Chapter 38
Tuck
She’s excited.
Exhilarated.
And we’re talking more than ever.
About everything…except us .
The calls come at all hours: morning, midday, late at night. And somehow, we’ve fallen into the habit of FaceTiming more often than not. Maybe it’s because untangling the details of closing her studio—protecting her employees, her reputation, her profit margins—feels like something she needs to do face to face.
Not that I mind. After waking up with her almost every day in Blue Mountain Lake, being apart feels like hell. They say it’s best to rip the Band-Aid off, to make a clean break. But how can I when every call, every glance, every moment with her still carries the scent of hope?
We’ve mapped out a plan to wind down her studio over the next six months, phasing out production without causing chaos. Automatic resupply is off; from now on, materials are ordered manually, only as needed. We’ve streamlined processes, cutting inefficiencies and shifting key accounts to trusted partners. The goal? A clean exit. No loose ends. No unnecessary losses.
And I knew she was on a roll with Mia’s dress—but now that the details are emerging, I’m thrown off.
I shoot a look to the screen propped on the countertop as I turn from the fridge.
“What do you mean you’re designing jewelry? What about redoing the bodice?”
“It’s part of the bodice!” Pen gushes. “And I’m collaborating with Raquel—you know she’s an amazing jewelry designer, right? She was blown away when I suggested it.”
Great. Now, she’s opened a portal to more of Raquel’s endless wisdom.
“Why the strangled face, Tuck?” she asks, all innocence.
“Just thinking how Raquel had all that advice for you about having a baby.”
“Huh?” Pen frowns. “You mean, how she told me that sexual attraction is the most important element in determining the father?”
“She did?”
Okay. Not what I was expecting.
“Yep. According to Raquel, there’s like this wisdom built into our cells. An…‘evolutionary mastercode’, she called it.” Pen reflects. “That means we’re naturally drawn to people whose DNA complements ours. Something about improving the odds for the baby, healthy genes, and fewer risks. Nature’s way of improving the genetic odds.”
I pull up a stool, attempting to process that.
“Basically…” Pen gives a dramatic pause, “she said if I’m so into you—to the point we’re, you know, constantly acting on it—then maybe biology’s giving me the green light.”
I bypass the grin on my face to take a long, slow gulp of water.
Then, I glance up as the silence stretches. “What?”
Pen bites her lip. “Well, with everything Raquel said rolling around my head and you, um…well, your shirt—”
I snort. “What shirt? You’re calling at seven in the morning. I just worked out. Sorry if I’m offending your sensibilities, Miss Bennet. ”
She giggles. “I forgot Susan’s high school reading list included a good dose of Jane Austen.”
“Oh yeah—always insists she’s still relevant. I guess if you’re into stuffy English period novels, she’s not the worst you could read.”
“I have to admit, Mr. Darcy’s proposal is super hot.” Pen smiles coyly.
I raise a brow. “His second proposal, I assume? The first one didn’t exactly go over well.”
“No way—” Pen shakes her head. “She really put him through his paces.”
I tilt my head, add a questioning look, waiting for the significance of her words to sink in. Because putting a guy through his paces? Fuck me, Elizabeth Bennett’s got nothing on Penelope Miller.
It finally lands, followed by something I haven’t seen in a long time.
Wait. No. That can’t be…
“Did you—did you just blush, Penelope?”
“What? Of course not!” She fluffs her hair and schools her face into something stern. “It’s just…Well, I guess, designing Mia’s wedding dress has made me have to—you know—tap into something. To feel a bit…”
“Romantic?” I supply.
She folds her arms a little defensively. “I suppose. It’s just like all the pieces are finally coming together after I tried to immerse myself in the whole concept. Thinking of Mia and Mason’s love story…their partnership that came about unexpectedly. Allowing myself to feel the vision of walking down the aisle in a beautiful dress, in a gorgeous setting—the whole wedding vibe. Imagining all the people you’re connected to present with you. Happy for you. It’s…special.”
I stare at her, waiting for the cynical Pen I know so well to reemerge.
“I kind of get it now.” She toys with her hair as she reaches for the words. “Like Mia and Mason fit so well together, and through planning the wedding, their love story captures everyone around them.”
Her eyes turn soft and dreamy as she speaks. “Raquel is so moved to contribute to her daughter’s wedding dress. And with her expertise, Tuck—it’s going to be spectacular! Ethically sourced diamonds, Tahitian pearls—plus vintage pearls from her Great Aunt. It’s absolutely layered with meaning.”
And just like that, she’s off again, full steam ahead, lost in design.
“Mayflowers?” I pick up on a random thread, trying to keep up. “Are you doing millinery elements now, too?” I ask, only half joking.
“Mia’s from Boston, and that flower holds a lot of meaning for her and her family. And when I realized what was missing—the pièce de résistance—”
Pen suddenly backtracks, bubbling over with enthusiasm. “I refined my peplum idea, scaled it way back, until it morphed into something else altogether. Tuck! I can feel the fall of the silk, the way it gathers on the hip with the perfect hit of bling. I’m going to track down that brooch designer in Newcombe that Misha and I came across. See if I can get a prototype ASAP.”
“Take a breath, Pen.”
“Ha! I’m excited.”
“I can tell.”
“Did you see my latest sketches?” She leans into the camera, peering at me. “I sent them through last night on that Telegram thing you set up. Or maybe that was early this morning—”
“Yeah, seriously, your security protocols are dire.” I shake my head. “You have important clients, Pen; you have to restrict who sees what and make sure no communication channels can be compromised. If word got out on whose wedding dress you’re designing…”
I stop as I pull up her images.
Pen’s sketches are usually spot-on in evoking the feel of an outfit, but this…this is something else. It’s a whole cinematic vision. I slowly flick through each stunning drawing until I’m at the back view—the bodice arching under the shoulder blades, the draping jewelry emphasizing the feminine curve of the shoulders. Every single detail is perfectly executed.
“You know this, right—that it’s fucking brilliant?” I ask in awe.
Pen’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes gleaming. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Pen. Beyond good. You know who this makes me think of?”
Her eyes widen with anticipation.
I summon to mind the designer we pored over in our student days—America’s First Couturier. He didn’t just design dresses, he engineered fabric into forms that defied gravity, shapes that transformed the body into something both impossibly structured and effortlessly feminine and fluid.
“Charles James.”
“Noooo!” She shakes her head, grinning. “He was like the ultimate! I could only dream of being anything like him.”
“Seriously, Pen. Even the way you physically mold your designs to the body as you work. I’ve thought it before—you’re a genius. This is art, baby. Epic! When are you coming back here to work all these new elements into the dress?”
She sits back, glancing away. “Actually, what you said about security issues. And the whole time crunch thing. I was thinking…I should work on the dress here. Pull in a skeleton team from my studio. They bring everything here, and we fine-tune the whole process.” She looks at me carefully.
“Besides, my next meeting with Mia won’t be in New York.” Her words come in a rush. “I’ll have to go to LA to finalize the shoulder jewelry design with Raquel, then the final fittings with Mia.”
I drum my fingers on the benchtop. “So…not back to New York.”
She blinks. “No.”
I shrug, feeling like an afterthought. “You never wanted to go to Blue Mountain Lake—now it’s like you don’t want to leave. What’s changed?”
Pen rubs her neck. “I don’t know, I guess it’s this process of working through the dress, finding inspiration here, being so close to nature again, reconnecting with this house…people. I feel like somehow there are still loose threads to tie up here. For once, I don’t feel ready to leave.”
I fold my arms. She chews her lip.
“Tuck—just let me get the dress done. Get some other stuff settled. Clear our schedules…”
“Wait for the right moon phase and world peace?” I scoff.
“I know, I’m sorry. I really…I miss you.” She sighs as her eyes wander the screen, roving over my torso. “Especially like that—were you really working out or is this a deliberate tease?” She challenges with a grin. “Because two can play that game, you know.”
She slowly slides the lacy strap off her left shoulder.
Heat flares immediately, my chest contracting with thoughts of a bigger reveal.
And what if it’s simply a distraction? A delay tactic? A way out of a difficult conversation?
Well, it works. She wriggles out of her top and the first flash of her tits is enough to get me hard. But then my mind slips…pulling up other details to merge with her hiked breath, her hums of arousal, her dreamy dark eyes—details of Pen in the half-made wedding dress, dark hair spilling against the pale fabric, spreading her legs for me as she lies against the table.
Now, she positions the camera and scoots back on the lounge to display more. Tugging down her panties. Dipping her fingers between her legs as I grip my cock.
She gets me off effortlessly. Just watching her let go, her throaty moans as she comes, tip me over the brink. It’s hot. Intense.
But it’s not just the sex that lingers on my mind when we sign off.
I made Pen blush. And I carry that victory with me all day.
Because with Pen, it’s the subtleties that matter most. The moments she doesn’t give away easily. The cracks in her bravado. The glimpses of the woman underneath all that fire and fight.
She’s brilliantly talented. Fierce and determined. Beautiful. Unique. And threaded through with uncertainties that sabotage everything I want to create with her.
But I’d never want to change her.
I wouldn’t wish away the struggles that shaped her, even though I hate that she had to endure them. Those hardships didn’t break her. They made her the complex, confounding, utterly frustrating woman she is. Gave her all those uneven textures and irregularities.
Like the ‘flaws’ in raw silk, Pen’s contrasts only make her more special. Imperfections don’t diminish her, they define her. She’s a perfect tapestry of imperfect pieces. And I wouldn’t have her any other way.
And I know exactly how Darcy must have felt—watching the woman he wanted slip through his fingers, all sharp wit and cool detachment, forcing him to chase her, to prove himself.
He got his second chance.
But I’m starting to wonder—will I?