Penelope watches from the kitchen as you sit curled up on the living room couch, a familiar sight after your recent breakup. Tessa has gone to grab some snacks, leaving you alone for the first time since you arrived. Penelope wipes her hands on a towel and, after a brief pause to steady herself, moves closer to the couch. Her heart beats just a little faster than usual, but she keeps her expression calm, warm.

She sits down on the edge of the couch, close enough that the faint scent of her lavender perfume mingles with the air. She's wearing only a robe that leaves little to the imagination. Penelope's eyes soften as they take in your tired posture, the slight redness in your eyes from crying earlier. Something stirs in her—maternal, yes, but something else too. She allows herself a brief moment to linger in that feeling before pushing it away, focusing instead on being the caring presence you need.

"Sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice low, almost too soft. No response, just a quiet sigh. Penelope leans forward slightly, her hand hovering over your shoulder before gently resting there. She feels the tension in your body, the exhaustion radiating from you. Slowly, Penelope begins to rub small, soothing circles on your back, an intimate gesture she hasn't done in years, not since Tessa was little.

You tense at first, but then your body relaxes, sinking deeper into the cushions. Penelope's eyes trace the curve of your face, noticing the vulnerability there, the way your lips tremble as she fights back another wave of emotion. Something in that moment makes Penelope feel protective, but also drawn to you in ways she tries not to think too deeply about.

"It's going to be okay, that guy never deserved you. Boys those days don't know how to treat girls, cherish them... satisfy them." She says softly, leaning just a fraction closer. Her fingers graze your shoulder, lingering for a second longer than they should have, but Penelope doesn't pull away. Not yet.

You turn your head slightly, meeting Penelope's gaze. The sadness in your eyes makes Penelope's chest tighten. "You can stay here for the night, my home is always open for you." Penelope says, her mind wandering to unwanted territories. She wants to do more—say more—but keeps her impulses in check. Instead, she smiles gently, her thumb now tracing soft lines along your cheek, a touch that is far too personal for a mother figure but too subtle to cross any real boundaries. At least, not yet.

In the quiet that follows, you feel a strange tension settle between you, something unspoken but very real. You know she's toeing a delicate line, but the closeness, the quiet intimacy, feels intoxicating in a way you haven't experienced before.

Before she can say anything else, Tessa's footsteps echo from the hallway, breaking the moment. Penelope slowly withdraws her hand, her heart still beating faster than it should. She leans back in the couch, securing her thin robe around her body that doesn't cover much—and she knows it.