stressed and calculating my next move regarding meeting my biological parents. The thought terrifies me, but Patrick and I deserve answers. He deserves to know why he grew up without a sister. I deserve to know why they gave me up for adoption.

That being said, there's also a part of me wondering if he's realized I'm in love with him. His gaze is like the one Jake gives Gemma when she's not looking. On Jake, it's easy to tell it represents his love for Gemma. Cassian? That's a different story. It's difficult to differentiate between care and love. I know he cares about me, but do the roots of his caring meld with love? I can't tell.

When we arrive at the front door, Cassian holds it open for me. I mutter my appreciation and then step inside, exhaling when warmth welcomes me. Although I love to snowshoe and snowboard, I'm not big on cold temperatures. Yes, it makes me a hypocrite. But I would much rather be hiking or wake boarding. I refuse to let myself turn into a helpless oaf over the winter, though. Amid my random tangents of thought, I find myself inside the coffee shop.

"Wow," Cassian says, taking his place next to me. "It already looks so different."

I nod in agreement. Now that we have gutted the place and the bases of the countertops have been installed, Elemental Coffee's new location is looking like a coffee shop. At least, it's starting to. I take another sip of my coffee, and then a bite of strudel. "It'll look better once the renovations are complete," I reply. "But you're right. It's a major improvement compared to last week. I feel like I can finally breathe without inhaling drywall dust."

Cassian takes a deep breath to test my theory. "Yes, I have to agree."

Smiling, I turn to face him. "This is exciting, seeing it all come together. Business is going to boom in the summer."

"You think so?"

I nod with confidence. "Yes, I do. People visit these wineries from all over the world, Cassian. Elemental Coffee also has a reputation in Vancouver and back home on the Island. We're going to do well amongst the British Columbians." 

He directs his gaze to mine, staring at me with a lopsided smile on his face. It reveals a single dimple. 

"What?" I ask. "Is something on my face?"

Cassian nods and reaches up to brush his thumb against the corner of my mouth. My body turns rigid as he rubs the spot. Beneath the pad of his thumb, I can feel something sticky rubbing against my skin. "Right there," he murmurs. "It was filling from the strudel."

"Oh," I reply breathlessly. "Thanks."

Cassian's thumb lingers at the corner of my mouth as he stares down at me. He's slightly taller than me, but I feel half his height. Within the past forty-eight hours, I've been a victim of his intense gaze at least five times. My stomach muscles clench as he brushes my bottom lip with this thumb. His touch is so soft it tickles. I want to drop my belongings and slide my hands up his biceps, but I'm frozen in place, wondering if I'm hallucinating. Maybe I've been drinking too much coffee. There's no way this is real. Even if he's no longer pining for Ophelia, he wouldn't dare to cross the friendship line between us.

But the longer he stares into my eyes, the more I question my own thoughts. After all the time I've spent pining over him, maybe I'm so used to being considered a friend I'm oblivious to what's in front of me. If Cassian's realized I'm in love with him, maybe he's not afraid to dive in. His decision would be secure; he wouldn't have to worry about me not contributing to a relationship.

I edge closer to him, wishing he would kiss me the way someones eats their first bite of dessert at a restaurant. A slow, savouring mouthful, followed by indulgence guilty as sin.

"What do you guys think?"

We jerk apart, my cheeks filling with heat. I clear my throat and glance over Cassian's shoulder. It's Patrick. He's leaning in the doorway, wearing his paint-stained blue jeans and a black muscle shirt. A tool belt rides low on his waist. He's also wearing his steel-toed boots. There's a subtle smirk on his face. It reminds me of myself, which makes me wonder what our parents look like. Aside from the photo of my biological mom when she was a teenager, I'm unaware of detailed features. I'm curious to know what else I inherited.

"It looks great, man," Cassian says, steadying himself. I note the faint hint of breathlessness in his voice. It makes my heart pound. "I'm not much of a visualizer. I'll like it more when the project is complete and we have a viable coffee shop." He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee. "No offense. The work you and your team have done is impeccable."

"None taken," Patrick replies, striding over to us. "Hey, Penelope. How's it going?" When he stops beside Cassian and I, he smiles at us. I smile back.

"Okay," Cassian says, taking a step to the side. "Stop smiling. It's weird enough knowing you're twins. Seeing the same smile is too much." He pauses, rubbing his jaw. "How did I not see it from the beginning?"

His voice is so low only I hear it. Patrick is too busy discussing their upcoming plans for today.

I roll my shoulders back, repositioning my leather binder. It's difficult to balance with my coffee and strudel. There hasn't been a day that's passed where I haven't wondered the same thing Cassian murmured. From the moment I made eye contact with Patrick, I should've been able to pick out the similarities.

"So," Patrick says, "what are you guys doing here today?"

"We have a meeting with Ophelia about a potential opening date and if we want it to be a grand or soft opening," I reply. "We also wanted to see how things are going." I glance around the area, comparing it to a skeleton. The basic foundations of a coffee shop are present. It's a promising sight and although I can picture what it's going to look like, I have to agree with Cassian. When the aesthetics are in place, everything will look better.

Patrick rolls his eyes. "Have fun with that."

He's referring to that disastrous dinner where Ophelia was blatant with her opinions. Her words were offensive. She may not know what Patrick meant when he said he was closer to his sister than she thought. She may not know I'm the sister he was looking for. But neither of those reasons gives her the right to act indifferent. Her reaction is also part of the reason we're not quite ready to break the news to her. Finding out we're cousins will not go well. That being said, I would like to know why she's never supported Patrick.

"I'm sure we will," Cassian chuckles. "As long as we keep you and Pen being twins behind closed curtains."

Behind us, something clatters to the floor.

The three of us jump and turns around. My heart drops to my feet when I see Ophelia standing in the entrance. She's dropped her business binder, and her purse has slipped from her grip, the contents spilling across the tile. As Ophelia stares at us, disbelief present on her face, I notice she has a similar jaw shape to Patrick and I. It must have been a prominent gene our moms shared.

Her gaze flicks between us. It's cold and calculating, despite the blatant look of shock on her face. Patrick and I stand next to each other, unmoving. If Ophelia couldn't spot the similarities before, she now has.

"You can't be serious," she says.

"About what?" Patrick challenges. "Be specific."

Ophelia flicks her gaze to mine. "You really believe his insane proclamations? Penelope, he's been spewing nonsense like this for years. It's been toxic to the family."

"Ophelia," I reply, pushing past the need to yell at her. How dare she speak cruelly about Patrick! "Patrick and I did a DNA test. We are twins. If you would like to see proof, we can provide it."

Ophelia snorts. "My aunt and uncle would never give up one child and keep the other. It's preposterous."

Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose. "Will you, for one second, stop defending my parents? They gave Penelope up for adoption." Patrick and I exchange a glance and I give him a supportive smile, despite the dreary atmosphere. "We did a DNA test. What other proof do you need?"

"Their looks?" Cassian snorts.

As if Ophelia forgot about Cassian, she blinks and turns to him. "You knew about this?"

I tense, not liking her tone of voice or that she's dragging Cassian in to this mess. Aside from keeping the secret until I could accept it, he has no part in this. I glance out the window, taking in the lake and mountains, wishing I was far away from this drama. I hate drama, but something tells me I'm stuck with it for the long run.

Cassian rests a hand on my shoulder. "Yes. Penelope and Patrick trusted me to keep their secret. I respected their request because the news was an overload. They needed time to come to terms with the newfound information."

Shoving past me, Ophelia jabs Cassian in the chest. "Why didn't you say something?"

I step forward, ready to backhand her, but Patrick grabs my arm and shakes his head. He'd love to see me bitch-slap our cousin, so I know he's preventing me from making a mistake to protect our business partnership. I'm sure I'll thank him.

Cassian frowns. "Because it wasn't my story to tell. And after the reaction you had at dinner, I didn't think you gave a fuck about Patrick. Which, I might add, is inconsiderate. How would you feel, finding out you had a long-lost sibling? For the love of God, Ophelia! What the hell happened to you?"

Ophelia's lips part and then close, reminding me of a fish breathing above water. For all I care, she could be a fish—slimy and gross. I'm mad she's disrespecting Patrick. I'm mad she's pinning the lack of transparency on Cassian. We kept the secret—and still want to keep it from our parents—because it's a shock to our systems. We need time to plan our approach. To adapt to these crazy changes.

"I need some air," Ophelia mutters, spinning on her heel and exits the coffee shop at a brisk pace.

As Ophelia exits the room, we stare after her, watching the last of the drywall dust flutter to the ground. Someone must have missed a patch when they were cleaning last night.

"I should talk to her," Cassian sighs.

"Why?" Patrick snorts. He leans down to collect the hammer that's slipped from his tool belt.

"Cassian wants to teach her how to relax," I explain.

Patrick snorts again. "Good luck with that. Let me know how it goes." He steps behind the partially installed counter space and admires his work. The frown on his face tells me he's calculating what to do next; he's trying to shift over from drama mode to work mode. Beneath his focus, though, Patrick looks shaken. I make a mental note to ask why he's singled out, despite inferring I won't be able to get the answer from him. Being singled out stems from him trying to find me, so it must have something to do with the decision his—our parents made. I've fit several pieces of the puzzle together, but not enough to see the full picture.

Leaving Patrick alone, I turn back to Cassian. He's collected everything Ophelia dropped, including the several tubes of lipstick that fell out of her purse. Once he's standing, he turns to me. His eyes are full of regret. "I'm sorry, Pen. I didn't mean for her to hear that."

I grab Cassian's hand and squeeze it. "It wasn't your fault. We discussed that topic to begin with. We all should've been more careful." I sigh. "As much as she doesn't deserve respect—she didn't treat Patrick with respect—I think you're the only one who will calm her down. You can show her the copy of Patrick's and I's results if you want to."

He squeezes my hand with gentle force. "Thanks for letting me send them to Mom. She's always asking questions about you."

A smile curves my lips. "I love your mom."

"Everyone does," Cassian shrugs. His gaze meets mine with that same level of intensity I saw earlier. "Well, I, uh, better get this to Ophelia."

As Cassian turns around and exits the coffee shop, I stare after him, questioning myself. Am I inferring too heavily, or did Cassian want to disregard Ophelia and stay with me? His gaze, holding my hand, telling his mom about me... it seems too related to be a coincidence.