“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.”
“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?”