It’s cold out. Much colder than last night, but I don’t mind it. There’s a new moon, which makes everything feel a little better. Not necessarily warmer, but hopeful. I reach for my smoky quartz necklace, and I’m quickly reminded that it’s probably buried beneath three inches of manure in the Donaldsons’ yard. Fiona’s ring is still in the Tiffany box next to my bed. I like knowing that I have it, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to wear it just yet.
We make small talk, mostly about my dad. I get the sense that Martin is hovering around the real reason he invited me out for a walk, but I don’t press him. Time is the least I can give him after all he’s done for me and my family over the past few days.
We reach the end of my neighborhood, and I try to turn right down Orange as usual, but he grabs my hand and stops me. “I knew your dad was sick,” he says. “Your dad started having chest pains a few days before Thanksgiving. I tried to get him to take it easy or go see a doctor, but he insisted that he was fine. I should’ve told you. I should’ve told all of you, but he swore me to secrecy. He didn’t want anything to ruin this Thanksgiving.”
I’m not sure what to say. Of course, part of me wishes he would’ve said something. I know it wouldn’t have changed the outcome of my father needing surgery, but it’s possible it could’ve prevented the heart attack. That’s assuming my father would’ve allowed us to take him to a doctor. He’s a stubborn man—an Aries if there ever was one—and so it’s possible we would’ve still ended up at the hospital last night. The truth is that Martin was in a no-win situation, and as the unofficial queen of no-win situations, I can’t really be upset with him.
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.”
“You’re serious?”
“About the heater? Of course.” He smiles and gives me a wink. “What do you say, Banks? If it makes a difference, I’ve got gas station doughnuts. I don’t think they’re as good as my pie would’ve been, but I’ve never been unhappy with one in my mouth.”
“You should’ve led with that, Butler.” I take his hand in mine. “Everyone knows that a woman of questionable morals can’t resist a good gas station doughnut.”
“You’re a woman of questionable morals?”
“All the best women are.”
Martin’s neighborhood is charming and quaint. It has a Stars Hollow vibe to it with strands of white twinkle lights hung throughout. There’s a smattering of mobiles that have probably been there since the park first opened in the eighties, along with some more modern tiny-house structures. His home is a cross between new and old. It’s a refurbished Airstream trailer with a wooden deck built around it.
“Home sweet home.” Martin flips a switch on the deck, illuminating two strands of Edison bulbs that span its length. “This is my little slice of Kentucky here in California.”
“All this time you could’ve just gone home and escaped my family’s shenanigans.” I run my hand along the knotted pine railing. “This is beautiful, by the way.”
“Thanks.” He turns on a metal heat lamp between two wooden rocking chairs. “You and Ozzie have a seat. This will warm you up in no time.”
“When you said you had a heater, I assumed you meant inside,” I tease.
“You know what they say about assuming.”
“Touché.”
“And your family isn’t so bad, Banks. They’re just people.” He unlocks the door to the Airstream. “I’m going to grab us the doughnuts. You want something to drink too? Coffee? Beer?”
“Coffee,” I say. “Maybe with a little Baileys if you’ve got it.”
“I do.”
I rest my head on the back of the rocking chair, pushing it back and forth with my heels. The warmth from the heater radiates across my face, melting the frozen tips of my ears and nose. It’s quiet out here. The park is guarded by a natural barrier of evergreens and bougainvillea bushes. It cuts out what little street noise there is and almost makes you forget that there’s an entire ocean a mile away. It really is a little slice of Kentucky.