11. Martin
MARTIN
The early morning sun filtered softly through the blinds of his temporary office, casting long, pale slats of golden light across the surface of the large oak desk.
It was barely seven o’clock, and the hotel was still wrapped in a quiet, peaceful stillness that Martin usually cherished.
Today, the archaeological dig site out by the pool was closed down for the next twenty-four hours, as the heavy, unseasonal coastal humidity from the previous evening had caused a minor structural mudslide along the eastern trench wall.
Anna had called a temporary halt to all excavation work until the safety supports could be inspected and reinforced, giving the entire crew an unexpected day of rest.
Martin, however, was not resting. He sat hunched over a massive, confusing spread of paperwork, trying his absolute best to concentrate on a client’s complex financial portfolio that had been burning a hole in his briefcase for days.
As a high-level wealth manager, he was usually able to dissect these things in his sleep, his eyes easily scanning through the dense columns of equity valuations, tax-mitigated asset allocations, and projected yield margins.
He needed to restructure the client’s diversified mutual funds and balance their liquidity ratios against a volatile market, a task that required absolute, razor-sharp focus.
But today, his brain simply refused to cooperate. Every single time he tried to calculate a capital gains tax projection, the numbers blurred together on the page, and his mind kept drifting stubbornly back to the previous evening at Heart House.
He leaned back in his leather chair, a slow breath escaping his lips as he abandoned his calculator.
His thoughts locked onto the memory of the movie the kids had forced them to watch after their massive pizza dinner.
Halfway through the second act, the room had grown quiet because the kids had gone to bed, leaving him alone with Penny in the living room.
Martin remembered the exact, heart-stopping moment when Penny’s breathing had shifted, slowing into a deep, rhythmic pattern.
Shortly after that, her head had gently tilted sideways, her soft cheek coming to rest directly against his shoulder.
Martin had frozen instantly, his entire body going rigid as his heart hammered wildly against his ribs.
He had sat there on that couch for over an hour, barely daring to breathe, terrified that the slightest movement might disturb her.
He had repeatedly kept telling himself that he was just being a gentleman, that the poor woman had been working herself ragged between her intense legal work, the sudden chaos of the Hearts Hotel crisis, and the heavy physical restoration of her new mansion.
She desperately needed her sleep, he had reasoned, so it was his civic duty to remain very still and act as a human pillow.
But sitting here in the cool light of morning, Martin knew the real truth.
He’d just been unwilling to admit it to himself last night.
He’d loved the feeling of having her so close to him, the faint, comforting scent of her jasmine perfume filling his senses while the soft warmth of her body heat seeped right through his shirt.
Penny was beautiful, deeply poised, and filled with a brilliant, endless array of amazing secrets that kept him in absolute awe every single time he managed to uncover a new one.
A broad, involuntary smile broke across his handsome features as his mind flipped backward to another vivid memory from the previous week.
He’d driven over to her massive, historic mansion, intending to surprise her with a thermos of hot coffee, only to walk through the grand double doors and find the place entirely empty.
After calling out her name, he had walked into the cavernous formal dining room, his jaw dropping to the floor when he looked up.
There she was, standing proudly on the very top step of a towering fifteen-foot aluminum ladder, her hands buried deep within the complex, dusty internal wiring of the grand crystal chandelier.
“Penny?” he had called out, his heart leaping into his throat as he watched her lean precariously to the side to snip a wire. “What in the world are you doing up there? Why on earth didn't you hire a certified electrical contractor to handle a dangerous job like this?”
Penny had paused, glancing casually down at him over the rim of her protective safety glasses, so unfazed by the terrifying height. Without missing a single beat, she had adjusted her tool belt and offered him a dry, confident smile.
“Why should I waste money hiring a contractor, Martin, when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself?” She turned back to what she was doing.
Martin had crossed his arms, his brows furrowing as he tried to look stern.
“Because electricity isn't a joke, Penny.” He eyed her worriedly.
“Don't you legally need a valid residential electrical certificate of compliance to ensure a historic property like this is safely rewired? If the town building inspector catches you doing this without the proper credentials, they could shut your whole restoration project down.”
Penny had let out a sharp, amused snort, wiping a smudge of black grease from her cheek with the back of her gloved hand.
“I’m a corporate attorney, Martin. Do you really think I would ever violate a local building code?” She reached back up into the junction box, her fingers moving with practiced, expert precision. “I actually hold a fully valid, state-certified residential electrician's license.”
Martin had nearly choked on his own breath, his eyes widening in absolute shock as he stared up at her.
“You have a what? Why on earth would a high-powered lawyer take the time to get an electrician's license?” He gaped up at her.
She had given a casual, elegant shrug of her shoulders, moving seamlessly to the next part of the intricate wiring harness.
“Renovating and flipping historic houses is my most passionate hobby.” Penny didn’t look at him as she spoke.
“It’s what I do to keep my sanity when the courtrooms get too loud.
But a few years ago, after having been caught up waiting around for weeks whenever I needed a specialized contractor to pull a permit or hook up a basic breaker panel...
” She paused, a flash of genuine, lingering frustration flickering in her bright eyes as she remembered the delay.
“I got incredibly irritated because their scheduling conflicts could delay my entire project by days, if not weeks. So I decided to heck with it, took the night classes, and got a few advanced technical certifications to ensure I never had to rely on another contractor again.”
Sitting at his desk, the memory played out in his head so clearly that Martin could practically feel the warm, dusty air of her dining room.
He remembered how he’d stood at the bottom of that ladder, utterly captivated by her fierce independence, her brilliant intelligence, and the sheer, unapologetic capability she exuded.
Martin had been so impressed by her and so charmed by the contrast of the elegant attorney working with heavy wire cutters that he had basically fallen for her right then and there.
Martin’s eyes suddenly widened in horrified shock, his breath catching sharply in his throat as the realization slammed into his brain like a physical blow.
He had just admitted it. Out loud, in the private seclusion of his mind, he had just consciously acknowledged that he had completely, undeniably fallen for Penny.
A sudden, intense wave of heat rushed up his neck, making his collar feel entirely too tight as a mild sense of panic began to flutter in his chest. He was a grown man, a widower who had spent years focusing strictly on his work, and here he was, getting flustered and hot under the collar over a woman who had simply slept on his shoulder.
Martin swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he forced himself to look back down at the financial portfolio on his desk, his heart racing a mile a minute as he tried, and failed, to banish the thought of Penny from his head.
Martin finally gave up, the numbers on the client portfolio started to blur together into a messy smear of black ink.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, but the action didn’t help clear his mind.
Instead, the quiet, golden light of the early morning seemed to shift, and the faint scent of jasmine vanished, replaced by a ghost of a different memory.
Images of his late wife, Suzi, began to form behind his eyelids, sharp and clear despite the years that had passed.
She’d been his first and only love, his entire world.
The only woman for him, right up until the moment she was ripped away from him, leaving a hollow space he’d spent years guarding until Penny had unexpectedly started dismantling his defenses.
Martin’s eyes grew heavy, the exhausting emotional whiplash of his sudden realization about Penny dragging his posture down. His chin dropped toward his chest, his breathing slowed, and his forehead eventually came to rest against the cool wood of his desk, the quiet room fading out completely.
Six Years Ago
The pristine white light of the hospital waiting room was blinding.
Six years ago, the world had felt entirely different, colder, and sharply clinical.
Martin could still feel the awful, electric unease vibrating through his entire body as he sat in one of those stiff, vinyl-covered chairs.
His right knee was bouncing in a frantic, uncontrollable rhythm against the leg of the table, and his heart was racing so hard he could hear the blood rushing past his ears.