Penelope

"You didn't have to get me a hot chocolate," I smile, licking whipped cream from my fingers. I dip my finger in again. The whipped cream is the best part. 

"Please," Cassian laughs. "You love your peppermint hot chocolate. Besides, it's snowing." He reaches down to grab his coffee cup. After a sip, he shoots me a sardonic grin. "You must feel extra Christmassy with your toque, the snow, and peppermint hot chocolate."

I rest a hand on my baby-pink toque. The pom-pom on top has silver sparkles. Although there are no Christmas trees or candy canes patterning it, it reminds me of the holidays. It reminds me of the champagne toast candle from Bath & Body Works, which I burn every Christmas. The correlation between the two items stirs up the holiday spirit. Which is why I associate baby-pink with Christmas. It's a very non-traditional colour, but I don't care. 

"What is it with you and holidays?" I ask, giving his shoulder a nudge. "You're very pessimistic about them."

"What?" he snorts, easing the brakes to a stop. It hasn't stopped snowing since the night we got our Christmas tree. The roads are icy, but I'm at ease with Cassian's driving. Other peoples' driving scares me. When the road is clear, Cassian takes a right. We're in the Glenrosa area, on our way up to Telemark—a lodge for snowshoeing and cross-country skiing. I'm not sure which trail Cassian has chosen, but I hope it's Jack Creek. It's a ten-kilometre hike alongside an old logging road. If you switch to the Crystal Mountain Trail at the six-point-five kilometre mark, there's a spectacular lookout.

"I'm not pessimistic," he continues.

"You must feel extra Christmassy," I mock, cocking an eyebrow.

We drive up a steep incline. At the top, it flattens out. That's when he blesses me with an eye roll. And a sheepish grin. "There's a difference between pessimism and teasing, Pen. I'm teasing you. I don't like Halloween, though the couple costume made me feel less isolated. Christmas is overrated, but I'm not dissing it. I enjoy the comfort it brings. It strengthens the ties of families and friends." He mutters something under his breath.

Lovers.

"Which one is your favourite?" I ask. Although his additional word has caused my tongue to turn to molasses, I need to fuel the conversation.

Cassian ponders my question for a moment, leaving nothing but the slow trickle of Willow by Taylor Swift playing. Aside from Halloween, I know he dislikes Canada Day. It's a harsh reminder of what happened to his ancestors when Europeans first came to North America. When Cassian pointed out how selfish it is for us to celebrate stolen land and stripping away the rights of First Nations, I was ashamed. I still am. We should approach Canada Day with melancholy. We shouldn't be throwing parties and parades. We should learn about our past and work to prevent further systemic racism from occurring. Never again will I be excited about the "holiday."

"New Year's Eve," Cassian says.

His response surprises me. But only because I could picture him at the bar with Jake on St. Patty's Day, dancing on top of the bar and slurring their words. Trust me, it's happened before. Those two went hard on St. Patty's Day back in March. Their hangovers lasted for three days, leaving Gemma and I to baby them. I spoon-fed Cassian tomato soup and soda crackers for three freaking days.

"How come?"

We're in a less populated area now, where the forests are dense and white, with prominent smudges of green from the pine trees. The roads have also gotten worse, which is why Cassian's shifted into four-wheel drive. His SUV lurches as the tires grind against the slippery surface, gaining traction. The movement causes my anxiety to spike and I shift in my seat.

"Hey," Cassian says, resting his hand on my knee. I'd rather he keep both hands on the steering wheel, but his touch is warm and comforting. It gives me a sense of safety. "Take a deep breath, Pen. We're going to be fine."

He removes his hand from my knee and returns it to the steering wheel. My exhale is shaky. "I hate driving in the snow."

"You might want some Ativan for the drive home," he murmurs.

I refuse to think about our drive to the lower mainland. The highways are deadly this time of year. Maybe I can convince Cassian to stay in West Kelowna until the snow has melted. "You haven't explained your answer." Because Cassian's acts of affection are getting to my head, I glance out the passenger window, watching the swirl of green and white zip by. The odd house blurs with the backdrop. While the city has its magical attributes, with the lights and Christmas décor, it doesn't compare to nature. The trees and mountains look like they've been dipped in icing sugar; they're covered with no imperfections. A soft blanket of white.

"It's going to sound cheesy," he murmurs.

"If it's your opinion," I say, "it's not cheesy." My hand itches to rest on his thigh, to comfort him. But I can't do it. I'm too aware of my actions. What if I scare him off? My emotions towards him are strong. I don't want to overwhelm him.

He sighs. "I like New Year's Eve because it signifies growth. Even if the world feels like it's stepped back, things are still changing. We're not given a blank slate, but we're allowed to look back on the previous year and ask ourselves difficult questions. What can I do to become a better person? How can I contribute?" He trails off for a moment, staring at the whiteout ahead of us. Snow weighs heavily on the branches, bending them against their will. Yet... even with all the weight, they're strong enough to remain standing. "I celebrate New Year's Eve to remind myself there's still time. There's still hope for the world, no matter how corrupt it is."

I take a sip of my hot chocolate, licking the whipped cream from my lips. "How do you know?"

"Because of you," Cassian replies, his lips curving into a small smile. He makes eye contact with me. "People like you give the world hope, Penelope. You have willingness and courage. The ability to change lives."

The urge to snort is strong. When have I ever changed someone's life? Besides, while the support and understanding from a white person can be helpful (so long as they do the right thing), the voice who speaks shouldn't be white. We already have privilege. I don't have the right to speak about something I've never experienced. Nothing makes my voice more powerful than Cassian's. His is redoubtable—when people choose to listen.

"There are plenty of assholes out there," he continues, taking a left from the main road. We pull into a large, ploughed parking lot. There aren't many parking spots left, but Cassian finds one at the far side, tucked behind a large truck. "Society isn't divided by the people who listen and the ones who don't. We're always listening. To the news, the media, friends and family, songs, and novels. We can hear the anguished cries of inequality and injustice. We hear them every day. We see them every day. What divides us is the lack of strength and humility. Of empathy. People base their decisions on what they can handle. Not what is right or morally acceptable."

Cassian shifts into park and kills the engine. He takes one more sip of his coffee before turning to me. As he continues, he unbuckles his seatbelt. "The support you give people like me, Pen, adds fuel to the fire. You change lives by being an ally. By standing up for what is right without your voice becoming overpowering. You are back up in this war; never taking the lead but always fighting." Although he hesitates, he reaches over and rests a hand above my heart. He's careful with placing his hand, making sure it's closer to my collarbone than it is my breast. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, biting back tears. "That comes from the strength you have here." He removes his hand and slides it up to my temple, which he lightly taps. "And here."

I'm not sure when it happens, but my hand slides up his arm until I'm gripping his wrist. Beneath my skin, I can feel the compulsive beat of his pulse. Cassian's pointer finger tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His jaw is set firm, as if he's torn between two decisions. His gaze flicks down to my lips.

I wonder if he knows how strong he is. He's suppressed by stereotypes, degraded by racism, and treated with inequality. That can't be easy for the soul to bear. History is stuck in an endless loop. Skin colour is part of culture and history, but who decided it was a factor to revoke rights and ruin lives? It should be acknowledged and respected. When does the injustice stop? No matter what colour your skin is, we're all human. Acknowledge colour, accept colour, respect colour—don't let it manipulate your opinion.

His thumb grazes the curve of my cheekbone. The chills prickling my spine aren't coming from the cold. They're coming from his touch. From the way he's looking at me. His eyes are a honey-brown, almost gold. They're clear and bright. Full of... of happiness and awe. I can't help but wonder if he's been suppressing his feelings for me. And if he has, for how long?

Love is relentless. It will drown you. It will consume you. It will slowly spread through your body like poison, infecting every cell until you're unaware of anything else. It's beautiful and deadly.

Clearing his throat, Cassian drops his hand from my hair. "We should get going."

Before I can say another word, Cassian has exited the SUV. He heads to the back and opens it, extracting our snowshoes and backpacks. I slump in my seat, adjusting the placement of my toque before I toss back the rest of my peppermint hot chocolate like a shot. 

I leave the empty paper coffee cup in the cupholder, closing the door behind me. Somehow, it feels like we're moving too fast. Or am I hyperaware of everything I was oblivious to before? We've always had a connection.

I don't think I understood how deep it went until now.

* * *

My cheeks are pink and my toes are numb. Halfway up to the lookout, the snow started falling harder, leaving Cassian and I surrounded by a blizzard. And while the fog obstructs our view of West Kelowna, it adds bewitchment to the scenery. I feel like I've stepped into a fairytale. The trees stand tall and encompassed in snow. The wind swirls around us, dictating the direction of the snowflakes. Fog hangs low and thick, giving the white a greyish hue.

"God," Cassian says. "I didn't think it would snow this much." He shakes snowflakes from his hair and then pulls on his toque again.

"Yeah," I joke. "Good thing you brought a toque this time."

He gives me a deadpan look and drawls, "Hilarious."

I glance up at the sky, grinning as snowflakes kiss my skin. Cassian should know by now I find enjoyment in teasing him. His reactions are far from malicious, and he's always responding with a smile or sarcasm. I think he adores someone other than Jake poking at him. To be honest, I like it when he tries to get me back. Our teasing is healthy, never overstepping boundaries. 

Snow crunches beneath his snowshoes as he walks to a nearby stump, brushing away the dusting of snow atop it. Cassian is bundled up, but it isn't hard to tell how fit he is beneath his bulky winter jacket—it stretches tight as he shrugs his backpack off. He sets the backpack down on the stump and unzips it, rummaging through until he finds a brown paper bag. It's crumpled from the hike up here. However, the muffin and strudel he removes are in pristine condition.

A smile curves my lips as he hands me the apple strudel. I remove my gloves before taking it. "Talk about breaking tradition," I tease, stuffing my gloves in my pocket. "I thought these were only a before work thing?"

Cassian snorts. "I'm not breaking tradition. I'm... enhancing it."

I take a bite of apple strudel, chewing thoughtfully. It's chewy and sticky, and sweetness explodes across my tongue. I wipe filling from the corner of my mouth. "That's a good way to define it."

"Of course it is," Cassian winks.

Averting my gaze, I stare at the trail below us. It's a steep incline and my hip flexors are still burning from the hike up.

"Cross-country skis would come in handy, wouldn't they?" Cassian asks, walking up to my side. A chocolate crumb sits at the corner of his mouth, making me want to flick it away. With my mouth. And I'm not ashamed of it. There's a difference between fantasizing and obsessing. Fantasies aren't a problem until they turn into obsessions. I don't think fantasizing about kissing someone qualifies as an obsession.

"They would," I nod. "We could slide down the hill. But we're completing the loop, right?"

"If you want to," he shrugs. "I'm good with whatever." He squints into the fog. "There isn't much of a view, though."

As if I care about the view. Being up here with Cassian feels magical, and I feel content with his smile. It means he's having a good time. "That's okay. The view doesn't matter. What matters is we're up here having fun."

A bashful smile spreads across his lips as he glances down at the muffin. He picks at the crumble on top, watching as crumbs fall and disappear into the snow. But then that smile falters, and a crease forms between his thick eyebrows.

"Pen..." he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

He presses his lips into a flat line. "Do you know what I wanted to do to you in the car?"

My lips tingle. I'm not a perfect judge of emotions, but it wasn't hard to tell Cassian wanted to kiss me. "No," I reply.

Cassian sighs, wrapping the muffin up and pocketing it. There's a slight quiver in his voice. "This scares me. I'm torn in half, questioning which side I should listen to. There's a constant push and pull. I think... I think it's why I clung to Ophelia. The thought of being occupied with someone else made me think our friendship would last forever." His brownish-gold eyes flick to mine. "It distracted me from how I was really feeling. All those times I went out with Ophelia, I was comparing her to you. Now that I think about it, I don't think any other woman can compare to you. I just... I want you to know I never meant to hurt you. It's my fault I let my emotions fool me, but I never ever meant to hurt you. I'm sorry if it did..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I was jealous about you and Patrick. Before you found out you were siblings, that is. It is selfish to say I felt relief when you told me?" 

He's being repetitive—he's already apologized for disallowing himself to realize his underlying feelings. But I can't be picky. A real man isn't afraid to admit the truth. To show his emotions. I refuse to point out his repetition in case it inflicts toxic masculinity upon him. What he's doing is admirable and rare. It makes me respect him even more.

I can't shy away from the shock, either. He's confirmed my assumptions. He had feelings for me longer than expected. It makes my heart feel bubbly, like champagne. But I can't let Cassian shoulder all the blame. There's a difficult line friends have to walk. I could've told him I respected his decision to date Ophelia, but also stated I didn't like it. I could have expressed my feelings because they were perfectly valid. 

It's a fine line between support and hostility. You don't want to make your friend feel suppressed. As if their words and feelings mean nothing. But you also want them to make moral decisions that will benefit them. Who am I to fault him for fearing losing our friendship? Who is he to fault me for supporting him, although it hurt to watch him get close to someone else? Cassian and I—we have made no mistakes. We were looking out for each other; trying to be the friend someone deserves.

"Hey," I say, nudging him in the arm. "You didn't make any mistakes. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to risk losing someone." I cast my gaze to the foggy view. The horizon along the mountains is split in two; a line of bright light sits between the peaks and the heavy layer of clouds above. "That's what makes love truly terrifying. The possibility of losing someone. No matter what type."

"You think there are different types of love?" he asks.

I nod. "People can't fathom the depths of the word. We overuse it as a society. It's been moulded in different ways. When I first met you, I loved your humour. It was the most appealing thing about you at the campsite—especially when you would target Jake. I loved your humour the way I love red wine. Then, there's the love I have for my parents. The love I want to one day have for Patrick. Family love. It's like the way you can love your friends. They're a different family; one that isn't blood related..."

"And?" he pushes.

"And that's the difference between friends and family. Without the blood relation, there's a chance that love can blossom into something more. You love everything about them, wondering if there's a possibility they'll ever feel the same way about you." I take a deep breath, directing my gaze to his brownish-gold eyes. "I want to take all the things I love about you and make it into something more. Something beyond such an overused word. I want to take those little things and combine them so I can love you as a whole. I find that's what dating does... but that's just my opinion."

Cassian cocks a brow at me. He raises it so high it almost disappears beneath his low touque. Snowflakes catch on his lashes, sticking for several seconds before they melt. Everything about him is fatal to my heart and blood pressure. "What do you like about me?"

A small smile curves my lips. "Everything. How are you supposed to love someone if you don't accept everything about them?"

"Hm..." He averts his gaze to the view. I can't tell if his cheeks are tinged pink because of the cold or bashfulness.

"W-What did you want to do to me?" I blurt.

He turns to me.

My cheeks turn red. The question has been poking at me since this conversation started. I need to know.

"Do you want me to show you?" He takes a hesitant step in my direction.

His question scares me. I'm not sure how severe his answer will be. Is he going to kiss me? Or will he do other things? A shudder radiates down my spine as I press my legs together. Goddamn me and my dirty mind. He hasn't touched me and I'm already a mess.

But do I want him to show me?

My answer is yes. I trust Cassian. He's a respectful man who will treat my words with respect. We sit on an even scale; one person isn't worth more than the other. Until I tell him to stop, he can do whatever he wants to me.

"Y-Yes," I stutter.

The remaining space between us disappears, and he rests one hand on my hip. The other hand cups my face, pulling me closer. He dips down, lips brushing mine, warm and gentle. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, almost like a sigh, and murmurs, "I'm terrified of losing you, Pen. I don't think I could live without you in my life."

Thoughts burn to fragments as he deepens the kiss, my mind becoming nothing but the ricochet of sensations flooding my body. The way he feels is prominent in how he kisses me. Where there's hesitance, there's also self-control. Where there's self-control, there's passion. His hand on my face is warm, despite the bone-chilling breeze and swirling snowflakes. My head is dizzy with disbelief. I'm hot all over.

It's a fire. A goddamn blaze that's been doused with gasoline.

The apple strudel in my hand falls to the snow as I lace my arms around his neck, tasting the hint of chocolate and caramel on his tongue. The taste feels seductive; like pairing red wine and dark chocolate together during a bubble bath. There's also a hint of smoke.

A though occurs to me. 

Oh, for fuck's sake. He was smoking again.

"Cassian!" I exclaim, gripping his shoulders. His lips are swollen when he pulls back.

"What?" he asks, concern lacing his voice. "I'm sorry!" He pauses, frowning at me. "What did I do?"

"Where you smoking again?!"

He blinks several times before a smug grin crosses his lips. "There are nerves that must be dealt with, Pen," he chuckles. "I snuck one when we stopped at the outhouse."

I tighten my grip on his biceps. It took me a while to deal with the layers of clothes and the snowshoes on my feet before I could relieve my bladder. He could've easily snuck a cigarette while I was fumbling with the straps of my snowshoes. Goddamn him. "I don't care if you do it every once in a while. It's bad for you! Addiction is terrible when the thing you're addicted to is bad for your health."

Cassian's gaze flicks down to my lips. "Give me a minute and I might have another addiction to battle. Or to replace it." He slides his arm around my waist, pressing a hand to my lower back. Our foreheads press together, snowflakes melting against our heated skin. "Besides, I thought you loved everything about me. That you wanted to turn it into something more."

My knees wobble a little. His charm is detrimental to my health. I hate him smoking, but his addiction is part of what's led to our playful banter and everlasting game of tag. I'm still waiting for his tactics of revenge.

But when he kisses me again, I'm wondering if this is what he had planned.

To bend me to his wind, like the branches of a willow tree.

"And maybe... maybe I want to do the same," he adds between kisses. 

I tighten my arms around his neck, losing myself in the kiss.

Whatever the reason, I can't deny the wave of utter happiness rushing through me as his lips move against mine.