Penelope

"Ellie, sweetie, the pen will snap in half if you press harder."

I look at the pen. It's pressed against the paper. I volunteered to jot down the scores of each baked good we taste, and though the task provides some much-needed distraction, my mind continues to wander off as the clock ticks closer to the barbecue. Cassian's naked body makes an appearance, too. Yes—I'm still obsessing over his body. Naked body.

For the hundredth time, I'm wishing someone could whack me over the head with a baseball bat. It would make sure I forget these last few hours.

"Oops," I say. "Sorry, Mom."

Mom chuckles, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. She rests a hand on my forearm. "Why are you apologizing to me? You should apologize to the poor table." Mom pauses and studies my face. "What's bothering you? You seem... off today."

I set the pen down, rubbing my full stomach. We've already tried macarons, cookies, cream puffs, bread—the works. I'm not sure how much more I can handle before my stomach explodes or I throw up. Unlike Gemma, I have a limit on the amount of sweets I can eat. While I would love to snack on fudge during my period or enjoy pumpkin pie during Thanksgiving, too much sugar gives me anxiety. I tap my foot against the linoleum. Glancing around building, I see no sign of my business partner. Cassian's been gone for a few minutes now, and I'm thinking he went to the bathroom to play Candy Crush on his phone.

"I'm fine," I reply, blocking Cassian's naked body from my mind. "Cassian and I are butting heads."

"Why's that?" Mom frowns.

My eyes flitter across the bakery. Cassian's still not here. Setting my pen down, I sigh and lean back in my chair, stretching my stiff muscles. "He went on a date with Ophelia, the woman we're working with at Utterly Uncorked. I don't know what to think, Mom. I want Cassian to be happy, but I hate seeing him with other women. Does that make me selfish?"

Mom rests her hand on my shoulder. "Of course not, Penelope. You're not trying to drive a wedge between them. There are no rules against being in love with a man. And when you're in love with someone, you do crazy things."

I think about breaking into the bathroom and realize she has a point.

I smile at my mom. Our shared company has been pleasant this time around. While we were stiff towards each other at the beginning, things have relaxed and we haven't trickled into awkward silence yet. It could have to do with the fact I have mentioned nothing about trying to find my biological parents, but I think my mom's realizing no matter what happens, she and dad will always be my parents. They raised me and put a roof over my head. Finding my biological parents wouldn't change that. It wouldn't lessen my love for them.

"I'm envious of Ophelia," I admit. I'm five seconds away from spilling my guts. It's been hard to keep my emotions bottled while Gemma's been away. I would talk to Morgane about my Cassian issues, but her solutions would be far too assertive for me. She'd tell me to corner him in a bedroom and rip his pants off. Or handcuff him to the bed and tease the living hell out of him until he's begging me. "What does she have that I don't?"

Mom swats the back of my head. "Penelope Jules Montgomery!" she scolds. "You do not compare yourself to other women. All women are equal and do not overpower one another. Ophelia is neither below nor superior to you."

"Sorry," I mutter, rubbing the sore spot. "But it feels that way. Cassian swoons over her like a monkey fixated on a banana."

"Let me tell you a little secret, sweetie. Boys and men are stupid. They think with their penis before they think with their heart and mind. Cassian will realize everything he needs has been in front of him all along." Mom adjusts the swoop of my blouse so the lining of my lace bra is showing. I swat her hand away, fixing the placement of fabric. While there's no shame in showing off what life has given me, I prefer to be modest. "That is, of course, if you're not taken. Who is this Patrick Cassian keeps mumbling about? He appears jealous, if you ask me."

I snort. As if Cassian's jealous. He just wants to judge my choices. "Patrick's our contractor, Mom. I've invited him to the barbecue later today, but that doesn't mean there's anything going on between us. We're coworkers."

Mom's lips curl into a vindictive smirk. "Coworkers don't invite coworkers to family parties."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "Fine. He's a good-looking man, okay? I thought Cassian's date with Ophelia was going to turn out differently. My plan was to use Patrick as a distraction."

Mom gapes at me. "Were you going to sleep with him?"

My eyes practically bug out of my head. "Mom! Are you serious? That's so judgemental. Even if I did just want to sleep with Patrick, there would be no shame in my desire. Sex is sex. It doesn't have to create an unbreakable bond between two people."

Mom raises her hands. "You're right, you're right. Excuse me, Ellie. It's difficult for a mother to picture her child having sex."

I bury my face in my hands. "Can we end this conversation please?"

The last time we had a conversation like this was when I slept with my ex-boyfriend, Josiah. I was seventeen at the time, and Mom overheard me talking to one of my friends about how uncomfortable it was. Well, after Mom yelled at me for a good twenty minutes, she sat down and gave me the rundown of sex and boys and what happens when there's no condom. It was the most embarrassing night of my life.

Mom chuckles and pats my hand. "You're not off the hook yet, sweetie. This conversation will continue."

I roll my eyes and bury my face in my arms, hitting my head against the surface of the table. Great. On top of a sugar overload, I now have to deal with my mom. She's going to grill Patrick tonight for our end-of-summer barbecue.

"Uh-oh," Cassian says. "Were the sticky buns that bad?"

"Delectable," Mom drawls. "As usual."

Cassian sits down next to me, nudging me with his elbow. "Do I need to call an ambulance, Pen?"

"No," I mumble.

"Oh, Cassian," Mom chuckles. "Don't worry about little Ellie. We were having a conversation about her sex life and this mysterious young gentleman named Patrick. He sounds like quite the charmer."

Cassian grunts and mumbles incoherent words.

I peek through my lashes, wondering what the hell is bothering him. He went out on a date with Ophelia for crying out loud! But before I can make a snippy comment, I notice the intense crease between his brows and the blazing jealousy in his eyes. My breath catches in my throat. Is he jealous someone's showing interest in me? His grip tightens around the coffee mug in front of him. "He seems like a very handy man," he grits out.

Although it's petty of me, I play this out. Glancing down at my tea, I stir in a splash of cream with my spoon, a smirk on my face. "I'm looking forward to the barbecue. Patrick is going to love the family. And you know what the best part is? We're going as friends, so there won't be any pressure on him." I take a sip of my tea. "If things work out, he won't have to worry about meeting my family again. Isn't that wonderful?"

I can feel Mom staring at me, but I'm too engrossed by the firm set of Cassian's jaw to care about my one little lie. He levels his big brown eyes with mine. "That sounds perfect."

His voice is so calm it sends a wave of shivers down my spine. I enjoy bringing out this edgy side of Cassian—I bet he loses himself to passion when there's anger and chemistry involved. I'm tempted to flick his chin and tease him a little more, but he speaks before I can do anything else.

He glances over his shoulder, frowning. "What the hell is taking this bakery so long? We're supposed to test the madeleines next."

Mom leans back in her chair. "I don't know," she replies, "but I would suggest finding another company to partner with. These people aren't very organized. Have you ever thought about hiring a home baker? They could work out of your kitchen at the winery."

I blink in surprise, wondering why I never thought of that.

"That," says an unfamiliar voice. A large package is placed down on our table and the three of us glance up to see a young Latino man with black hair and a backwards ball cap. The stubble on his face is trimmed and shaped to perfection. He leans his elbow on the package and pulls his mouth to one side. "Would be a good idea." He lowers his voice. "Although this bakery makes delicious food and has excellent coffee, you can't depend on them. They fire and hire like they're taking shots."

"And how do you know this... I'm sorry? I'm not sure I caught your name," I say.

"Rocco," he replies, holding his hand out. "Rocco Hunting. I run the barber shop next door. I work for Canada Post on the side." He glances around the room. "Every day I come in here I see a new face."

I side-glance Cassian. "Huh. Do you think you could schedule an appointment for this oaf?"

Cassian shoots daggers at me. "Touch my hair and I'll dump all your bottles of wine down the drain."

"Tough crowd," I joke, turning back to Rocco. "Set up an appointment for him. He'll be in soon enough." I take another sip of my tea. "You seem to have viable information. Are you a local?"

"Sure am," Rocco grins.

"Who would you suggest hiring? Are there any good local bakers around here?"

From his pocket, Rocco removes his wallet and hands us a business card. It's glossy beneath the natural light filtering in through the windows. I take the card from him, reading the crisp black words. "Tessa Lauren," I read. "Professional home baker."

"Man," Cassian says, "it was gutsy of you to infiltrate our conversation."

Rocco shrugs. "My sister is married and has two kids. She needs a reliable income. When I heard this lovely woman's suggestion, I had to bite."

Flattered by Rocco's charm, Mom presses a hand against her chest. "Well, aren't you sweet?" She gestures to the package. "What's in the box?"

Rocco rubs the back of his neck. "New nametags." He jerks his head in the opposite direction. "That blonde chick? She just started yesterday."

Cassian and I exchange a glance. Everyone knows a business who can't keep a steady team is bad. I slip the card into my pocket. "Well," I say, getting to my feet. "I think we've overstayed our welcome. Thank you for the tip, Rocco." I pat my pocket. "We'll be in touch with your sister."

"I'll make that appointment," he winks.

"Like hell you will," Cassian mumbles.

I wave off his grumpiness. "Ignore him. The coffee hasn't hit yet."

"Pen."

"Will do," Rocco smiles, giving me the two-finger salute. He collects the package. "Well, I've got places to be and things to do. It was nice meeting all of you."

When Rocco is at the counter, dealing with a confused employee, Cassian and I exchange another glance. "Do we leave without saying goodbye?" Cassian asks, squinting at me. "Or do we walk out based on poor service?"

I wouldn't walk out of a bakery without excusing myself first, but we've been sitting here for half an hour, waiting for the madeleines while we pick at overcooked, dry sticky buns. "I say we walk out," I reply. "We aren't their priority. I feel terrible, but lousy service isn't worth our time. I'll give this Tessa a call on Monday."

Mom blinks in surprise. "You're going to call her? That seems steep, Penelope."

"After I do some research," I assure her, collecting my judging papers. There's no point in the bakery seeing the scores when the potential contract has already been nullified. "We go through extensive research when we're partnering."

Cassian, who is helping Mom out of her chair, wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, Mrs. Montgomery. Your daughter will be safe."

Mom smiles up at Cassian, and then waggles her eyebrows at me, hinting at the obvious.

I roll my eyes and throw my bag over my shoulder. It's too difficult to judge if Cassian and I will ever have a chance at having a relationship that surpasses friendship. But if what my mom has said, that he might realize what's been going on behind the scenes, is true... Then maybe things will turn out for the better at some point. Maybe they won't. Who knows?

Either way, I feel no shame when Cassian glances back at me and winks, making a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through my body. We may fight. We may argue. But we're friends that will have each other's backs until the end.

* * *

Patrick is having a rough time facing my family. I expected them to hound him with questions, but I didn't think they would be this intense. They ignore me whenever I say Patrick is just a friend, reverting to personal questions I don't have answers to. Grandma even had the audacity to ask how many kids we're planning on having. I want to get him out of here for the sake of his mental health and my embarrassment threshold.

"Look, Aunt Roxy," I smile, resting my hand on her shoulder. "It was so good to see you, but Patrick and I are starving. We want to grab some of your potato salad before it's all gone."

"Oh, of course, honey," she smiles, pressing a kiss to my cheek. She then pulls Patrick into her arms, giving him a kiss on the cheek, too. "It was lovely to meet you, Patrick. I do hope Penelope brings you around more often."

"As do I," Patrick smiles.

While his smile is genuine, there's something off about his tone of voice. It makes me wonder why Patrick agreed to come. He sounds... disconnected. But maybe he's exhausted from the questions that have been thrown at him from every direction for most of the evening. Once we're alone, I'm going to have to thoroughly apologize to him.

"Come on," I mutter, dragging him to the buffet table. "Let's grab some snacks and get the hell out of here."

"Agreed," he murmurs.

After we've grabbed two paper plates and filled them with potato salad, chips, burgers, and corn-on-the-cob, Patrick and I take a walk down the beach.

"This potato salad is delicious," he says through a mouthful. "I want the recipe."

I jab my fork into the mushy food, scooping up a large portion. I level it with my gaze and stare at it. "There's no point," I reply. "Aunt Roxy gave me the recipe years ago and I can't replicate it. It always tastes better when she makes it."

"Mm," Patrick says. "That's like my grandma's buns."

I freeze, sand filling my sandals. "Excuse me?"

Patrick rolls his eyes, giving me a nudge. "Buns. As in bread. I wouldn't comment on my grandma's ass."

"Okay, good," I laugh. "Because that would be alarming."

We come to a sharp outcrop of rock, and I lead Patrick around it to where a large, flat-surfaced rock sits. When I was a kid, I used to climb on top of this rock to sunbathe and read books. My summer days comprised listening to boats pass by and waves lap against the rocky shore. Sometimes, I would watch my friends swim. I never swam because of the Ogopogo, but it was fun to watch them splash around and squeal because of the cold water.

"I didn't know you could get down here," Patrick says as we follow the path up to the top of the rock. It's a steep incline, but the trail is compact and sturdy, making it easy to climb. He gestures to the trail system above the cliff. "I love the hike to Goat's Peak, though. If that counts for anything."

Personally, I hate that hike. The gravel is too loose and it's straight up a steep incline. My lungs always feel like they're ready to collapse by the time I get to the top. But I still nod in support. My left ankle wobbles as I step off of the uneven terrain and onto the rock surface. I had been expecting a much steeper step. A jarring pain shoots up my leg. Patrick grabs my bicep, a slice of watermelon tumbling from his plate and splatting against the rock. "You okay?"

For just a moment, I lose my nerve and step back to the trail. For just a moment, I tell myself I'm crazy and that I need to scratch this plan and begin a new one. Using Patrick to distract me from Cassian isn't healthy. I'm using him. I don't use people. But while I don't want to use Patrick, I've enjoyed his company throughout the evening. He stayed next to me through several waves of embarrassment my family bestowed. I have to say, this tall, reserved man has some guts. If I were in his shoes, I would have run in the opposite direction.

Taking a deep breath, I nod. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I miscalculated the step. Thanks for saving my butt."

"No problem," he chuckles, releasing my arm.

We sit down on the edge of the rock, our feet dangling over where the tide meets the rocky shore. I pick up my plant-based burger and take a large bite. Aside from the sweets I ate earlier, I have consumed nothing of sustenance. I close my eyes and chew, enjoying the flavour of the patty, fresh avocados, and roasted tomatoes. Relish drips down the corner of my mouth, but I don't care. I'm not concerned about my appearance when I'm enjoying food.

"So," Patrick says, "I have a question I need to ask you."

I wipe the corner of my mouth. "Shoot."

"Are those your actual parents or were you adopted? Because none of them hold any resemblance."

Setting my burger down, I turn to face Patrick. He's staring at me with his round blue eyes and his curly blonde hair is unruly. Deep inside, I feel a strike of familiarity. If I look close enough, there's something strange of the bone structure of his face and the shape of his eyes. While he has cheekbones, that could cut glass, the rest of his face is soft. The small smile on his face is also familiar.

"You caught me," I sigh, shaking off the strange feeling in my gut. "My biological parents gave me up for adoption when I was a newborn. I don't remember them. Mom and Dad adopted me two months later. Dad is sterile, so he couldn't have kids of his own. They adopted."

Patrick presses his lips together and nods. While I was expecting him to express his condolences, I like the fact he's said nothing at all. It's rare for someone to just accept what I've said and move on.

"So," I say, picking up my burger again. "How did you come to know Ophelia? She talked you up when Cassian and I were inspecting the area before it became a construction site."

He swallows a mouthful of potato salad. "Ophelia's my cousin. Her mom is my mom's sister."

My eyes widen. "No way!"

"It's true," he replies.

Something in his voice catches me off-guard. He doesn't sound thrilled. After a quick bite of my burger, I set it down and poke Patrick in the side. He squirms away from my touch. "Dude," I say, "what's going on? You're not bubbly and happy."

Patrick sighs and sets his plate down. As he turns to face me, he rubs the side of his face with the heel of his hand. "Look, Penelope, this is going to be a lot to take in, but I need you to give me a chance to explain, okay?"

A red-alert goes off in my head. Fuck. Maybe Cassian was right about Patrick being unstable. I suppress a groan while I battle with internal fear. I'm not sure what he has planned, but I'm prepared to fight tooth and nail if I have to. And then book it down the beach.

Fears aside, though, I can understand where they came up with the phrase Curiosity killed the cat. I want to know his secrets. "Fine," I reply. "But I'm warning you, I know self-defence, and I'm not afraid to kick your ass."

"Trust me," he murmurs, removing his wallet. "This is far from the conclusions you're jumping into."

I watch as he removes two pictures from his wallet. One is weathered and old, stained from rubbing against the ink of receipts and chalky construction notices. The other is newer, though I can tell it wasn't taken within the past five years.

"I came across this picture in my mom's filing cabinet." He pauses, swallowing thickly. I try to get a better look at the picture he's holding, but he blocks my view. "When my parents were raising me, they told me Mom had a miscarriage before I was born; they lost a baby girl because of complications with the fetus. It was the reason why, after they had me, they refused to have anymore kids. A few years ago, when I was helping them downsize to a smaller house, I found... I found some adoption papers in the filing cabinet. For a baby named Jules Iris Collins."

Finally, Patrick hands me the picture.

Side-by-side are two babies. One is wrapped in a pink blanket and the other in a blue blanket. Icy panic claws my spine. Mom and Dad have plenty of baby pictures of me at home. I'd know my own face anywhere. Tears prick the corner of my eyes as a wave of shock engulfs me.

This can't be real.

He runs a hand through his curls. "I've been searching for years, Penelope, trying to dig up dirt on who adopted my twin sister. And I was just about to give up until I met you at Utterly Uncorked. When I saw your face, when I saw how much you look like Mom, I had to get to know you. I know it sounds crazy, but I think you're my sister..." He trails off, his voice shaky. "I'm sorry."

I stare at him, unable to think. Unable to breathe properly.

"If you don't believe me," he says, holding out the photo. "Then look at the picture, please."

With shaky hands, I grab the photo and glance down at it. Looking back at me is a woman dressed in a gown that reminds me of a pastry. I see the same blue eyes I look at every morning in the mirror. The same hair colour. The same soft features. A choked sob escapes my mouth. If I didn't know my grad dress had been royal blue and mermaid style instead of pink and puffy, I could swear I'm looking at a picture of myself.

I think back to the day I met Patrick, of that sparkle in his eyes. His eyes weren't sparkling because he found me attractive. They were sparkling because he found someone who looks like his mother. A potential candidate.

But even with the proof in my hands, I refuse to believe it. There's no way in hell this is real. What parents separate twins at birth? What parents keep one kid and not the other?

I throw the picture at Patrick. "What the hell?" I spit, scrambling to my feet. I knock over my plate of food. "Did you think this would be funny?" I shake my head. "You did some pretty intensive research there, Patrick, but it's fucking creepy."

"Penelope, I—"

I raise my hand. "No. We're done here. How dare you take advantage of my estranged chilhood? That's lower than low, and it appals me you had the audacity to claim something so unbelievable. I'm leaving. Don't follow me."

"Penelope!"

I ignore his pleas while white-hot tears scald my cheeks. A sob burst free from my lips. Out of all the shit that could've happened, this was something I did not expect. Patrick and I were supposed to find common ground and fall in love. He was supposed to help me forget Cassian. But now that I've seen evidence, I'm disgusted with myself for thinking about him that way. How did I not see it before? The eyes, the hair colour—our fucking cheekbones! The impish touch to his smile.

Tumbling down the incline, I sprint across the beach, my sandals filling with pebbles and grains of sand as I rush back to the house. I must look like a mad woman to the people out on the lake, trying to soak up the last days of warm weather. As I'm running, I keep my head down and focus on where I place my feet. I'm going to find a way to get around my parents and the rest of my family. If I don't, they're going to jump to unfair conclusions about what happened between Patrick and I.

When I'm passing the dock, I run into something hard and warm.

"Penelope?" Cassian asks, his voice panicked. "What happened?" He runs his hands down my biceps and back up my body, tipping my chin up. His worried gaze shatters me. "Where the hell have you been? I was looking all over for you." Suddenly, the features of his face darken. "Was it Patrick? What did that asshole do to you?"

"No!" I sob. "Patrick did nothing wrong. Just... Just get me out of here, Cassian. I need to go home."

With his Bambi eyes, Cassian glances over my shoulder. His grip tightens, then softens. I'm sure he wants to march over there and pummel Patrick to a pulp, but I can't allow him to do so. Although I'm pissed at Patrick, he did nothing wrong. He's a victim of curiosity, just like I am.

I grip his shirt, feeling the muscle beneath with my knuckles. "Just take me home. Please." While the context of that question is not how I ever imagined asking Cassian to take me home, he nods. Keeping my body close to his, he turns us around and acts as a human shield while he leads me around the edge of the party.

I'm a walking void in a human suit.

My mind is spinning.

And as much as I want to deny Patrick's crazy proclamations, I know he's telling the truth.