Cassian

It's a good thing Penelope convinces me to leave. As we're walking back to my SUV, temptation prods at the back of my mind. Renee deserves to be put in her place. She deserves to know how her decision has affected Pen. What is filtering through my mind, though, is not good. I also can't predict how I'll react if Renee tries to justify her argument. Besides, I have to remember this is Pen and Patrick's problem. They need to decide how they want to approach the parents. As much as I enjoy spoiling things for Jake—just to push his buttons—this is too serious of a topic for my teasing tactics. It would be a betrayal to Pen. Revealing her identity against her will isn't right. 

After we stop at home, gathering some warmer clothes, Pen and I head into Kelowna. The place where you can buy real Christmas trees is just outside of Canadian Tire. In the parking lot, to be exact. It's boring and bland, but I suppose the lights strung over the fenced area and the tiny falling snowflakes add a hint of magic. On the far side, next to the booth where you pay, the highway acts as a backdrop. I wish we could experience a real Christmas tree farm, but the only legitimate Christmas tree farm in Kelowna is already closed. And Pen wants to decorate tonight. Besides, the taco food truck makes up for the industrial vibe radiating from the surrounding buildings and highway.

"One day," Pen says, "I want to travel across Canada and visit every food truck." She takes a bite of her crunchy taco shell, salsa dripping from the corner of her mouth. She wipes it away with a flick of her tongue. 

I have to admit, that sounds like one helluva trip. "Imagine all the hiking you could do, too. West Coast Trail, Lake Louise, Skyline Trail..." I trail off, thinking about the journeys we could go on, all the food we could taste. Pen and I would have a blast driving for hours, listening to Hozier and Lord Huron on repeat with the windows rolled down. We'd take turns driving, and we'd never run out of topics to discuss.

"The West Coast Trail wouldn't have a food truck," Pen laughs.

"No," I smile. "But we could do the West Coast Trail first, and then pig out on food truck food after."

Pen's posture straightens. When she glances up at me, I note the snowflakes that have caught in her lashes. Her cheeks are pink from the bitter cold and rogue strands of blonde hair are curled around her face, sticking out from beneath her cream-coloured, knitted toque. "U-us? We?" she stutters. Her eyes are bright beneath the gaudy street lamps. The hope in the depths of their colour is breathtaking, making me feel guilty for not realizing her feelings sooner.

"Yeah," I reply with an honest conscience. Travelling with Pen would be my idea of a perfect vacation. She's adventurous and isn't afraid to take risks—as long as they're logical. "Don't you think it would be fun?"

"Yes," she nods. The colour deepens, turning her pink cheeks a shade of scarlet.

Her embarrassment causes a chain reaction, causing my cheeks to heat. I've been trying to work up the courage to ask Pen out on a date since Halloween. After the night ended and we were free of our costumes, Pen went to bed before me. I stayed up well past midnight, calculating my options. I'd be stupid to not take that step. If Gemma had the courage to move her relationship status from "fake" to "real," then I can do the same. I can change my relationship status from "pondering" to "willing." Losing Pen as a friend terrifies me, but I don't want to go to the grave kicking myself for not taking the chance. Somehow, knowing she's in love with me increases the pressure I'm putting on myself. The last thing I want to do is disappoint. 

As we walk across the snowy asphalt, avoiding other couples and families, I glance at Pen. She inspects each tree with careful consistence. Aside from the varying heights, each tree looks the same to me; you could easily string lights throughout the limbs and decorate them with Christmas ornaments to imply Merry Christmas. But there must be something different about each one as she steps back five feet and analyzes the tree from several vantage points.

"Yes," I hear her say. She nods. "That's the tree I want. Cassian, wrap that pink ribbon around it. Craig, the man at the front, will haul it over and help us load it atop the vehicle. We just have to tell him which colour ribbon we had."

The corner of my mouth curves upward. "How do you know?"

She shoots me a skeptical look. "Because he told us?"

I shake my head. "No, silly. How do you know that's the right tree?"

Pen turns back to the tree, curling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "It's densely branched, has a good shape, is dark-green, and smells like balsam pine. The trunk is straight and isn't visible through the foliage." She saunters over to the tree and removes a glove, stroking the needles with her freshly painted fingers. Her food balances in the other hand, along with her glove. The colour on her nails is cranberry red, coated in sparkles, matching the Christmas trees and falling snow. Between two fingers, she bends a needle in half. It doesn't snap. "When a pine tree is fresh, the needles will bend and not break. If we were going for a fir, we could want the needles to snap." With the same hand, Pen gently grabs the inside of the brach and pulls her hand toward her. Save for a few rogue ones, the needles stay on the tree. "It's a good one, Cass," she smiles. "Trust me."

I take a deep breath. To be honest, I'm hardly paying attention to the Christmas tree now. Beneath the street light, Pen looks like a screenshot of a Hallmark movie. She's surrounded by whirling snowflakes, snow-capped Christmas trees, and the night sky above. Snow crunches beneath her boots as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her blonde hair spills down and around her shoulders, creating a striking colour contrast against her wine-red winter jacket. I almost need to lean against a tree to keep my balance.

Pen is stunning.

I wonder what it's like for someone to look so picturesque. Pen is the type of person who will wave off a comment about her beauty, but she has to know the compliments are true. Right?

Working up the courage, I walk over to her and loop my arm around her waist. Her shocked gaze connects with mine, stealing any oxygen from my lungs as memories of our kiss outside of Rocco's swarms my mind. It's funny how our roles have switched. Instead of me being shocked by her actions, she's shocked by my actions. I haven't thought about where I'm going to take her for our first date, but I know from previous outings she enjoys the snow. There are plenty of places in the Okanagan to go snowshoeing.

Penelope shakes away the shock, reverting to her confident self. "It's going to look stunning in the living room, right?" she asks.

I'm not great at imagining things. I prefer to see the end product. Also, if I'm being honest, I'm not sure why Pen wants to decorate a Christmas tree. I was going to head back to Vancouver Island to spend Christmas with Mom. She's going to be cooped up with her parents, Gabriel, and the recent addition of Patrick. I would hate to see her disappointed, though. Pen loves Christmas. "I think it's going to look stunning," I reply.

She takes the final bite of her taco. "Hm," she replies. "I agree."

Her words are muffled but understandable. For the next few minutes, we stand in front of our tree and finish the food. Once we're done, I collect the garbage and toss it in a nearby trash can. When I'm heading back to Pen, I give myself a pep-talk. I can do this. Pen and I will go snowshoeing. We'll have hot chocolate or coffee in a Thermos, and maybe some sandwiches and snacks. We could go out for lunch after.

Before I say anything, though, I tie the ribbon around the branch of our tree. 

"Ready to go?" Pen smiles, adjusting her toque. The pom-pom on top is lopsided, adding a level of cuteness I can't fathom to her beauty. She's the perfect combination of sexy, cute, and beautiful. It muddles my male brain.

"Yeah," I reply, licking my lips. I exhale deeply, watching my breath evaporate into the cold air. "Can I ask you something, Pen?"

She stops and turns around. "Yeah?"

I run a hand through my damp hair, making a note to wear a toque next time we're walking around in the snow. "Do you want to go out?" I ask. "On a date. I was thinking we could go snowshoeing on the weekend. Or tomorrow. Whatever works."

Penelope's mouth opens and closes. She repeats the motion twice, stuttering over her words. "Are... Are you serious?"

"Yes," I nod, feeling more sure of myself than I ever have. "I want take you on a date. I'm... I'm sorry it's taken me so long to realize my feelings pass the boundaries of the friend zone. Potentially losing you as a friend terrifies me. But then I look at Jake and Gemma..." I sign off with a shrug, feeling slightly pathetic. God, when did I become nervous around Pen? Weeks ago, I stood in front of her using nothing but my hand to cover my junk. Now, I can barely form complete sentences around her.

"Are... Are you sure?" she stutters again. "You're not just asking me to make me feel better?"

Her comment makes me wonder exactly how long she's had feelings for me. And how long she's been talking to Jake and Gemma. But, more importantly, what Jake and Gemma have told her. "I'm sure," I nod. "I... I think we should try this. If you want to."

"Yes," she replies, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'd love to go snowshoeing."

"Okay," I smile. My nerves haven't calmed down, despite her saying yes. "Well, uh, let's go get our Christmas tree?"

"Right," she blinks. She tears her gaze away from my mouth. "The tree. We need to decorate tonight."

Just like that, she's back to the same determined Penelope Montgomery. I watch her stride down the snowy pathway, her boots leaving delicate footprints in the white powder. The fear of losing her because of our relationship going south plagues me, but there's also something within me. A fire smouldering on a snowy evening. I want to see where this goes. I want it to work. If the passion between us is anything like the kiss outside of Rocco's barbershop...

Maybe it will cure my semi-addiction to smoking.

I think about being able to kiss her every morning and the feelings I experienced on the sidewalk.

Yeah, that would work.

Smiling to myself, I follow Penelope down the trail, ignoring any of my self-doubt. I feel something undeniable for her—it was obvious in the way I kissed her back.

All I need to solve is how strong these feelings truly are.