Page 79 of Penelope in Retrograde

Instead of being angry or making him feel worse than he clearly already does, I tell Martin what I want to hear whenever I find myself in a similar situation. “It sounds like you were screwed either way. And not in the good way.”

“Definitely not in the good way.”

“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. But maybe keep that confession between just you and me?”

He nods in agreement. “I also need to apologize for my behavior last night. As you’re aware, I wasn’t exactly in my right frame of mind.”

“I’m not even sure you were on this planet for most of the dinner.”

“Regardless, I hate the fact that I stole your pitch.”

“To be fair, that wasn’t exactly my pitch.” I chuckle. “You pitched the ultimate stoner’s bookstore and burger joint.”

“Penny, please be serious.” The streetlight catches the bags under his eyes and the pain in his expression, and I realize that he’s more than just apologetic about last night. It’s been eating him up. “I need you to know that I will do whatever I can to help you get the money you need to open your bookstore. I’ll loan you the money myself if I have to.”

“Martin, it’s OK. Truly. And I would never take your money.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want it.”

“But you need it.”

“I’ll get it some other way.”

“It’s not that easy, Penny.” He sighs in frustration. “Business loans don’t just grow on trees. The interest rates alone are enough to kill a business before it ever gets a chance to get off the ground.”

“Martin.” I grab him by the shoulders. His body is tense with the weight of the world. “This isn’t your problem to solve.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be the reason your dream fails. I don’t want you to remember me that way when you’re back in San Francisco telling your friends about why you don’t have the money you need.”

“You won’t be.” I cup his face with my hands. “Martin, you’re the guy who was willing to give me the shirt off his back so I could see my dad before his surgery. You’re the guy who was willing to pretend to be my boyfriend so I didn’t look like a fool in front of my ex-husband. You’re not the kind of guy I’m going to bitch about to my friends. You’re the kind of guy my friends are going to want to meet because guys like you, Martin”—I tilt my chin up so that my lips are only centimeters away from his—“they only come around once in a blue moon.”

We kiss, and this time I don’t pull away. Because this kiss isn’t some act of old pent-up teenage rebellion. It’s not me trying to disconnect from my problems or something new and shiny to preoccupy my time here. This kiss is real in all the best ways a kiss can be real. It’s the first kiss of the beginning of something new.

“I’m not going back to San Francisco,” I say when we’ve pulled ourselves off one another. “I’m staying here to hold down the fort once Phoebe and Falon move to Australia.”

“What about your store?”

“I’ll figure it out. If a single Kardashian can rule an empire from her phone, then so can I.”

“This calls for a celebration.” Martin laces his fingers through mine. “Preferably somewhere warm where your toes won’t get frostbite in those Jesus sandals.”

“These are not Jesus sandals.” I point down at my Birks and socks. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen people wearing these all over the place.”

“I’m not saying people don’t. I’m just saying Jesus probably did too.”

“Fine. Where is this warm celebratory place you have in mind?”

“That way.” He points in the direction opposite the town. “It’s a ten-minute walk. Maybe longer in shoes like that.”

“There’s nothing down that way,” I say. “It’s just more residential and a park.”

“And a trailer park,” he says.

“We’re going to celebrate in a trailer park?”

“I own a trailer in the trailer park.” He blows hot air on my icy hands. “I also own a decent propane heater.”

---