Penelope's POV
I turned slowly, my movements cautious as if expecting some kind of trick. Standing before me was a woman who couldn't have been more than five feet tall, her petite frame accentuated by the sleek black business suit that hugged her curves. Her most striking feature was the cascade of fiery red curls tumbling past her shoulders in perfect, bouncy waves - the kind of hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. The vibrant crimson of her stiletto heels matched her hair perfectly, creating an arresting contrast against the gray Chicago sidewalk.
When our eyes met, her entire body froze. Her perfectly manicured hands flew to her mouth, and her green eyes - wide as saucers - filled instantly with tears.
"Oh my GOD! Penelope?!" Her voice cracked on my name, rising several octaves. "I don't BELIEVE it! You're alive! You're actually ALIVE!"
