Somehow he’d never pictured how it would be on the other side, and…

It sucked.

He started to turn away, when she called his name.

Cole turned around, found her watching him with a nervous expression. “We’ll be okay, right? On Monday?”

He forced a grin. “Absolutely, Tiny.”

It wasn’t until he’d put several blocks between the two of them that he let his forced smile slip.

But as he trudged home through the snow, Cole knew one thing for sure. Penelope Pope would never find out just how much that kiss had rocked him.

Or how much that rejection had burned.

Chapter 11

True to Cole’s word, he hadn’t let Monday get awkward.

Nor Tuesday. Or Wednesday…or any of the days that followed. Nearly two weeks had passed, and to say that it was like the kiss had never happened was the ultimate in understatements.

Which was good. Really good.

Or so Penelope had told herself twice a day, every day since it had happened.

“Yo, Tiny—you coming to lunch?” Cole asked, knocking on her doorframe.

Lincoln appeared behind Cole. “Yes, come with.”

She chewed her lip. “I shouldn’t. I brought a sandwich.”

Cole made a thumbs-down motion. “Boo. We’re going to Roadie’s.”

“Onion rings,” Penelope breathed reverently.

Cole lifted an eyebrow in challenge. The man was getting to know her all too well. He understood that her appetite ran more toward battered and fried onions than it did the turkey on whole wheat sandwich that was waiting for her in the fridge.

Then she glanced down at the article she was working on. “I have to finish this before my meeting with Cassidy.”

“Need help?” Cole asked. “I can stay.”

Cole didn’t see the surprised, thoughtful look Lincoln shot him¸ but Penelope did. Lincoln shifted his gaze to hers, wiggling his eyebrows, and she gave him a Knock it off look.

“No, I’m good,” she told Cole, not wanting Lincoln to get the wrong idea. Or heck, not wanting Cole to get the wrong idea.

Although she doubted she needed to worry about that. Any vibes she’d gotten the night of The Kiss that he’d seen her as a woman rather than a colleague hadn’t made even the briefest reappearance.

Cole shrugged and he and Lincoln headed off to lunch.

Penelope returned to her computer. She tried to lose herself in the world of golf stats, but golf was one sport Penelope had never been able to get particularly excited about, and she found herself pulling up Facebook instead.

A mistake.

“Oh God,” she breathed as she looked closer at the screen.

Without tearing her eyes away from the screen she reached for her cellphone. Two rings later her sister picked up.

“I’ll never forgive you for helping Mom get on Facebook,” Penelope said by way of greeting.

Janie groaned. “What now?”

“Let’s just say she’s interpreted Throwback Thursday as ‘opportunity to show my daughters naked,’ ” Penelope said.

“Again? How many naked pictures does she have?”

“Lots, apparently,” Penelope said. “Today’s feature is of you running around in a diaper with ketchup smeared all over your face, and she caught me in the process of whipping my sunflower dress over my head.”

“You know, you always did have a naked thing—”

“I do not have a naked thing,” Penelope said.

Although, with as many pictures as her mother had of her tearing her clothes off, her sister might be onto something.

“Did you see her post last night about Dad’s bunion?” Janie asked. “It got a hundred and four likes. I didn’t get that many likes when I announced my engagement.”

“It’s not right,” Penelope muttered, as she scanned the highly amused comments on her mother’s post. “We should change her password.”

“Eh, at least it keeps her busy,” Janie said dismissively. “Now she only calls me once a day instead of five. You?”

“I’m still on the thrice-a-day schedule, but I’m hoping that’ll die down once she understands I’m not at constant risk of being mugged.”

Penelope’s phone beeped, and she pulled it back to look at the incoming call.

She smiled. Of course it would be her mother.

She went back to Janie. “Mom’s calling. Don’t even try to tell me that she doesn’t have us bugged to know when we’re talking about her. I know she does.”

“Have fun with that,” Janie said in a singsong voice. “Also, next time you call me, it better be to discuss your adult naked time—”

Penelope switched over from Janie to her mother before her sister could finish.

“Hey Mom.”

“Penny! Hi, honey!”

Penelope smiled. Lydia Pope was of one of those chronically happy people whose face was never without a smile, and whose voice was never without an exclamation point.

“How are you, sweetie? Anything new happening?”

“Since yesterday?” Penelope asked, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Not really.”

Her mom made a soft scolding noise. “How often do I have to tell you that life happens in moments, honey. Anything could have happened since we last spoke!”

“Sure, but you have to admit, the chances of my meeting the love of my life or getting pregnant since we last talked yesterday afternoon are slim.”

“Only because you moved to New York,” her mom said. “Had you stayed in Chicago, I’m confident your father and I might have found a nice boy for you.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Yes, because that’s every thirtysomething woman’s dream. To be set up by her parents.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll admit that we don’t have much in terms of the under-sixty connections. But, oh! I didn’t tell you who I ran into last night!”

“Who?” Penelope asked, even though her mother was going to tell her with or without her participation in the conversation.

“Evan!”

Penelope froze with the water bottle halfway to her lips.

“You know…Evan Barton? Barter?” her mother said.

“Barstow,” Penelope said casually—as though mention of his name didn’t have her feeling slightly sweaty. “Where’d you see him?”

“Oh, your father dragged me to Wrigley Field last night. I was bored out of my mind, as always, but then, lo and behold, guess who was sitting right in front of us! I can’t believe he recognized me. We only met him that one time you brought him to our Memorial Day BBQ….”

Penelope squeezed her eyes shut, wishing there was a way to change the subject without her mother catching on to the fact that Penelope’s chest hurt a little at the mention of Evan. At the memory of how she had so foolishly thought there was something between them…

“Anyway, he asked about you.”

“Did he,” she murmured.

Of course Evan would ask about her. He was nothing if not polite. Fake and manipulative, but polite.

“Said he might be coming out to New York soon for work. Said he was going to look you up.”

Penelope blew out a breath. She knew that tone—her mother was matchmaking.

“He has a girlfriend, Mom.”

“Not last night he didn’t,” his mother said smugly. “He was at the game with a short, portly fellow.”

Penelope would bet serious money that the short, portly fellow was Caleb Mulroney, one of the guys who’d interviewed Penelope for the job Evan had swiped out from under her nose.

Although, surprisingly, that memory didn’t sting as sharply as it usually did. She’d wanted that job with Sportiva, certainly. Had she gotten it, she was sure she’d be loving it. She’d be going to Cubs games with the friendly, likable Caleb.

But maybe it had worked out for the better. She was loving New York. Loving Oxford. Loving the friends she was making, thanks to Cole bringing her into his group of friends.