Page 85 of Penelope in Retrograde

“I am a man of mystery.” He winks. “I’ll see you out there.”

“You can stay if you want,” I say. “I’m almost done, and it’s cold outside.”

He nods and takes the open seat on the other side of my dad’s bed. Dad stirs a little in his sleep, and I take his hand and shush him the way he did to me when I couldn’t sleep when I was a little girl.

“Dad, I want you to know that I’m going to stick around for a while,” I say softly. “We’re still figuring things out, but it looks like I’ll be moving down here for a bit while Phoebe is in Australia. I want you to be able to recover, and I want to spend some time with you and Mom and Nana.”

“Tell him that this won’t affect your bookstore,” Martin says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just know your dad wouldn’t like the idea of you putting it on hold.”

“It’s fine. The conversation is a little one sided now, anyway. I’m going to do what I can remotely. Social media and marketing. Maybe come up with a fundraising campaign to get things kicked off.” I run my hand along the stubble on his cheek. “I’ll be here, though, Dad. No matter what, you and Mom and Nana will have me around.”

The nurse taps on the door, signaling our time is up. I take out two last items.

“I brought you some company.” I place the photos from his office onto his bedside table. “In case you get lonely.”

I kiss his head and promise to be back tomorrow and the tomorrow after that. No matter what.

After we drop off the legal documents with Falon, Martin and I decide to spend the night at his place. Phoebe suggested I take as many breaks from our parents’ house as possible while she and Falon are there. The two of them talked things over with Mom, and they’ve agreed to give Australia a year. They also agreed to have a small wedding before moving in the spring so that my mother can finally throw a proper wedding. Phoebe claims it’s the worst deal Falon has ever negotiated, but I think she is secretly looking forward to having a little more of the spotlight.

“So, have you told them yet?” Martin runs his hand along my naked back. We’re wrapped in his sheets after a lazy and blissful lovemaking session. “The girls, I mean.”

“About us?” I turn over and face him. “No. I usually don’t share a play-by-play of my sex life with my friends. I wait until we’re out having drinks, and then I just show them pictures.”

“I hope you got my good side.”

“Of course. I got a perfect shot of that tattoo on your ass.”

“Oh really?” He chuckles. “And what does this ass tattoo of mine look like?”

“A big old heart with I love Gilded Age spinsters in the middle. Duh.”

“I still don’t know what that means.” He smirks. “And I meant have you told your friends about you staying here.”

“Not yet. I don’t want to do that over text. They know he had a heart attack, but I’m going to save the rest for a video chat later.”

“I know your dad is in bad shape, but I still think he’d like to help you out financially with the business.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “But I also think that our relationship has a lot of healing that needs to happen. A loan or investment might complicate that.”

“Possibly. What about this?” He motions between us. “Does this complicate things?”

“What could be complicated about us?” I nuzzle into the space beneath his chin and lay my head on his chest. “You’re my ex–fake boyfriend who I enjoy having amazing sex with.”

“It is kind of amazing.” He kisses my head. “But I’m serious. If you need your space while you sort out what your life is going to look like here, tell me.”

Ever since Smith and I divorced, I’ve been an expert in creating space. Space from my family. Space from men. Frankly, if my friendship with the coven hadn’t started online, I’m not sure I’d have any friends at all. I was the queen of making space, and in a lot of ways, that space served me well. It taught me how to rely on myself. It taught me to figure out who I am and what I want in life. Space was absolutely necessary for me for a time, but I think now I’m ready to start filling that space with people who make me happy.

“I don’t need space,” I say. “But I do need a pencil and some paper. A candle too, if you have it.”

“Are you sacrificing something?”

“Nope.” I wrap the sheets around me in a cocoon. “I’m writing a love letter.”

“To who?”

“To my longest-standing obsession.” I point out the window of Martin’s Airstream to the barely visible crescent. “To the new moon.”

“I thought the new moon was yesterday?”

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