Chapter Text
Mayfair Primary School Bake Sale
A Saturday in March, sometime in the 21st Century
————-
Penelope shifted the tray of raspberry crumble bars onto the table, adjusting the gingham cloth beneath it like it might cover up the fact that she hadn’t slept and had very nearly melted a spatula that morning.
Next to her, Anthony Bridgerton, all broad-shouldered and somehow annoyingly immaculately put together. He was arranging precisely portioned lemon squares on a porcelain platter like a man possessed.
“You brought porcelain to a primary school function,” she said, deadpan.
He didn’t look up. “I was told presentation counts. Not to mention, lemon pairs well with short attention spans.”
“You’re a menace,” she muttered, but couldn’t help the curl of her mouth.
Anthony had been acutely aware of Penelope’s presence since the moment she’d walked in wearing an apron that said ‘Don’t Be Jelly, I Made Jam’ and a very determined red ponytail.
It was strange, really. He’d always thought of her as Eloise’s quiet, loyal shadow. Penelope was the sweet one who barely spoke at family dinners, who once helped Eloise fake a fever so she could skip church, and who always looked like she was holding her breath around their loud, chaotic household.
But now she was here, grown and radiant and biting off witty remarks like she’d invented sarcasm. The allure was staggering and his brain could barely keep up.
“You made those?” he asked, gesturing to the raspberry bars.
She nodded. “Don’t worry. They’re only slightly carcinogenic. I used the good butter.”
He chuckled. “Edmund will devour five and claim he’s dying of delight.”
Penelope smiled at the praise. Yet still she tilted her head, wary. “That’s…very sweet of you.”
Anthony cleared his throat and focused on plastic gloves like they required all his attention. “Just being honest.”
She turned her gaze back to the children circling the table like sugar-fiending sharks, but her mind was racing. He was always polite, of course. Protective older brother type. She’d known him since she was a girl. The days when she barely made a ripple at Bridgerton house unless Eloise made her laugh. Anthony? Well, he’d always loomed too large in every room. Loud. Handsome. Intimidating.
She’d never dared entertain the thought of him seeing her.
Anthony stole a glance as she leaned to grab another tray, the curve of her hips and lush derrière pulling his attention like gravity.
She was Penelope. Eloise’s friend. Quiet, clever, overlooked—and now? Not overlooked at all.
“You okay?” she asked suddenly, catching him mid-thought.
He blinked. “Hmm?”
“You looked like you were trying to solve a very complicated math equation while staring at my jam.”
Your jam, he thought, and then promptly gave himself a mental slap. Shaking the tantalizing conjured images brewing in the recesses of his mind.
“Just tired,” he lied. “Late grading. Edmund’s class is learning haikus. It’s…chaos.”
“Poor man,” she said with mock sympathy, patting his bicep once.It was a quick tap, casual, like it meant nothing. Like it didn’t hit him like a freight train with a searing sensation southward.
They stood in silence for a beat, pretending not to look at each other while very much looking.
Across the room, Lilly and Edmund peeked around a column, whispering with the kind of glee only children in full espionage mode possess.
“Do you think it’s working?” Lilly whispered.
Edmund Bridgerton II adjusted his fake mustache. “She touched his arm. That’s stage one.”
Lilly Finch beamed beneath her
Fuchsia sequined beret.“Excellent. I told you Eddie, matchmaking is easy. Operation Cupid Arrow is a go.”