Page 56 of Penelope in Retrograde

“Probably hell, but I’m OK with it.”

“Banks, we’ve got work to do,” Martin says. He grabs a handful of lemons and lines them up next to the sink. “Let’s work on that pitch, OK? I can help you structure the arrangement with your father, but you’ve got to sell him on the heart of your business. Do you have anything tangible to show him?”

“I have an email with a presentation,” I say. “Does that count?”

“You tell me.” He rolls up his sleeves, revealing forearms that look more perfect now than they did in his TikTok videos. “Does your dad strike you as a PowerPoint kind of guy?”

“Technically, it’s Google Slides.”

“Is there a difference?” He slices a lemon in half. “Never mind that. You know, you do a very good job at avoiding direct questions.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Pretend I’m your dad.” He squeezes the lemon into a bowl, straining the seeds with his fingers. “I’ll give you honest feedback, and if you’re able to sell me on the idea, I’ll even let you zest my lemons.”

I really don’t want to imagine Martin as my dad, but it doesn’t look like there’s any way out of this little role-playing exercise. And truthfully, I need the practice. If I’m going to take up space, I’m going to be sure to make the most of it.

“OK, so the whole idea is—”

“No.” Martin slices another lemon in half. “Not a chance in hell.”

“I haven’t even started my pitch,” I say defensively. “You can’t hate an idea you haven’t heard.”

“And you can’t pitch a business idea to a man like Carter Banks by saying The whole idea is.” He makes his voice soft and breathy when he repeats my words. “You also can’t do it sitting at a counter with a half-empty mimosa in front of you.”

“So, one, I don’t sound like that, and two”—I down the rest of my mimosa—“my drink was half-full.”

“You need to take this seriously, Banks. I don’t offer the opportunity for someone to zest my lemons to just anyone. Try it again, but this time make me want to read more. You’re a writer. Tell me a story that I don’t want to put down.”

“You’re making me nervous.” I push in my barstool. “And if you’re making me nervous, how the hell am I going to be able to do this in front of my father?”

Martin puts the lemon down and rinses his hands. He strides over to the breakfast table and takes a seat at the head of it.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “We’re supposed to be making pie.”

“No pie is being made until you pitch me.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Your dream is more important than any pie.”

“You greatly underestimate how Southern my family is.”

“You wouldn’t have come here in the first place if you didn’t think you at least had a shot,” he says. “You’re scared, and I get it. Your dad is a force to be reckoned with, but so are you. So pitch me. Pitch me, and if it stinks, I’ll tell you.”

My pitch might stink, but the concept doesn’t. The concept is solid. I might not have the brains for business like Phoebe does, but we’ve done our research. Between Jackie, Chelsey, and me, we’re going to make this bookstore happen. In fact, we’re going to do more than make sure it happens. We’re going to make it succeed.

“Tell me the three places you spend the most time in, other than your home.” I take my place at the end of the table opposite Martin.

An intrigued smile takes shape on his lips. “Let’s see ... I go to the gym a few times a week. There’s a sports bar not far from my place that I get dinner at most nights, and I visit a local camping store by my office at least three or four times a month.”

“OK. So, you go to the gym to work out, and the sports bar to eat. Right?”

“That’s right, Sherlock.”

“Does that mean you go to the camping store three or four times a month because you camp that frequently?”

“No.” A puzzled look forms on his face. “I don’t have the time to camp that often.”

“Why go, then?”

“Uh, well, I guess it’s because I like it there. I like to see what new stuff they’ve gotten in since my last visit. I like talking to the store manager and a couple of the clerks. It’s got a good atmosphere.” His eyes lock with mine. The light bulb inside his head starts to burn a little brighter as he follows the mental breadcrumbs I’ve left in front of him. “I go there because it’s the one place I can talk to other people who are into camping the way I am.”

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