Cassian

The disappointment on Penelope's face still haunts me.

The moment I saw that, felt that emotion radiating from her, I realized something important. That's what I'm terrified of. Disappointing her. It's the reason I second-guess myself. Why I continue to question how fast this relationship is moving. I don't want to fuck up and disappoint her.

I'll admit, now that December's arrived and we've gone on a few dates, the intensity of my second-guessing has diminished. Doubt is still a lingering ghost, though. Which I think is good. I'm aware of what I'm doing and how I make Penelope feel. I don't want her to feel insignificant or unequal. Adding to her disappointment would only make me feel like a terrible person.

I slide the razor down my jaw, shaving away the rest of my stubble. After I've rinsed the razor off, I wet a cloth and wipe away any residual shaving foam from my skin. I then apply some moisturizing cream. It feels good to have a clean face again.

"You better clean the sink out," Penelope says. She walks past me and stops in front of the other sink, grabbing her toothbrush.

I wrinkle my nose. Her comment surprises me. Jake teases me all the time about being a clean freak. I can't stand it when things are messy. Just looking at the mess of shaving foam streaks and stubs of hair makes me cringe. Pen should know me by now. "You honestly think I was going to leave it?"

Penelope runs her toothbrush under the tap and then squeezes some toothpaste onto it. "No," she smiles, stuffing her toothbrush in her mouth. "I'm teasing you." She presses the button, filling the bathroom with the hum of her electric toothbrush.

Rolling my eyes, I get to work on cleaning the sink. Hair is annoying to clean. Every time you think you're done, you spot another piece. It's a never ending game. While I'm fighting with the remnants, I ask Pen about her plans for the day. "What are you and Patrick planning on doing?"

Work has slowed down due to the upcoming holidays. We're past the intensive work; all drywall dust is gone. Now, we're waiting on orders to arrive. We need to install kitchen appliances, decorate, and finish painting. After that, it's all about exposure and our soft grand opening. That's why they're taking the day off and I'm the only one going in today.

Penelope spits and rinses off her toothbrush, setting it in the cup next to the sink. "We're going out for lunch to review our approach." She flicks her gaze to her hands, and I see she's picking at her nail polish again. It's something she does when she's anxious.

"Hey," I say, taking her hands. "You and Patrick'll be okay. Even if it doesn't work out, you've still got your family and friends. And if Patrick's parents are jackasses and refuse to acknowledge how he feels, we'll induct him into our group."

Pen smiles up at me and squeezes my hands. "We can always count on you, can't we, Cass?"

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. "That kid's grown on me. Jake likes him, too."

"Speaking of Jake," Penelope says. "You're picking him up from the airport, right?"

"Of course," I reply.

She gives me a skeptical look. "Let me rephrase that. You're not going to forget to pick him up, are you?"

If I'm being honest, picking up Jake had slipped my mind until now. I would've remembered, but not until later. "I won't forget to pick my best friend up," I snort. "Come on, Pen. Have some faith."

She cocks a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. Yesterday, she went out with her mom for a spa day. Pen got her eyebrows done, a manicure, and a massage—I heard all about it last night. I glance down at her fingernails, admiring the cranberry red and little glittery snowflakes. It's cute how she gets them done to match the season. Even the small chips in the colouring are cute. "You didn't forget to pick Hanna up from school, then?"

I run a hand through my hair, sighing. My hair has grown, but it's not at the length I want. "That was years ago, Pen. I'm a new man."

Penelope untangles her hands from mine as she throws her head back and laughs. "Cassian, you forgot to pick up almond milk from the grocery store. Almond milk was the first item on the list."

God, it appears I can't catch a break.

Crossing my arms, I lean back and cock my head to the side. "Why do you get your eyebrows done?"

She meets my gaze with a challenging stare. "Be specific, Cassian. Why do I get them shaped? Or why do I get them tattooed?"

I blink. What? "They tattoo your eyebrows?"

"Not all of them," she replies. "Just a section." She reaches up and taps her left eyebrow, where the skin is still slightly pink. "When I was a kid, I fell and hit my brow bone on the corner of the coffee table. The scar prevents any hair from growing. I get a section of my eyebrow tattooed. If you touch it, you can feel the scar."

I push away from the counter and walk over to her. When I'm standing in front of her, sun shining in through the bathroom window behind her, I reach out and rub my thumb along her left eyebrow. Sure enough, there's a rough patch of skin. "Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. "I never would've known. How did you hit your head on the coffee table?"

"Gabriel and I were playing tag in the living room, and I tripped over an untied shoelace. The rest is history." She shrugs, a faint smile on her lips. "I needed fifteen stitches. If you look close enough, you can see the scar on my temple. It's faint, but it's there."

Taking Pen's face in my hands, I tilt her head back until I can see the silvery remnants of her scar. It's paler than her skin tone, making it harder to see. I rub my thumb along the scar again, taking in the bumpy skin. "Huh," I frown. "Unless you'd told me, I wouldn't know where to look."

Pen's sigh is breathy and hot on my lips. "Yes, it blends in well with my complexion."

I'm not sure how I got so close, but I smile down at her, breathing in the scent of her cinnamon toothpaste. Pen's complexion is gorgeous. I can't prevent myself from running my thumb along her jawbone and counting the freckles across the bridge of her nose. I could kiss every one of them. But her goddamn toothpaste is intoxicating.

Before she can say anything else, I dip my head down and press a kiss to her lips. She kisses me back with no hesitation. It's slow and passionate, and neither of us moves. She keeps her arms around my neck. I keep one hand on her face and one on her hip. We're not overstepping boundaries. As ridiculous as this sounds, I think Pen and I have a connection. We'll know when to take our relationship to the next level. Having sex with Pen... Yeah, it's something I want to do. Us being comfortable is important, though.

Just then, Pen's phone rings.

She jerks away and withdraws her phone from her pocket, bringing the iPhone to her ear. "Hello?" She pauses for several seconds, nodding. "Right, okay. I'll be out in a minute." After she hangs up, she glances at me. "Patrick's here."

"Right," I nod. Honestly, I'm bummed we couldn't continue. I can never get enough of Pen's lips.

She shifts to her tiptoes and kisses me one more time. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Penelope leaves me standing in the middle of the bathroom before I can say another word. I drop my hands to my side and duck my head down, giving it a good shake. God, I was stupid. I was stupid to think Ophelia and I would ever become more than friends. That a crush from grade school could amount to something like Pen and I have. It's amazing to have someone so understanding and passionate beside me, treating me as an equal and making sure I'm comfortable. She's also gorgeous and funny and laid-back.

Whenever Pen smiles, the world stands still.

I adjust my posture and pull on a dress shirt, feeling my cheeks heat. No matter what happens, I will not disappoint Penelope.

*  *  *

With Patrick and Penelope off scheming, there isn't much to do at Utterly Uncorked. I do, however, stick around and pull out my sketchbook (after I've reviewed payments and other important documentations). The shelving units haven't been installed yet, but I can see where Patrick has drawn outlines atop the white paint. The floating shelves are going to give the rustic contemporary space a hint of modernity. Sitting down on the newly installed floor, I lean against the wall and prop the sketchbook against my thighs. I then remove a pencil and eraser from my laptop bag.

Flipping to a clean page, I quickly sketch an outline of the space. It's rough, but it gives me enough space to brainstorm what I want on these shelves. Décor is just as important as design. Whatever we put on these shelves needs to match our design. The décor needs to be contemporary and rustic. On the top left corner shelf, I sketch a tea pot and a tea cup. Diagonal to that, I sketch our coffee products. When people walk in, they need an idea of what we sell and what our vibe is.

I lean my head back against the wall, picturing what else I could place up there. Flowers are always nice and add a splash of colour. We could get away with keeping them on the lowest shelf, so long as someone remembered to change them every day. If that didn't work out, we could substitute for dried flowers. Something like baby's breath. There's this killer website based in Montréal that has excellent tips about flower arrangements. And their cakes look damn good, too. If I ever go to Montréal, the first place I'm visiting is the bakery and flower shop. Obviously, this isn't the first time I've considered adding flowers to the décor. I've done my research, which is why I know about baby's breath.

For the next two hours, I get lost in my sketches. I try several ideas, ones I'm going to present to Jake when he arrives. His opinion is just as important as mine. I'll double-check with Pen and see what she thinks, too.

With my hand aching, I drop it to my side and tilt my head back. I close my eyes and sigh. If I wasn't so passionate about horticulture, I would've gone into art. Drawing is something I do on the side to de-stress myself or kill time. Or, in this case, get a better idea of what our company is aiming for.

"Someone's enjoying himself."

My eyes snap open and I look up to see Ophelia. Today, her caramel hair is loose and curly around her shoulders. The dress she's wearing is black and modest, and it's paired with a cream-coloured scarf. As usual, her makeup is perfect and her lipstick pops.

I close my sketchbook before Ophelia can try to get a good look. There are few people I trust around my sketchbook, and Ophelia isn't one of them. Some of my sketches are personal; ones that only people like Jake or Hanna may see. People I trust. My sketches represent my feelings and the knowledge I've gained throughout my life.

"Just sketching," I shrug. "Tweaking some décor plans and running some new ones through my head. The typical agenda of a company owner."

"I see," Ophelia replies. She gestures to the space beside me. "Mind if I sit? I'd love to hear about your plans."

"Sure," I reply. While Ophelia's sitting down, I tuck my sketchbook back in my laptop bag, along with the pencil and eraser. Ophelia can use her imagination while I explain. I'm still unhappy about how she treated Patrick and Penelope. And I'm not even going to acknowledge Pen's encounter at the mall. If I do, I'm going to get riled up. Ophelia will also call me out on holding a grudge—which I am. How can she be shallow enough to ignore Patrick's feelings? Or make such rude comments about Pen?

"What?" Ophelia teases, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Are the drawings confidential?"

I stare at her, wondering why she's acting this way. Last time we had a one-on-one conversation, we came to an agreement. We would be friends and nothing more. So why does this feel like flirting?

"They are," I reply, zipping up my laptop bag.

Ophelia frowns and adjusts the collar of her dress. "O-kay..." she trails off and glances around the construction area. "So what's planned?"

I ignore her ignorance. People cannot understand how condescending a tone can be. Pointing to the lines Patrick drew, I explain some of my ideas, from the dried out flowers to coffee beans to succulents. "Maybe we could put a teapot and cup up there, too," I add. "A vintage one. Or some Mason jars. I'm going to run my ideas by Jake and Penelope."

"Penelope?" she asks.

Here we go.

I suppress an eye roll. "Although Pen deals with numbers, she's part of our company. We want to be an inclusive organization. Décor is something that puts us on display. We want to be represented within our ideas. I know you're very business-driven, Ophelia, but would you want a shitty décor scheme? What would people say if you had mismatched colours or a theme that didn't flow throughout the winery?"

She taps her chin with a painted nail. "Fine. Point taken."

We succumb to silence for several seconds. Within those seconds, I toy with the zipper of my laptop bag. I don't like feeling like I'm stuck in the middle. On one hand, I want to make conversation with Ophelia and discuss typical conversation topics. But I can't get past her ignorance towards Patrick and Penelope. How do you dismiss family so easily? Jake and Hanna aren't related to me via blood, and yet I could never mistreat them.

"How are Patrick and Penelope doing?" Ophelia asks, keeping her voice light. "They seem to go out a lot."

Ophelia's question causes me to hesitate. Why does she care about Patrick and Pen? Last time there was an interaction between the three of them, she was not impressed. I side-glance her. She keeps her eyes ahead, locked on the lines on the wall. Something's off. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Patrick and Penelope got into a fight," I lie. The words taste funny on my tongue. I'm not used to lying, but something's telling me I need to. "They're not talking to each other. Why do you think Pen's not here? She didn't want to run into Patrick."

Ophelia gives me a skeptical look. "You don't believe that, do you? It's too much of a coincidence they're not here."

"Look," I say, "Penelope's and Patrick's relationship isn't my business. I'm here to support Penelope and that's it. She only tells me what she wants to share. This morning, she told me they got into a fight and haven't spoken for a few days."

I don't like the vibe coming from Ophelia. Judging by what Pen's told me, I think Ophelia is a little too close to Renée Collins. She might be here for information. It wouldn't surprise me if Renée was already aware of Penelope and Patrick making the connection. But I'm not about to spill information and give them the upper hand. Pen and Patrick deserve an explanation.

"That makes little sense," she whines. The desperation in her voice confirms my thoughts. She's poking for information, and the fact she thinks she can get it from me pisses me off.

"You know what?" I snap, gathering my belongings and standing up. Ophelia follows me. "Why do you even give a fuck, Ophelia? You make it abundantly clear you disliked Penelope. You also diminished Patrick's feelings. Being condescending and ignorant strips you of your right to know what's going on in their lives. The three of you are family. Talk it out with them if you want information. Don't you dare pull me into this." I add intensity to my gaze when I make eye contact with her. "Penelope is my girlfriend, and I will not have someone like you trying to destroy everything she's worked for. So, whatever you're doing, it needs to stop."

Ophelia's gaze hardens, and she rests her hands on her hips. "I'm not doing anything. I'm wondering how they're doing. So is Renée. Patrick has been... flighty lately."

I shake my head, refusing to believe her. "You can't wonder anything until you've apologized."

There's something wrong here. I can't put my finger on it, but it's something. It's almost like Ophelia is scoping things out for Renée. If she's questioning how Patrick is acting, then who better to send in than your niece? It makes me wonder what else Pen's birth mom could be hiding.

That's when I realize I need to leave. If I stay here any longer, I'll say something I'll regret. I refuse to out Pen and Patrick. They need their moment with the birth parents.

I turn on my heel before she can say another word. It's getting late and I need to get home. Now that Patrick and Penelope have discussed their plan of attack, I need to know where I stand and what I can say. Even if I'm just there to hold Pen's hand, I want to hear all about it.

"Cassian!"

"Leave it alone, Ophelia," I call over my shoulder. "What happens with Penelope and Patrick is none of your business!"

I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and push the door open, stepping into the icy winter air. Snowflakes kiss my face, causing me to pull my suit jacket tighter. The sky above me is grey, the cloud cover thick. The snow and gloomy weather doesn't help the nagging feeling in my gut. I don't know what Ophelia's up to, but something tells me Patrick's parents are aware of what's going on. Because of Ophelia, they know the connection has been made.

And it shouldn't matter.

They shouldn't be concerned about their kids finding out the truth.

Unless... unless they're lying. Unless there's another secret hidden amid all this chaos.

I grip the strap of my laptop bag, running through every possibility in my mind.

*  *  *

I hang my laptop bag on a hook, loosening my tie. After the conversation with Ophelia, I feel messed up. There are several reasons they wouldn't want Patrick and Penelope to talk. Some of my assumptions are insane, but I can't cancel them out. This entire experience has been insane. I need to tell Patrick and Penelope about my assumptions. If Renée and her husband are aware...

When I step out of the mudroom and into the open-concept living room and kitchen area, Patrick and Penelope are loitering in the kitchen. They each have a drink, and I notice the empty glass waiting for me. A bottle of gin sits next to it. They're discussing the upcoming Christmas party Penelope and I want to throw. It would be a great way to thank Patrick and his team for all their hard work. We want to invite a few employees of Utterly Uncorked, too. We're going to be working together for years to come. We might as well get to know everyone.

"If we're already discussing our Christmas party, I take it lunch went well?" I joke, joining them in the kitchen. I've just picked up the bottle of gin when Penelope spins me around. "What?" I ask. "Did something go wrong?"

"Cassian?" Penelope frowns. "What are you doing here?"

Setting the bottle down, I frown back at her and cross my arms. "What?"

"Why are you here?"

My eyebrow lifts. "I live here with you?"

Penelope and Patrick exchange a glance. Patrick's shoulders are shaking as he tries to fight off a fit of laughter. Penelope draws her bottom lip between her teeth and makes direct eye contact with me. "Where's Jake?"

My face falls.

Fuck.

I forgot to pick him up at the airport.