Work Text:
As Penelope bustles down the street on her way to the small teashop at the end of the block, she sees her. Unruly red curls a shining beacon calling out to the world. Dressed in a long black trench coat, floral scarf, with black Wellies, hunched shoulders, walking quickly, nervously avoiding everyone she comes across. As quickly as she was there, she disappears.
The bell jingles as she pushes her way into the teashop and walks towards the counter. As expected, she places her regular order for tea and a lavender scone and moves to sit at her normal table in the corner. She pulls out her laptop and starts working.
Every day she trudges the same path, observes mostly the same individuals and stays stuck writing the same chapter of her novel.
Gradually, she notices a difference in the girl. That same red hair, at times unruly, other times smoothed into a nice chignon. As the days go by, she can't help but noticed that she's standing a little taller, and seems to be smiling more than the previous days.
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Colin works on his laptop from a table adjacent to hers. He keeps glancing up at her, drawn to her in a way he can't express. He has, of course, noticed the beautiful red curls and peaches and cream skin, but that is not what is drawing him to her. She radiates a beauty from within, a peaceful, yet playful demeanor. She makes the most adorable faces at her computer as she's typing away. He wonders what she's working on now.
The teashop owner, Beckett, a close friend of Benedict's, told him that she was a published author. So, being curious, he purchased and read her other work. They were historical romance novels that were not only romantic, but humorous and well written. He was quite impressed and very entertained.
Usually not one to lack confidence, Colin was surprisingly hesitant to approach her. He was attracted by her beauty, obviously, but something about her demeanor seemed to draw him in. He hated to admit that her success as an author was somehow intimidating, but also inspiring.
Colin looked down at his laptop screen and the document he was currently editing. While in his travels, he had decided to keep a journal, just for himself. When he visited new places, he would be overcome with reverence and other emotions he felt he needed to document. He never thought that he would be thinking of putting himself out there and trying to have them published. But here he was.
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Penelope sees the red flames in the distance, but she is not close enough to see her full form today. Quite a tiny little thing, as she gets lost in the crowd. Distracted, she doesn't see him until she is caught up in his embrace. She smiled as he lifts her up and spins her around and she sees those red flames again in the window display, alongside his chestnut locks. It's been a year since they first spoke, at the teashop. A day like any other, but not.
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Colin notices their reflections in the window display and smiles, "You are amazing, Pen."
Colin reflects on the past year of his life and the beautiful human being in his arms. Once he made the decision to walk over to her table that day, it had been easy, like it had all been written before. Penelope, was just as amazing as he knew she would be. She was vibrant and funny, thoughtful and encouraging, absolutely beautiful and so, so sexy. He can't imagine his life without her. He pats his jacket pocket to feel the ring box secured there.
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As Pen looks at their reflection, she knows that she's never experienced this type of happiness. Colin helped her to see a side of herself that she never realized existed. Her true self. A confident, spirited Penelope that was ready to take on the world, with him beside her.
She broke out of her six month writers block the day he approached her table. They had talked for five hours that day, just getting to know one another. Colin had shown her his travel journal and she was so amazed at how good it was, she had contacted her editor that day to set up a meeting.
Some would say it was destiny, she wouldn't disagree. They made their way to the teashop and took their usual table.