Page 57 of Penelope in Retrograde

“And even though big box stores carry camping supplies at a cheaper price, you probably would still rather go to the locally owned place because it feels like—”

“Home.” His eyes light up. “I go there because I’m not just buying a product. I’m part of a community.”

“And if this locally owned place had events from time to time, would you go to them?” I bite back a smile. “For instance, if there was a knot-tying class, would you sign up?”

“Ma’am, I wouldn’t sign up for it. I’d teach it.”

“And share it on your TikTok? Or whatever other social media you might have to help market the class and get the word out?”

“Banks, have you been stalking me?” His voice is low and gravelly and makes me feel a little melty inside.

“I’m in the middle of a pitch, Butler.” I lean across the table. “Please save your personal questions for the end of the presentation.”

“All right. Continue.”

“Creating an intimate place where people can gather to connect over a shared interest is the goal of our bookstore. Just like your local camping store is a place that you look forward to visiting regardless of whether you plan on camping anytime soon, our bookstore will be the same for hundreds, if not thousands, of romance readers and writers. In addition to offering a wide selection of books and bookish merch, we’ll also feature guest authors, book clubs, and classes for romance writers to take to improve their craft. We won’t just be in the business of selling books. We’ll be in the business of building a community.” I pause, my heart racing. “Because that’s what books are made for. They’re made to connect you to people, real or fictional, even when you feel like you’re completely alone.”

“Wow,” Martin says softly. “That was really something, Banks.” He stands, pushes in his chair, and makes his way to my side of the table. “If you pitch your father like that, there’s no way he won’t back you.”

“We’ll see.” I shrug. “Because if he doesn’t, then my only options are crowdfunding or prostitution.”

“It’s always good to have a backup plan.” He cups my cheek. “But I don’t think you need one.” He leans forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to pull me into a kiss. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and hands me a lemon. “You will, however, need a zester.”

“You’re into some kinky shit, Butler.”

“Just wait until I show you how to whip a stiff peak.”

I’ve never written a foodie romance, but suddenly I’m feeling incredibly inspired.

Chapter 17

“I’ve got big news to share tonight too,” I say to Phoebe and Falon.

We’re in Phoebe’s room in various stages of getting ready. Falon has been ready for the last thirty minutes, Phoebe just needs to put the finishing touches on her hair, and I look like a raccoon that’s been living inside a dumpster behind a Ross Dress for Less.

We haven’t talked about what happened earlier today in the kitchen. Instead, we’ve decided to pretend like it never happened. Actually, it was Phoebe who decided to pretend like nothing happened. She was the one who came sauntering into the kitchen after all the work was done, carrying a grocery store pie and acting as if she’d purposely gone out to buy a pie and not to get away from me. She was the one who invited Martin and me to watch the football game with her and Falon in the living room, even though she knows that I don’t understand football. And finally, she was the one who insisted the three of us all get ready together in her room like one happy family.

“Obviously, I want you guys to have an opportunity to share your news too.” I hold up one of Phoebe’s fitted work suits against me and look at it in the mirror. If we’re going to pretend that everything is fine, that includes me calling dibs on her wardrobe. “I don’t think there’s any reason we can’t both share good news tonight.”

“Two questions.” Phoebe slicks back her pixie cut with a little sculpting gel. “First, why are you hell bent on stealing my clothes? Second, and arguably more important, since when did you decide to have news to share?”

“I didn’t bring anything nice to wear,” I lie. I do have a cute dress and a nice fall cardigan that I could wear, but that doesn’t exactly scream serious businesswoman. I need to look the part if I want my dad to fully buy into my vision. “And I’ve actually had news to share this whole time. I just didn’t have the guts to bring it up until now.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient.” Phoebe shoves a gold hairpin rather aggressively into place. “You do realize that we already have to contend with your ex-husband and his girlfriend tonight, right?”

“What’s the big deal? We’ve shared a birthday for over thirty years, why can’t we both share something exciting at dinner? In fact, why can’t you just tell me what your news is, and I’ll tell you mine? You used to tell me everything.”

“Penny.” She looks at me incredulously. “You’re acting like we’re close, and we’re not. That birthday we share? How many times have you ever called or texted me on it?”

“We always talk on our birthday.”

“Because I call you or I text you. I’m always the one who initiates contact.”

I’m shuffling through my mental Rolodex of our last thirtysomething birthdays, trying desperately to find an example of me reaching out to Phoebe. I need there to be at least one time that it was me who called her and reminded her that she was technically the younger twin by four minutes, because if there’s not, then I’m an even bigger jerk than I ever thought possible.

“Maybe we can work something out.” Falon rests her hand on Phoebe’s shoulder. “I’m sure your parents are going to be happy for all of us. There’s plenty of love to go around, right?”

“You don’t get it.” Phoebe shakes her head. “I’m not worried that there’s not enough love or appreciation to go around. Our news, while very exciting to us, has the potential to ruffle some feathers. I don’t want to risk Mom or Dad getting upset and making a scene in front of Smith and some stranger.”

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