Until You Penelope Douglas Novels & Stories

Noel led Penelope with a hand on her waist to a table. It was hard not to gawk when they were sharing their table with Margaret Freeman, a popular holder of one the seats in the British Parliament, Diane Hickenlooper, a Class 1 US senator, Lazaros Plapoutas, a Greek socialite, a handsome man with a charming smile who held Penny's hand and her gaze a second too long, and several others, some of whom she did not even recognize. There was an air of importance and wealth around them and suddenly she felt insufficient even after all her efforts at creating a comfortable life for herself.

She gave me a warm smile so I can't help but to smile back. "Good Morning, Maám. I just want to ask if this is where Penelope Avery lives?" Her eyes widened a bit, "Are you her friend?" she asked. Wait, are we friends? No, we're not right? "I'm her partner. We are working on a project together." I said instead. "Here?" She looked at me, confused. I think Clark is right. I don't think Penelope had any visitors in her house before. "Yes, Maám. She told me to meet her here."

I unbuttoned the top button of my coat. "Switching between hot and cold like that will get you sick in no time. Next time, don't just open the window like that when you're driving," she advised. "Okay, got it." Luke said he would get back to me, and I couldn't help but glance at my phone. Only a minute had passed, but it felt like an eternity. Penelope worked at Horizon Magazine and had been closely following a story lately. Just then, she glanced out the window and spotted the subject of her investigation—a popular young actor—and her eyes lit up.

I turned toward the window seats, preparing to make my way to my usual spot, when a voice stopped me. “You people must like running your mouths. If you used more of your brain cells than your mouths, the world might actually improve.” Everyone froze. That voice. I turned my head toward the doorway. Penelope leaned against the wall, her black bob tucked behind one ear. A small tattoo peeked out from her neck, and another curled around her wrist. She wore a cropped white top, tiny black shorts, and a bomber jacket. Her arms were crossed, and the look in her eyes could’ve set someone on fire.

After a moment, she tapped reply and typed a simple, ‘Okay. Williams Morgan: ‘Where would you like to go?’ Penelope’s eyes flicked across the keyboard as an idea struck her. She typed the name of the most expensive restaurant she could think of in the city. ‘The Golden Quilox.’ Surely, she thought, if she suggested somewhere that expensive, he would back out immediately. A small, amused smirk tugged at her lips as she hit send. Almost immediately, Williams Morgan’s reply appeared on the screen. ‘Okay, how about tomorrow?’

Penelope shouted. "Hi, Penny" Ann replied. She knew Penelope did not like being called Penny. "I haven't seen Dolores yet," Penelope asked. "She's sleeping, I suppose, she doesn't like running and waking early," Ann replied. "What a couple you make, so different from each other" Penelope added. "We like diversity, but now I need a shower," replied the tall blond girl, as she unlocked her door.

he grabbed Penelope by the face and kissed her, it felt like forever. I cleared my throat, drawing their attention, and he turned to me with a beaming smile. As he left, my gaze met Penelope's stunning brown eyes. Her radiant smile revealed a captivating confidence that made her resemble a masterpiece from an art gallery. With her fiery red curls cascading around her, she stood at an impressive 5'6" with curvaceous features. We were of similar height, but she possessed an aura that dominated the room, Penelope lived life fearlessly, not caring about other's opinions. In that moment. I couldn't help but envy her incredible life and magnetic personality.

“Ember, please, you’ve made your point, they’ve seen you’re brave, please, that’s enough—” “It is not nearly enough,” Penelope says, not even looking at her. “Drink, girl.” I drink.

It’s more like the generic hold music you get when you call customer service, pleasant enough, but you’re just waiting for it to end. My name is Penelope Jones. Everyone calls me Penny, probably because “Penelope” sounds like someone who owns a yacht and knows which fork to use for salad. I do not own a boat. I own approximately seven pairs of scrubs, a coffee maker that’s on its last legs, and a laptop that’s seen more werewolf smut than any piece of technology should have to endure.