Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He was finally on his way home, and he’d get there much sooner if only he could fall asleep. Everyone else on the plane was somehow sleeping. Well, except for the pilots, hopefully. However, Colin was wired, anxious, and uncomfortable. It was too cold, the dim lights were still too bright, and the hum of the engine was obnoxiously loud. He was in economy plus, as that was what his production budget allowed, but the extra inches of legroom were not enough for his build. One shoulder was crushed up against the window, while on his other side, an armrest dug into his waist.
He looked over at his friend and producer, Michael, snoring peacefully beside him. Jerk.
Colin rearranged his blanket and pillow, closed his eyes again, and attempted to relax, but then his stomach growled. Fuck, he was hungry. He reached down under the seat in front of him, searching through his messenger bag for a snack, but only managed to pull up empty wrappers.
He glanced around the dimly lit cabin, eyes landing on a flight attendant. He waved him over.
“Yes, sir?”
“Hi, hello,” Colin whispered, leaning over Michael, “Would it be possible to get a snack?”
“Sure. I have peanuts or pretzels.”
“Can I have one of each?”
The attendant nodded and held up a hand to indicate he’d be right back.
Colin was glad there were salty snacks. After six months of filming desserts in Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam for his television show, he was craving savory. Although, once back at home, he knew he’d be expected for his mother’s weekly Sunday brunch where she’d have his favorite almond croissants. His stomach growled again, and he looked up to find the attendant passing over two bags of each snack. Colin nodded gratefully, mouthing a “Thank you,” and dug in. God, he loved food, even stale airplane snacks.
Colin had briefly attended culinary school, but discovered he didn’t have the attention span for knife work, nor did he love the hierarchy of a kitchen. Several injuries later, he dropped out and went to the other side, working as a food critic. He spent a couple of years writing for a regional magazine, anonymously visiting restaurants all around the city to praise or pan their signature dishes. Yet every time he had to be critical, his heart broke. He liked chefs. Most restaurants were run by families and they had history, stories. He tried to always find something nice to say, assuming the kitchen had an ‘off’ night when he visited, but his editor just rolled her eyes and pushed him to be more definitive in his harsh statements.
And then his friend Penelope made a brilliant suggestion. Pen was a writer at the same magazine as Colin. She wrote an anonymous advice column, as well as several lifestyle pieces. She also happened to be his childhood neighbor and bestie to his sister Eloise.
Colin had lost a bet with his older brothers and had to show up to his sister-in-law’s Halloween party as Guy Fieri. Pen was dressed as a fairy in a lavender tutu with wings and a wand, her strawberry blonde curls pulled back in a low bun. She laughed at his costume, but when she tugged on his bleached blonde goatee, she quite earnestly asked, “Col, why don’t you do this? What Guy does?”
“Visit diners and orgasm over every heart-attack inducing burger available?”
“Well…yes! You love to travel, you love getting to know chefs and the stories behind the food. Why don’t you try that?”
“Hmm,” Colin stroked his fake goatee, actually intrigued by the idea, “But it's been done. What could I say that’s unique or different?”
Penelope shrugged. “You’re smart, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
“But I’m really more Tony Bourdain than Guy Fieri, don’t you think?”
Pen smirked at him, “Well, if the sunglasses and bowling shirt fit…”
So Colin did it. He had just started getting to know Michael, cousin to his sister Francesca’s fiancé, John. Michael graduated from film school and had already made an award nominated indie documentary. Together, they created a YouTube show where Colin would visit restaurants to get the “story” behind their best dessert. Col would flirt and flatter the chefs, while Michael’s camera work made every cake, pie and pudding look delicious on the screen. They very quickly grew a following, got a contract with Hulu, and were sent to Belgium, Switzerland, and France for the first season of a funded streaming television show. And now, two years later, they just finished filming season two. He should be happy.
And he was, mostly. Except it was a little lonely on the road. He and Michael grew very close, as it was mostly a two man production. They hired extra crew on the road, a new team in each city, but Michael and Colin researched, wrote, and directed every episode. Both men had the looks, ease and charm to make friends anywhere, but it was superficial. There was always someone to meet for drinks or join them out dancing, but while Colin was never alone, he hadn’t formed many deep connections. And as one of eight children, used to siblings always in his business and knowing his feelings, he missed that.
Plus, everything at home was sort of falling apart and the physical distance he’d put between himself and his family had turned into an emotional distance, as well, and that made Colin anxious.
Sure, they stayed in touch via FaceTime and text and social media, but time differences and life circumstances made it hard. In the six months he’d been gone, Anthony and Kate had welcomed their second child, and Benedict and Sophie welcomed their first. John, now Francesca’s husband, was recently diagnosed with cancer, and the prognosis was not great. And then there was Eloise and Penelope. Something happened between them, but he wasn’t sure what, and no one would explain it. Fran and Daph claimed not to know, and El’s only response was, “She knows what she did.”
As for Pen, she had grown quite distant from him, too. Once his biggest fan on his Instagram photos and YouTube videos, she’d gone quiet. El had removed her from the group text, but she would respond to one on one texts from Col, however only with one or two word replies. She never initiated, never said how she was doing. Colin sent her photos and stories from his day, asking after her work and her sisters, and yet she only responded with “ok”s and the thumbs up emoji. Colin knew her novel was coming out in a few weeks, and assumed she was very busy. He asked for an advance copy of the book but she’d hemmed and hawed, never sending him anything. It was weird, because Colin had been one of the first readers of her previous short story collection. As writers at the same magazine, they had always shown each other their work first, offering each other edits and guidance and constructive criticism. They had been allies and friends. Or so he thought.
Michael snored and sighed next to Colin. Colin jealously glared at his friend and business partner. Pen still talked to Michael. On more than one occasion, he’d come across Michael, giggling at his phone over a text or meme Pen had sent. It hurt Colin’s feelings. He asked Michael if he knew why Pen was acting this way, or why she was no longer friends with Eloise, but Michael always shook his head, saying, “I refuse to get involved in Bridgerton drama.”
Colin sighed and shoved the empty snack wrappers in the seat pocket in front of him. He shifted again, determined to get some sleep. He would get home and hug his new nephews and support Fran and John and make things right with Pen. He had to.
He closed his eyes and thought back to that long ago Halloween party, with Pen in her fairy wings. He finally fell asleep thinking of her smiling face.
——————————
“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” asked The Times reporter, Amanda Goring.
“Not at all,” replied Penelope Featherington as she gracefully took a sip of her cappuccino. The two young women were seated in a chic but quiet coffee shop downtown. Penelope’s book was just a few weeks from publication, and she was going to be the cover story of the Arts and Leisure section.
“Well, Penelope, please tell me how it feels to have your first novel on so many ‘most anticipated’ lists?”
“Oh, it’s quite exciting but also nerve racking. I’ve been writing since I was a little girl! And now, to see something I’ve worked so hard on, put so much sweat and tears into, about to make its debut in the world…well…it’s an emotional roller coaster, for sure.”
“More so than when your short story collection, The Wallflower, was released?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. That was published by a small press, and while I was very happy with them, there just wasn’t the budget for much publicity, and I was really an unknown author. I had no idea what to expect! But thankfully, it was discovered by the right readers, and word of mouth spread, and well, here I am.”
“And as a writer, how do you get your ideas?”
“Well, I am the wallflower! An eternal people watcher, I observe, I listen. I see human interaction and I make up little stories about these strangers, giving them background and drama.”
“So tell me, are the characters in The Wrens and Wrights of Mayfair inspired by real life people?”
Penelope takes another sip of her drink, crossing her legs in the opposite direction under the table.
“Oh, somewhat.”
“I can’t help but notice that the last name Wren seems to hint at your surname, Featherington.”
“Ha! Oh, you’ve got me. Sure, there’s a little bit of me in both Nicola and Felicity Wren.”
“And what about the Claudia/Jesse character? The youngest of the Wright siblings?”
“Oh! Will you be providing a spoiler alert warning on this article? They only start using the name Jesse late in the book.”
“Yes, of course. Tell me, is Claudia someone you know?”
“Well, I know several people on the LGBTQ spectrum. But all of my characters are fictional, from my imagination.”
“Right, of course. Now, what is it that you’re saying about romance in this story? Mr. and Mrs. Wright have a story book romance, yet their four children all have such disastrous love lives. And Mr. and Mrs. Wren are in a loveless marriage, but Nicola and Felicity are both such hopeless romantics. What is that about?”
Penelope pauses, considering her words carefully. “Well, I really want the readers to come to their own conclusions about that, but what I’ll say is that we all seem to take for granted what we’re used to, right? We all think that what we grow up with is normal. The home life of the Wrens and their neighbors, the Wrights, is different in many ways, but similar in others. And they all end up a bit of a disaster, don’t you think?”
Amanda and Pen both laugh at that.
“And what’s next for you, Penelope?”
“Oh, I have a few fits and starts for a new novel or two, but first I’m going on a short tour to promote this one. I’m just going to savor the moment and see where it takes me.”
“Lovely. And what about the tv rumors?
Will we see The Wrens and Wrights of Mayfair as a tv drama sometime soon?”
“Oh, I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Ah, I see. Well I wish you the best of luck! Always inspiring to see a fellow lifestyle writer make it big.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’ve made it big yet, but changes are coming, that’s for sure.”