Penelope's POV
"Photo number one makes you look like you're applying to be a bank manager," Felicity declared, scrutinizing my phone screen with the intensity of a detective examining evidence. "Photo two has you looking like you just rolled out of bed after a three-day bender. And photo three..."
"What's wrong with the third one?" My stomach clenched with sudden worry.
"You're gorgeous in that shot, but your expression screams digestive distress."
"Felicity, seriously!"
Monday afternoon found us camped out in the coffee shop around the corner from work, supposedly holding a business meeting but actually orchestrating what Felicity called my "romantic rebranding campaign." She'd made it clear that allowing me to navigate dating apps solo would be like letting a toddler operate heavy machinery.
