UNEDITED
Between his semi-committed addiction to smoking and his role as CEO of Elemental Coffee, Cassian Russell has spent the majority of his life running one of the most popular coffee shops on the Island with his best friend, Jake Swift. After a...
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Penelope
My right heel wobbles as I step through the door. I'm five minutes early and Patrick is already in the restaurant. I can see his head of curly blonde hair as he stares down at his phone through the window. He's tapping his foot against the footrest on a tall stool. While he appears calm to surrounding people, he's far from calm. I can understand where he's coming from. My nerves are on edge, and the knowledge I now bear about my long-lost sibling is surreal.
Am I crazy? I think to myself.
I don't know the antsy, reserved man sitting in that restaurant; I only know him as a contractor who smashes flooring and countertops for a living.
But then that familiar thrill stirs in my stomach, the one I used to get whenever I found a lead on my biological parents. The need to answer my questions has always stirred me—even more so than Cassian's presence does.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the glass door and walk right past the hostess. I'm a woman on a mission; if I talk to anyone, my courage is going to dwindle.
Patrick doesn't shift or turn; he waits until I'm towering over him to peer up at me. His blue eyes make me wonder why I was so daft. How could I not see the similarities between us? They're also wary and resigned. That gaze flickers down, over my grey crew-neck sweatshirt and purple skinny jeans, down to my ankle boots, and then back up to my face. It's a quick look, but I don't miss the brotherly adoration in his eyes nor the fascination.
Despite my stringent attitude directed at him, I can't help but feel a pang of sympathy. It must've felt like the world was imploding on him when he found my proof of adoption papers. I wonder if he carries the guilt his face is stricken with.
"Penelope," he finally says.
I settle onto the stool across from him. If we're going to have this conversation, we need to be at an equal level. I also need a drink. Something strong to ease the nerves. When the server stops by, I order a whisky on ice. I'm not a fan of the stuff, but Cassian and Jake always revert to it after a long day at work. It can't be that bad.
"Patrick," I reply once the server has left.
He nods, as if he knows what I'm going to ask. I'm guessing he prepared himself for this after my reaction on Saturday—and my lack of presence at work.
Do I go in hard or do I try a more subtle approach?
As I stare at my brother, I realize I need to go for the latter approach. Patrick looks haggard, as if he hasn't slept for days. I can't dismiss that.
"How is everything?" I ask.
The smallest smirk touches his lips. He can't believe I'm going for casual talk as opposed to grilling him for answers. "I've been better," he replies. "But I have no complaints." He drums his fingertips over the table's sticky surface in an anxious tempo, his gaze never leaving mine.
