Wolfie
"Keep going, just a few more blocks this way."
Penelope guides me down the pine-tree-lined streets of Oak Park, directing me from memory toward Connor's house. She's been to his place plenty of times since his move, helping with home decor and crib assembly and everything in between.
But this is only my second time out this way, the first being my trip to that brewery with Connor a few weeks ago. I know about as much about navigating suburbia as I know about landing a plane.
"This one right here. Make a right."
She points me down a side street, and as I turn, I notice her legs bouncing absently beneath the tin-foil-wrapped cake in her lap. It's pretty fucking adorable, although I hope it's from excitement, not nerves.
Penelope has been planning this baby shower all month, stressing over catering details and picking out the perfect decorations. If party planning weren't enough of a stressor, there's also the added layer of knowing that this will be our first time hanging out with our friends since making our relationship official.
It's a big day for a lot of reasons, but surprisingly, I'm feeling pretty at ease about the whole thing. I guess that's just the effect Penelope has on me. Having her by my side makes everything else seem a whole lot less scary.
I slow the car to a crawl, squinting out the window at the house numbers to find the one that matches the invitation. When I spot the gray brick house at the end of the block, though, I don't even have to double-check. That's definitely the same house from the real estate listing Connor showed me. Only now it has a lot more meaning than some picture on a home browsing website. It's Connor's first real home, and I can't wait to help him christen the place.
I pull off to the side of the road, joining the half dozen other cars that are already parked here, most of which I recognize as belonging to our friends. The black sedan with the vanity plates assures me that Hayes is here already, which is good. He and Maren were on decoration duty. Caleb's car is here and Scarlett's is too, her front right tire halfway up onto the curb. She's never been the best driver.
I park behind her, then hurry out of the car to help Penelope with the door. Yes, I'm a gentleman, but mostly, I don't want to risk anything happening to that beautiful cake she made. One wrong step on the ice and bam, cake meets snow.
Gingerly, Penelope passes off her handiwork to me, then grabs our presents from the back seat. One for Connor and one for Beth, the mother-to-be. They're getting identical sets of burp cloths today, but there's a top-of-the-line bouncy seat set to be delivered to Connor's house at the end of the week, compliments of Aunt Penelope and Uncle Wolfie.
We head down the street, side by side, and travel up the stone walkway to Connor's front door. He really nabbed a fine piece of real estate here. And the light pink baby shower decorations on the porch give it a little extra dash of curb appeal.
"Don't bother with the doorbell," Penelope tells me, shifting the gift boxes into one hand and reaching for the door with the other. "I've been letting myself in for weeks." Just as her fingers hover above the door knob, she hesitates and turns back to me, her pretty blue eyes brimming with concern. "Wait. Pause. Are you okay?"
Confused, I bristle. "Do I seem like I'm not?"
"I just mean . . . are you nervous? I probably should've asked if being a couple in front of all our friends was okay with you? Not nervous?"
She chews her lower lip, and I wish more than anything that my hands were free to pull this kind, thoughtful woman into my arms and kiss the worry out of her. But I can't, so instead I lean down and press my lips between her furrowed brows.
"I'm not nervous, sweetheart," I assure her. "Not with you by my side."
Her features soften, a warm smile forming on her cherry-red-painted lips. They're so vibrant against the dull gray colors of December. But that's Penelope for you. Bright and wild in an otherwise dull world.
"You're sure you're okay?" she asks again. "You're not just saying that?"
"The only thing I'm nervous about is getting this gorgeous cake you made into the house safe and sound," I say, nodding toward the precious foiled-wrapped cargo in my hands. "Everything else is under control. Come on, babe. Let's do this thing."
Inside, the house is buzzing with chatter, and I follow Penelope down the warmly lit hallway to the living room, where the party is centralized. All the usual suspects are gathered around the do-it-yourself nacho bar, a grand slam of a catering decision on my girlfriend's part, in my opinion.
Hayes and Maren nailed their job as party decorators, placing bouquets of bubble-gum-colored balloons in every corner and hanging silver streamers around the bay windows.
The star of the show, however, has to be the hand-painted sign that Penelope had custom made for the buffet table. It reads nacho average baby shower, which is both funny and painfully accurate, seeing as Connor, his baby mama, and his baby mama's new boyfriend are all in attendance today. You know, just the classic, all-American family. Although, to be honest, it's kind of awesome at the same time.
"Penelope! Over here!"
Maren waves my girlfriend over to the gift table, leaving me alone with this precious frosted masterpiece. I recruit Caleb to help me shift the tortilla chips and salsa to make room for the cake at the end of the buffet, and I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until after I've peeled back the layer of tin foil.
Whew. Thank God. It looks just as perfect as when we left my apartment. The fuchsia frosting is totally untouched, and the words it's a girl! didn't get so much as bumped.
"Is this your work?" Caleb asks, gesturing to the cake.
I snort. How kind of him to think I'd be capable of this sort of thing. I'm liable to fuck up making brownies from a box.
"Nah. That's all Penelope. She's some sort of cake-decorating sensei. Just one of her many talents."
I'm glad she's off chatting with the girls and not around to hear me brag about her. She'd probably get bashful about it and roll her eyes at me. But I can't help it. I've yet to find anything this girl isn't good at. Wherever she lands in her next professional role, I know she'll absolutely crush it.
Caleb slips off to the kitchen muttering something about finding a serving knife, and I scan the room for the dad of honor. Instead, I spot an unfamiliar couple tucked back in the corner. The woman has mid-length brown hair, her butter-colored dress stretched tight over a big round baby bump.
I'll bet I can guess who that is.
After taking advantage of the nacho bar, I make my way over to introduce myself. "Nice to meet you. I'm Wolfie. You must be Beth." I extend a hand to her, giving a friendly nod to the tall man beside her.
"How'd you guess?" She smirks, running a hand along the top of her bump. "And this is my boyfriend, Brett. Brett, this is Connor's . . . second cousin?" Her eyes flash back to me, crinkling with uncertainty.
"Former roommate," I remind her gently.
"Right. Sorry. Damn pregnancy brain." She knocks against her head with her knuckles, making a hollow sound with her tongue.
It gets a chuckle out of Brett, who lifts his girlfriend's hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. "Pregnancy brain or not, she's still the smartest person I know," he says, sending a flush of pink creeping across Beth's cheeks.
"Oh, stop it, you." She giggles, swatting his arm playfully.
Something tells me that she does not, in fact, want him to stop it.
If there were any question as to whether this little bundle of joy would bring Connor and Beth back together in any serious way, this little interaction just answered it. Beth is enamored with this Brett guy, who is lanky and blond and obviously no stranger to the lovey-dovey stuff. Pretty much everything that Connor is not.
It looks like this little girl is going to have two very different dads. But I think that's a good thing. Right?
"There you are, dude." Connor emerges from the kitchen with a craft brew in each hand, handing one bottle to me and clinking the other against it. "Thought you'd fallen into a pothole or something."
"Nah, just running a bit late. Your sister was really taking her time with that cake of yours."
I glance over to the couch, where Penelope is sitting with some of the girls, laughing along to whatever story Maren is telling. God, that laugh is infectious. I can't help but smile every time I hear it. She must feel my gaze on her, because her blue eyes meet mine moments later. When she shoots me a wink, it sends my heart on overdrive. It's still a little hard to believe that beautiful woman is all mine.
"Quit staring at her, bro." Connor slugs me in the shoulder, nearly causing me to spill my beer all over his nice clean carpet. "Start looking at a woman like that and next thing you know, you're moving out to the suburbs at the start of her third trimester."
Beth and I both roll our eyes at that remark.
Part of me wants to reassure him that, despite me not having purchased a box of condoms since Penelope and I started dating, his sister takes a small white pill once a day to make sure we don't go down that road anytime soon. But I suspect that might be a bit more information than he'd like to hear about our relationship. He may be cool with us being together, but I don't want to press my luck.
If I'm being completely honest, Penelope carrying my baby is an idea that should scare me. I've never been sure I even wanted kids. But for some reason, the idea of her round and full with my baby doesn't scare me at all. In fact, it sends a rush of heat and emotions galloping through me that I don't have time to dissect right now.
Because across the room, a resonant clinking sound pulls everyone's attention over to the gift table. It's Scarlett, tapping a fork against a half-full champagne flute.
"Sorry to interrupt, everyone, but may I suggest we open presents?" She shifts her weight. "I don't want to make it all about me, but I have to be back in the city for work by five."
"Boo! Work!" Penelope shouts, getting a laugh from the group, Scarlett included.
"I second that," she says with a chuckle, "but that's the event-planner lifestyle, working weekends and all that jazz."
"Speaking of event planners," I say, hoisting my beer in the air. "Let's hear it for Penelope for planning this shower."
"To Penelope!" Connor says, raising his beer with mine. Soon, the air is filled with everyone's drink of choice, from craft beers to cocktails, right down to Beth's nonalcoholic seltzer.
Penelope's cheeks turn the sweetest shade of pink as she sips her champagne, humbly accepting the praise. She deserves every bit of it for how well this baby shower turned out. None of those dreaded smell the diaper or guess the baby's weight games. Just the warm, fuzzy feeling that can only come from the perfect combination of good friends and good food.
"So, presents?" Scarlett suggests again, motioning for everyone to take a seat.
Beth seems game with this idea, and she joins Connor in one of the two armchairs by the fireplace. We all refill our drinks and settle in, and Maren graciously sacrifices her spot on the couch so I can sit next to Penelope.
"We were just chatting about what a freaking gorgeous couple the two of you are," Maren says as she cozies up to Hayes on the leather loveseat. "The four of us should totally go on a double date sometime soon."
Scarlett groans, folding her arms over her chest as she sinks into the couch next to me. "Thank you so much for the painful reminder of my singleness. I'd be double-dating a double shot of vodka if I didn't have to work in three hours."
"Everyone knows you're dating your job, Scar," Maren reminds her.
"Sure, sure," Scarlett says with an eye roll. "And Lord knows I'll be getting plenty of action from my job tonight."
"Would you rather have no job at all?" Penelope leans over me to wiggle her eyebrows at Scarlett. "Because I would happily trade places with you, if you want."
"Oops, sorry. My bad." Scarlett cringes with embarrassment, forcing a painful, apologetic smile. "Any luck on the job-search front, girl?"
Penelope shakes her head. "I've sent out a few résumés, but I haven't heard back yet. Keep your fingers crossed for me. My emergency fund is getting low."
"You wouldn't have to worry about rent if you lived with me," I murmur into her ear.
She just laughs and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. "Two more months on my lease," she reminds me. "Then I'll move in with you. I promise."
"And I promise that you have big roommate shoes to fill." Connor, who apparently has the listening skills of a bat, laughs as he pretends to brush dust off his shoulders. "I'm just saying, I was pretty much the best roomie of all time."
"You were the loudest roomie of all time," I mumble just loud enough for Penelope to hear, and she covers her ears with a laugh. I'm sure she doesn't want to hear about her brother's frequent, noisy weekend extracurriculars.
"Okay, seriously, folks." Scarlett taps her invisible watch with one manicured pink fingernail. "Enough chitchat. The clock is ticking. Let's get these presents open!"
For the next half hour, Beth and Connor take turns peeling pink and white wrapping paper off of boxes and wrangling things out of gift bags, unveiling identical pairs of nearly everything on their joint baby registry. Two high chairs, two baby monitors, two gift cards with enough money for a year's supply of diapers.
Brett is sitting nearby with his phone, taking pictures and jotting down who gifted what for thank-you-note purposes.
I was expecting an element of awkwardness to this whole party, but all three of them just look so happy. So ready to be parents, each in their own different, nontraditional way. Maybe it wasn't in Connor's plan to be a dad just yet, but it looks like things are really going to work out for the best.
With the presents open and the cake cut and served, Scarlett makes her rounds, congratulating the parents-to-be and hugging everyone good-bye. When she makes it over to Penelope, she pulls her into an extra-tight hug, one hand still wrapped around her waist as she turns to me.
"So, Wolfgang," she says, her voice is stern.
I shudder at the use of my full name, even though I know she's just using it to be dramatic. "Yes?"
"Last I talked to my best friend, Penelope, she said you were in the business of making clean getaways. You promise you're not going to run away on her this time?"
My brow crinkles, and then it registers. Penelope must have talked to her after my little sprint out of the kitchen in the middle of a make-out incident. Not my best look, but I've come a long damn way since then.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say firmly. "No more running off, no more hot and cold. Your best friend is in good hands."
"She'd better be," Scarlett says, giving me a vicious death glare that quickly fades to a bubbly laugh. "Oh, I'm just kidding. You two are a perfect match."
She pulls me in for a hug, then hugs Penelope again before she finally heads for the door.
"I'm so sorry about that." Penelope laces her fingers tight with mine, giving my hand a quick squeeze.
I shake my head and squeeze back. "Don't be. Your friends are just looking out for you. If I need to tell them a thousand times that I'm not going anywhere, I will."
She chuckles softly, rolling her eyes. "You don't have to do that, Wolfie."
"You're right." I shrug. "I'll just prove it instead."
And I will prove it. Every second of every day. Because that's what you do when you find a once-in-a-lifetime girl like Penelope Blake.
Epilogue
Penelope
"Good morning, Penelope!"
My coworker Reagan waves to me from her cubicle as I walk past her on my way to my corner desk. I wiggle my fingers back, shooting her the brightest smile I can muster at seven in the morning. Because despite all my efforts, I'm still not a morning person.
It never fails to surprise me how early she gets to the office every day, and how she manages to have so much energy before she's even finished her coffee. Still, her cheerful smile is the best way to start a busy workday. Which, according to the very full calendar on my phone, today is shaping up to be.
"Morning, Reagan. Happy Friday."
I shrug out of my wool pea coat and hang it on the hook next to my desk, then slip out of my snow boots and swap them for the sensible flats I have tucked in my purse, completing my transformation from Commuting Penelope to Office Penelope.
I couldn't have asked for a better location for my new place of employment-just a few blocks from a Brown Line stop. I don't have to be out in the cold for too long, and the building tucked back just far enough from the busiest part of Michigan Avenue that I don't have to push past too many tourists on my commute. As a bonus, the window next to my desk provides a million-dollar view of Millennium Park, which feels like a sign that I've officially made it in Chicago.
"You ready for our eight a.m. call?" Reagan asks, her hazel eyes peering up at me from over the side of her cubicle.
This call is the reason I'm here a little early this morning. I wanted to make sure I was prepped.
"As ready as I can be to talk shop with the president of a Fortune 500 company," I say with a laugh. "But actually, I spent almost three hours going over their annual report last night. I'll send you my notes."
I turn on my computer and forward her the document, waiting for the ping from her cubicle that tells me she's received it.
"Wow, this is impressive," Reagan says. "They're going to be thrilled with this work."
I can't help the proud smile that breaks out on my face.
What can I say? Going above and beyond is sort of my thing. I've made that perfectly clear in the short few weeks I've been working for the Glenbury Group. And by the way my boss keeps whispering about upward mobility around me, I'd say it's paying off in a major way.
After a quick scan through my inbox and a refresher on the correspondence we've had with this client since last week, I roll my chair back from my desk, glancing at my watch.
"I think I'm going to swing by the cafe in the lobby for a latte," I say. "Do you want anything, Reagan?"
Before I can stand up, the top of her head pops up over her cubicle wall, her hazel eyes doubling in size. "Wait! I almost forgot. Stay put for just one second, okay?" She scurries off to the kitchen, returning moments later with a beverage carrier holding two extra-large caramel-colored iced coffees. "Ta-da! Happy one month working at the firm!"
I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief as I push to my feet. "You didn't have to do that. It's just a month, not a birthday or something."
She lifts a shoulder, holding the tray out to me. "I know it's silly, but I figured we should take whatever little celebrations life gives us, right? Plus, since we're both iced vanilla latte girls, it just felt right."
"You're crazy." I laugh, although whether she's sane or not doesn't change the fact that I could definitely use the caffeine. I shimmy a cup from its spot in the beverage carrier and take a slow sip from the straw. "You're the greatest. How do you keep track of stuff like this?"
"I'm good with dates, I guess. Plus, I put a note in my calendar so I wouldn't forget. I feel like you need things to celebrate to get you through a Midwest winter, you know?"
I laugh in agreement. "That's for sure. And by the way, thank you for supporting the lifestyle of drinking iced coffee, even in the winter."
"It's always iced coffee season," she says with the same gravity she brings to the most important client meetings. "Thank God we both know that."
It's so nice to have a coworker I'm not going to be constantly competing with. Reagan is a couple years older than me, but she's made it clear she's perfectly happy being an office assistant for now. When the time comes and she's interested in more responsibility, I vow to never be like that jerk Spencer. I'll show her the ropes, teach her everything I've learned in this role, and help her get any promotion she desires.
I settle back in at my desk, sipping happily on my iced latte as I reply to a few quick client emails, only to be distracted moments later when my computer pings with an instant message. It's from Wolfie, and just seeing his name appear on my screen puts a fluttery feeling deep in my chest.
We've been official for almost two months now, but that new-love feeling still hasn't worn off, and my fingers are crossed that it never will. I glance at the time in the corner of my screen-okay, I have a couple of minutes to chat before this meeting. Let's make it count.
When I open the message, I'm surprised to see it's really not a message at all. Just a link to a website with a URL I don't recognize. For a second, I'm suspicious, but the link doesn't appear to be spam or anything.
With a double-click, I'm whisked off to a real estate page boasting lots of bright, airy pictures of a two-bedroom condo for sale, right on the lake. I swipe through the pictures, impressed by the rich brown hardwood floors and the modern kitchen appliances.
When I get to the pictures of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sparkling blue lake, my jaw almost hits my keyboard. It's gorgeous, but I'm not really sure why he's sending it to me.
We haven't discussed the whole moving-in-together thing since we made our relationship official, and even then, I thought the condo daydream was a few more years down the line. Then again, my lease is ending pretty soon. It's about time for us to be more serious about what comes next.
This condo is way out of my price range, but I know Wolfie makes a great living with Frisky Business. My brother hasn't exactly been shy about getting my advice about the business or showing me the books over the years. All the partners have been making seven figures for a while now.
My fingers fly across my keyboard, typing out a quick response.
Are you thinking about buying this place?
Almost instantly, my computer pings with Wolfie's reply.
I'm looking at it. If you don't like it, there are a few others I have in mind. I think any of them could be excellent for our first home together.
There's that fluttery feeling in my chest again.
I reopen the website and take another more serious look at the listing, trying to imagine myself inside each beautiful, spacious room. Ideas start rushing to my head quicker than I can talk myself down from my daydream. We could put the couch there, the kitchen table here. The second bedroom would be for guests, with a crib ready for Connor's baby girl when they visit.
It all seems too good to be true.
And then there's the very best part-the thought of coming home to Wolfie at the end of every day.
It's beautiful. Even the location is perfect. But isn't it a little fast for us to share a mortgage?
His response makes my head swim.
Then I'll buy it and you can live with me, rent-free. It'll be half yours anyway once there's a ring on your finger.
This time, the butterflies aren't just in my chest. They're in my stomach, and my fingertips, and even my freaking armpits. I can't believe this man sometimes.
You're too good to be true, you know that? And I'm helping with the payments!
No way. You know I come with baggage. I'm just lucky enough to have a girl who sees past it.
When I don't respond right away, he messages me again.
The realtor can get us in for a showing tonight, if you're free after work.
Tonight? Already? I didn't know this would move so fast. This all feels so crazy.
I never expected things to move so quickly with Wolfie, but much to my surprise, I'm not afraid. Just excited. Sometimes life moves a little faster than we could have planned, and all you can do is throw your arms up and enjoy the ride.
Opening my calendar again, I scroll through the back-to-back meetings and phone calls filling my day. It might be a race against the clock, but I think I can get out of here by six, if I focus. Starting, like, now.
Tonight sounds perfect. Meet me at the office after work? Six o'clock?
Perfect. Just like you. I love you.
I bask in the glow of those last two words for a good long moment. Wolfie loves me. I'll never get tired of hearing it. Or reading it on a screen, in this case.
Either way, those words leave a floaty feeling in my belly that even the most exhausting of workdays can't take away.
• • •
By the time six o'clock rolls around, I should be completely drained, but the excitement of seeing this condo with him has me riding a high.
When Wolfie texts me that he's arrived, I slip back into my snow boots and take the elevator down to the lobby, where he's seated on one of the black leather couches near reception. Waiting patiently for me, he scrolls through his phone, just like I waited patiently for him, all those years and diary entries ago. But this reality is far better than anything I ever could have put on paper.
I walk toward him, and when he sees me, his gray eyes light up like he just spotted his favorite thing in the world. I love those expressive eyes, the ones that always shine when they lock with mine. Even at the end of a long workweek in the dead of winter, one look from him could warm me up from the inside faster than a shot of bourbon.
He shoves up from the couch, gathering me in his arms for a quick kiss hello. His lips are as soft and sweet as ever, although a little cold from the winter weather. But the heat in his gaze when he pulls back is absolutely undeniable.
"Hi, gorgeous," he murmurs. "Ready to check out our future home?"
I roll my eyes and give his shoulder a pat. "Don't get ahead of yourself, babe. It's a showing, not a closing. How was work?"
"Good," he says with a nod. "And you?"
"Good. Long, but good. I'm starving, though. Do we have time to pick up a snack on our way to the showing?"
His laugh is a low cackle, barely audible through the lobby noise. "Way ahead of you, babe. I picked up dinner on the way here. It's out in the car, if you don't mind using your lap as a table."
My stomach answers for me with a grumble. "Um, that's a yes," I say with a blush, lacing my gloved fingers through his and following him toward the revolving doors. "What's on the menu?"
"Pasta," he says, his smile wider than a city block. "Just like our first date. When you cooked for me."
I smile at the memory. That was the start of us . . . back when I was so unsure how it would all unfold, but couldn't stop myself from falling hard and fast.
It's been an incredible ride, and I wouldn't change any of it for a single second.
***
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