Penelope squeezed her eyes shut, wishing there was a way to change the subject without her mother catching on to the fact that Penelope’s chest hurt a little at the mention of Evan. At the memory of how she had so foolishly thought there was something between them…

“Anyway, he asked about you.”

“Did he,” she murmured.

Of course Evan would ask about her. He was nothing if not polite. Fake and manipulative, but polite.

“Said he might be coming out to New York soon for work. Said he was going to look you up.”

Penelope blew out a breath. She knew that tone—her mother was matchmaking.

“He has a girlfriend, Mom.”

“Not last night he didn’t,” his mother said smugly. “He was at the game with a short, portly fellow.”

Penelope would bet serious money that the short, portly fellow was Caleb Mulroney, one of the guys who’d interviewed Penelope for the job Evan had swiped out from under her nose.

Although, surprisingly, that memory didn’t sting as sharply as it usually did. She’d wanted that job with Sportiva, certainly. Had she gotten it, she was sure she’d be loving it. She’d be going to Cubs games with the friendly, likable Caleb.

But maybe it had worked out for the better. She was loving New York. Loving Oxford. Loving the friends she was making, thanks to Cole bringing her into his group of friends.

And then there was Cole himself…

But Penelope wasn’t ready to talk about Cole. Not to her prying mother or her mischievous sister. If anyone was capable of taking a simple kiss and turning it into wedding planning, it was her family.

Instead she changed the subject to another of her mother’s favorites: Facebook.

By the end of the phone call, she had her mother’s promise that she wouldn’t post any naked pictures of Penelope in which she was over the age of eight.

Hanging up with her mother, Penelope forced her attention back to golf stats.

Despite her lukewarm feelings on the thought, she supposed its rise in popularity was refreshing.

There was something very human about a sport that anyone could pick up, at any age. Baseball fans were limited to amateur softball leagues, basketball fans to picking up a random game after work at the gym. Football? Definitely not a layman’s sport.

But golf was a level playing field. Kids. Women. Retirees. Anyone could play.

And thanks to guys like Adam Bailey, it was now every bit as cool as it was approachable.

Penelope still thought the man was a slimebucket, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t slightly giddy about getting to meet him at the photo shoot next week. For some reason, when she’d decided to pursue the Oxford job, the potential perk of getting to meet professional athletes in person hadn’t occurred to her.

It was just one of the many perks about the job she hadn’t seen coming. The other unexpected perk?

She enjoyed working with a partner.

Working with Cole was…

Well, it was right. She didn’t know how else to put it.

It was early in their partnership, true, but other than the occasional squabble, they seemed to see eye to eye on most everything.

He challenged her when she got too attached to a pet project, and he was always open to her challenging him. Which she did. Often.

Penelope’s stomach did one of those grinding, growling things, and a glance at the clock showed her why.

It was nearly one-thirty. Way past lunchtime.

She pushed her chair back and stood, trying to muster enthusiasm for the turkey sandwich that awaited her, when Cole came strolling in the door.

“Looking for this?” he asked, holding up a brown paper lunch sack.

“Oh! Yeah, I was, actually,” she said, smiling in thanks as he set the bag in front of her on the desk.

He tapped the front of the bag where she’d written her name, first and last, in black marker.

“Really?” he asked.

“What?”

“This is so third grade.”

“Well, how else am I going to know it’s mine?”

“Maybe because nobody else literally brown-bags their lunch?”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a little foolish.

“Don’t fret,” he said. “It’s cute.”

Before she could register what that meant, he dropped something else on her desk. A white Styrofoam box.

She looked up in question, but he merely lifted his eyebrows.

Opening it, she breathed a sigh of delight when she saw the onion rings. “You brought me leftovers.”

“Nope,” he said, plopping in her chair and putting his shoes up on the desk as he made himself comfortable. “Ordered them special, with instructions not to cook them until we were paying our bill so they’d still be hot.”

Penelope paused in chewing the greasy, oniony goodness and looked at him in surprise, but he was busy typing something on his phone and didn’t notice her curious glance.

She chewed thoughtfully as she studied him, wondering, not for the first time, if there were depths to Cole Sharpe that he kept carefully hidden from the world.

Sure, it was common knowledge that he was nice. Friendly. Charming.

But did people see beneath that to the kindness?

“Quit looking at me like that, Tiny,” he said, not glancing up from his phone.

“Like what?”

“Like I just threw myself in front of a truck to save a toddler. They’re onion rings, not flowers.”

“I don’t like flowers.”