by Linda Seed
But that was a steaming pile of horseshit, and he knew it. Every time one of his relationships failed, he felt less confident, less capable—less like himself. He needed a win. He needed something to work out in his personal life. And if he dated someone new, whether it was Martina or someone else, he needed it to be reasonably healthy, even if they both ended up walking away. If it ended, he needed to feel it had been positive and worthwhile, not a giant train crash with flames and twisted wreckage.
Was that so much to ask?
He’d watched a YouTube video about how to do the job he was attempting, and the next step was to take off the interior door panel. He set to work with a screwdriver, trying to pop the clips that held the panel to the door. The video had warned him not to rip the clips out of the backing of the door panel, but … fuck. There went one of them.
This is hopeless. Not just the car repair, but the repairs to his personal life. It all seemed impossible.
It will be if you can’t find your balls, if you can’t muster up the guts to even try.
So, he’d try. He’d keep working on the car, and he’d meet Martina for dinner.
At least there was very little danger of an actual train crash. That was something.
12
The dinner was scheduled for that night at The Sandpiper. Benny and Martina were to meet Chris at seven p.m., and by seven thirty, Martina would be gone, Benny and Chris would be sharing a nice bottle of wine, and her plan would be underway.
“What am I supposed to wear? My diamond tiara is being cleaned.” Benny fretted in her room as she got ready for the dinner. She’d called Martina in to help her choose an outfit, but Martina’s style was so different from Benny’s it hardly seemed like she was the woman for the job.
“Wear whatever you’d normally wear on a date,” Martina told her. “Try not to think about him as rich. Think of him as just … you know. A guy.”
“Trying not to think of him as rich is like trying not to think of a Bengal tiger as a vicious predator. You can think of it as a nice kitty all you want, but it’s still going to chew your face off.”
“Nobody’s going to chew your face off,” Martina said soothingly. “Ooh. Speaking of tigers, though, try this.” She pulled a low-cut tiger-print sweater out of Benny’s closet and paired with a black pencil skirt. The sweater wasn’t something Martina would wear, but it was pure Benny, and authenticity seemed like the best approach.
Well, except for the fact that the whole thing was a ruse.
“Really?” Benny peered at the sweater.
“Sure. It makes your boobs look great.”
“It does,” Benny agreed. “Give me that.” She snatched the sweater out of Martina’s hands.
With Benny’s wardrobe sorted out, Martina turned her attention to her own clothing for the evening. Though it hardly mattered, since she’d be leaving half an hour into the dinner.
Still, she wanted to look nice, as a matter of simple professionalism. She was going to be showing him the kitchen plan, after all. That part of the evening was real. She had to look like she’d put some care into her appearance.
She went into her room and picked out a maxi dress with a blue and white tie dye print, a flowing skirt, and a low neckline. She paired it with sandals, a turquoise and silver necklace, and a matching bracelet. She wore her hair loose, flowing in waves down her back.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Benny scowled at Martina when they both came out of their rooms ready for the evening.
“What?”
“You’re wearing that?”
Martina looked down at herself, confused. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Other than you looking like some kind of granola-eating, tree-hugging, organic hemp-wearing goddess?”
“What? I—”
“What is the point of you setting me up on this date if you’re going to look hotter than I do?”
“But—”
Understanding dawned on Benny’s face. “Unless you’re trying to look hotter than I do.”
Martina waved her hands helplessly. “But you do look hot! You look smoking hot!”
“Yes, I do.” Benny smiled slyly. “I really do. But you? You’re about to sear a hole in the floorboards. You like him.”
“What? I do not. I mean, yes, I like him in the sense that he seems like a very decent person who needs a little help finding someone to share his life with. But that doesn’t mean—”
“You do. You like him. Otherwise, why did you pull out the big guns? Because that dress”—she pointed one finger at the garment in question—“is the big guns.”
At that moment, Sofia and Patrick came in the front door. He’d picked her up from work on his way home from the college, and they both looked tired after a long day.
Patrick’s eyes went to Benny first. “Oh. You look nice. Where are you—” His gaze fell on Martina and he stopped in midsentence. “Wow.”
“See?” Benny hooted triumphantly. “See? What did I tell you? You’re being hot on purpose. Don’t deny it.”
“What is going on here?” Sofia wanted to know. “What did I miss?”
Benny filled Sofia in on the plan, including how Martina was threatening to disrupt the whole scheme through her excessive hotness.
“And so I ask you,” Benny said, in conclusion, “why my sister here would intentionally upstage me, unless she wants to bag Mr. Rich Hottie for herself.”
Sofia considered that. “She’s got a point.”
“I do not want to bag him, as you put it, myself.” Martina said. “I just want to look nice! Because The Sandpiper is a nice restaurant, and because I’m going to be there as a professional, and … What do you want me to do? Wear a paper sack with arm holes cut into it?”
Benny smirked. “It’s time to go. Let’s do this thing.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“Okay. Noted. Spray on your patchouli, or whatever you have to do to finish up, and let’s get.”
Martina grabbed her bag with her papers for Chris tucked into it and headed for the door, certain her sister was thinking of doing something that didn’t conform to the plan they’d come up with.
“You’re not going to do anything weird, are you?” Martina asked as they went down the front walk and toward Benny’s car.
“Weird? No. Of course not,” Benny said. “I promise you, I won’t do anything that isn’t in everyone’s best interests.”
Oh, shit. That was as good as a confession. Of what, Martina didn’t know. She supposed she was going to find out the hard way.
Benny’s presence at the dinner wasn’t a surprise. Martina wasn’t springing her on Chris as some sort of unexpected bonus. She’d called him in advance and asked if it was okay if her sister came along.
He’d seemed surprised, but not displeased. When she’d said Benny was coming to discuss an idea for an app, he’d been courteous and accommodating.
Of course, Martina hoped that when Chris met Benny, he’d be more than courteous—he’d be interested.
That was what she wanted, after all—for both of these people, one she loved deeply and one she was just getting to know—to find each other and discover mutual happiness.
So, why was the idea of it causing a swirling pit of unease to open in her stomach?
They arrived at the restaurant and got a table near the window with a view of the moonlight over Moonstone Beach. Chris hadn’t arrived yet, so Martina and Benny settled in to wait for him.
“Sofia should call me at about seven thirty,” Martina said, going over her plan. “I’m going to claim it’s an unspecified emergency with a client. If he insists on knowing details, I’ll say it’s an electrical problem in their new kitchen, and they’re insisting I come to attend to it.”
“You wouldn’t be the one to deal with an electrical problem,” Benny pointed out. “You’d call Noah, and he’d send an electrician.”
“You know that, and I know that, but does Chris know that?” Martina asked.
“I would think anyone with basic knowledge of, you know, life would know that.”
A little bit flustered, Martina shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter. About two minutes after I leave, he’s going to understand I set him up. Either it’s going to work, or it isn’t. This thing isn’t going to succeed or fail based on the credibility of my client emergency story.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Benny conceded. “And anyway, if the whole thing goes to hell, at least I’ll get to have crab cakes. I love The Sandpiper’s crab cakes.”
They were still discussing the merits of crab cakes in general, and The Sandpiper’s crab cakes in particular, when Martina saw Chris come in and approach the hostess stand.
He was wearing dark slacks and a sport coat over a blue dress shirt with no tie, open at the throat. The other times Martina had seen him, he’d been casually dressed, even a little sloppy, relaxing in his own home or wearing jeans and a T-shirt for a trip to Duckie’s. But, damn, he cleaned up well. Freshly shaved and with what looked like a new haircut, he would have looked at home on the cover of GQ—or maybe Fortune.
She wasn’t aware Benny was talking to her until her sister said, “Yoo hoo! Anybody home? Martina, snap out of it!”
“What?” Martina blinked a few times and looked at her sister.
“You want him.” Benny pointed one lacquered fingernail at her.
“No, I don’t.”
“For God’s sake. Just admit it. Why did you drag me here if you’ve got a thing for him?”
“I don’t have a thing—” Martina cut herself off in midsentence because Chris had spotted them and was making his way to their table.
The two women stood to greet him, and Chris shook hands with Benny. When he saw Martina, his eyes widened and he stopped—stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped doing anything but looking at her. It only lasted a moment, one brief instant, but it was enough. Enough to send a thrill through Martina. And enough to validate what Benny had been saying.
Benny smirked at Martina as Chris pulled out his chair and sat down.
Okay, so Chris was attracted to her. And Martina had to admit that maybe she was attracted to him, too. But that didn’t change the fact that she was working for him. It also didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t an Alexis and never would be.
Martina gathered herself, took a breath, and reminded herself why she was here. Work. And Benny.
“Shall we order drinks?” she asked brightly. “Then we can get started.”
At first, things went according to plan. They ordered wine, Martina brought out her schematic design for his kitchen, they discussed countertops and appliance placement, flooring materials and cabinetry options.
Their appetizers came—of course, Benny ordered the crab cakes—and Martina gave Chris the story she’d invented about Benny’s idea for a marine biology app.
Chris was polite, pleasant, and attentive to Benny, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Martina—a fact that escaped none of them. Now that they’d started discussing the app, Martina kept trying to move the conversation—and Chris’s attention—to Benny.
At seven thirty, Sofia called. But she didn’t call Martina, as expected.
She called Benny.
“What?” Benny asked into the phone, wide-eyed. “I can’t come now. I’m at dinner.” Pause. “An emergency? Oh. Well, if it really can’t wait …”
A moment later, she ended the call, dropped her phone into her purse, and stood up, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair. “I’m so sorry. God, I feel bad about this, but … I have an emergency with the … the thing I’m doing at the college for the science department. I’ve got to go.”
Martina glared at her sister. “You have a marine biology emergency?”
“I do,” Benny said earnestly. “The fish tanks at the lab have algae. It can’t wait until tomorrow. I’ve got to go.”
Martina couldn’t believe Benny was doing this to her—or that she’d conspired with Sofia to do it. She stood up, grabbed her sister’s arm, and said to Chris, “I’ll just walk her out. I’ll be right back.”
When they were out of his earshot, Martina spun Benny around to face her. “Algae? In the fish tanks? You’ve got emergency algae? Benny—”
Benny just grinned. “Martina, he barely glanced at me, but he couldn’t stop looking at you. Stay. Have a date with the man. Enjoy yourself. Eat.” Benny let out a little gasp. “My crab cakes!” She hurried back to the table and wrapped a couple of crab cakes in a napkin. Then she headed toward the door.
On the way out, she passed Martina. “If I’m not going to get a hottie rich guy, I might as well have my crab cakes.”
Martina gathered her dignity the best she could and went back to the table. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to Chris to explain the way Benny had fled on what was obviously a manufactured emergency.
“So.” He took a sip of his wine once she’d gotten settled. “This was, what? An effort to fix me up with your sister? And the fish emergency, I assume, was somebody making a prearranged call to get her out of it?”
What was she supposed to say? The poor guy thought Benny had immediately disliked him and had fled the scene to avoid him.
There was nothing to do but opt for the truth.
“Uh … yes and no. Yes, I was trying to fix you up with my sister.” She smiled apologetically. “But if you think she left because she didn’t like you, that’s not it.”
His eyebrows rose. “No?”
“No. She left because … because she thinks I have a thing for you, and she’s stepping away to be noble. Some kind of selfless sister thing, like when Angelica gave Hamilton to Eliza.”
“Angelica,” he repeated.
“Have you seen Hamilton?” The whole speech would be useless if he didn’t get the reference.
“Twice.”
“Oh. Okay. Good, then.” She picked up her napkin, fidgeted with it, then set it down again. She could feel him watching her, though, and it was both uncomfortable and undeniably exciting.
“Martina?”
“Hmm?”
“Why were you trying to fix me up with your sister?”
It wasn’t the question she was expecting. She was expecting him to ask if she really did have a thing for him. Surely he’d get to that eventually, but for now, this was a much easier one to answer.
“Because you seemed really sad and lonely after the breakup with Alexis. And I wanted to help. And … and Benny’s really great. I know she’s got the attitude and the sarcasm, but underneath it all, she’s such a wonderful person. I just thought if you got to know her …”
“I meant, why did you fix me up with your sister if you’ve got a thing for me?” A slight grin tugged at his features.
There it was: the question.
“I … never said I had a thing for you.”
“No. You didn’t. So, let’s clear that up. Do you?”
She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. First they were resting on the tabletop, then they were in her lap, then they were fidgeting with her fork.
“I … don’t find you unattractive.” Terrific. A double negative. She was being both equivocal and confusing.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
He smiled, just a little, as though in answer to some private thought. “Well. I don’t find you unattractive, either. So, it’s good to get that out there.”
Hearing he wasn’t repulsed by her made a blush rise to her cheeks, and she looked down at her lap in a futile effort to hide it.
“Yep,” she said. “Cards on the table, and all that.”
“So …”
What? What was he going to suggest? That they end this whole farce, leave the restaurant, and pretend the ill-fated fixup with Benny had never happened?
“So?” she prompted him.
“So, now that we’ve got that out of the way, and you’ve shown me your kitchen plans, and Benny’s gone, and we’r
e not lying to each other anymore, will you stay out with me?”
“Stay out?”
“Yeah. I was going to ask if you’d go out with me, but we’re already out, so …”
God, that was cute. She couldn’t help giggling. “Yes, Chris. I’d love to stay out with you.”
13
At first, when Chris had realized Martina intended to set him up with her sister, he’d been seriously disappointed. He’d thought Martina wanted to have dinner with him herself. He’d thought she was interested in a relationship with him.
That had been both welcome and exciting. He’d liked her from the moment she’d made him tea from herbs she’d clipped in his garden. Something about that nurturing gesture had spoken to him in places so deeply buried that he dared not look at them.
The idea that she didn’t want to be with him herself but was only interested in some ill-conceived plan to rescue his love life was not only a letdown, it was mortifying.
But everything had turned out fine after all. Benny had fled, Martina had admitted she wasn’t horrified by his appearance, and now here they were, having something that resembled a date.
It wasn’t how he’d thought his evening would go, but he’d take it.
They had been served their entrees and more wine, and they talked and ate, and Chris found himself enjoying himself more than he had in months—maybe years.
“So, tell me how you ended up in Cambria.” Martina twirled a noodle from her pasta primavera onto her fork. “I assume you started as a tourist—most newcomers here did. But what brings you here long term?”
He took a sip of wine and considered the question. “Yes, I did start as a tourist. I came down here for a long weekend with a girlfriend about seven or eight years ago. The coastline, the green hills—it was spring, so everything was in bloom—the little shops on Main Street. It all spoke to me. So, when my accountant suggested I buy some real estate as an investment …”
