No Chance in Hell

When Hell Freezes Over

One would suspect that considering Penelope spent such a large chunk of her life (ages thirteen to eighteen, in fact) head over heels in love with Colin, it would be much harder to move on from him. However, here she was on a girls night with Eloise, Edwina, Daphne, Kate, Sophie, and their friend, Genevieve. Francesca and Hyacinth were of course not yet of drinking age, and Violet chose to stay and watch the grandchildren. Kate and Daphne, both pregnant, were designated drivers. Thus allowing Penelope the freedoms of a time honored tradition among the heartbroken women of the world---drinking to forget. And forget she did. For the first time in weeks, hell, years even, she wasn't thinking about where Colin was or what he was thinking or if he was thinking about her. She didn't care. And heavens did that feel good. 

The funny thing was, the more she let go and stopped making her whole life about one man, more men (and a few women) started to notice her. For instance, the man who checked their IDs at the door. He was a tall, fit man with chocolaty eyes and a drool-worthy sleeve of tattoos, and he was most certainly checking her out. She had, after all, chosen to let the girls (her boobs) out to play. Even the bartender, a very cute girl with short black hair and long lashes, was flirting with Penelope. She couldn't believe that all this time, she could have been having fun and experimenting instead of fawning over a man who clearly only saw her as one of his old toys he couldn't bear to part with. 

Penelope didn't necessarily plan on taking someone home when she went out that night. But as she stepped off the dance floor to grab a drink, she started to reconsider. And this startling change of plans came in the form of Reginald Fife, of all people. She certainly wasn't expecting him when he approached her, which caused her to accidentally spill her drink all over him. To be fair, it was Fife, so he probably deserved it. Penelope braced herself for the man's expected outburst, but it never came. Instead, he laughed, loudly and unlike she had ever heard him laugh before. She shivered at the parallel of a moment she shared with Colin from years ago, but quickly brushed it off.

"You can't go sneaking up on people like that!" Penelope teased, laughing a bit uncomfortably as she tried to catch her breath.

Fife stopped and smiled at her curiously, as if he was trying to solve some sort of puzzle. Finally, he asked, "Can I buy you another drink, Red? I feel like I owe you." 

In more ways than one, Penelope thought. "Sure," she hesitantly agreed. "Thanks, Fife."

"Reggie, please," he insisted.

Penelope tried not to let her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. This was probably the longest conversation the two of them had ever had, and here he was asking her to call him by his first name? She didn't think she'd heard any of his friends, or even his past girlfriends do that. "Vodka cran then, Reggie."

"You got it, Red." Penelope stood silently, twiddling her thumbs. Tonight was turning out to be very strange, considering she was allowing Reginald Fife to buy her a drink. Thankfully, the rest of the girls were still dancing and having fun, not paying attention to her at the bar. "Can I please get a whiskey sour and a vodka cran for the lovely lady?" The bartender nodded and winked at Penelope as she set about making their drinks. "Thanks," Fife added, in a strangely polite manner.

Penelope scoffed. "Lovely lady? Reggie, how many of those whisky sours have you had tonight?" She teased, pointing to his empty glass.

He grinned in response, leaning in slightly, and she got a fluttering feeling in her belly. "Oh, I'm perfectly sober, Red. Sober enough to ask why the hell someone as gorgeous as you is sitting alone at a bar."

"Well, I'm sure my friends are probably off somewhere rejecting your group of friends." She wasn't sure what had gotten into her, but she suddenly found herself flirting with the man. Because unfortunately, this was her version of flirting. Perhaps she had too many of those vodka crans, because she was getting far too bold.