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“Of course I did, Dad.” I drum my fingers on my thighs nervously. I swear I can feel Smith mentally poking holes in my charade. “You know what? I’m going to get us some drinks.”
“If you wait a moment, Marie will be out with appetizers, and you can tell her what you’d like to drink,” my mother says.
“No, I’m pretty parched.” I stand and slide my chair back in. “What about you, Martin? Are you parched? You look parched.”
“Very parched. A drink would be great, dear.” The table falls silent. I don’t know if Martin can feel everyone’s eyeballs on him, but if he can, he doesn’t let on. “So, Smith, what is it that you do?”
I spin on my heels and head toward my father’s study before anyone has the chance to turn the conversation back to me and Martin. God, I wish I could disappear. We’ve been at the table for less than two minutes, and already I’ve practically sweat through my turtleneck dress. What kind of maniac invented turtlenecks? Diane Keaton must never sweat.
I pour a heavy-handed shot of tequila and down it while I google Martin. The last thing I want is for Smith to ask me a question that I can’t answer and catch me with my pants down in another lie. The tequila goes down smooth—honestly, probably a little too smooth—so I pour another while I scroll through the many different Martin Butlers of the internet. He’s not on any of the predictable socials. No Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter. But there is a TikTok result that catches my attention.
@KnotMartinButler
I click on the link, and within seconds a video of Martin Butler in a red-checkered flannel with rolled sleeves starts to play on my phone.
“The Hanson knot is a traditional Boy Scout knot,” says Flannel Martin as he tugs on a piece of rope. “It has very little slip, and it can be used for all kinds of things outdoors.”
Flannel Martin starts maneuvering the rope into a knot, but my gaze keeps honing in on his forearms. His muscles flex and pull with each delicate movement of his fingers. He tugs slow at first, and then fast and hard until he’s left with what looks like a lasso. Maybe it’s the tequila, but all I can think about is how amazing those hands would feel on my body.
“Chelsey and Jackie need to see this,” I mutter to myself.
I send the link and contemplate pouring one more shot but decide against it. The goal is to keep a clear head, and two tequilas is already walking a fine line. Instead, I pour myself a glass of club soda and mix a quick Jack and Coke for Martin—a little heavy on the Jack because I am already two drinks ahead of him.
My phone pings with a text.
Chelsey: OMG. Who is this Greek god?
Jackie: This is what your mother set you up with for Thanksgiving? THIS!?
Chelsey: Can he tie me up? Please?
Chelsey: Tell him I’ve been naughty.
Penny: So I’m not crazy? There’s something kinda hot about him, right?
Jackie: Kinda? No babe. There’s something kinda hot about Henry Cavill.
Jackie: Harry Styles is kinda hot.
Jackie: This man is sex on a stick on fire.
“Ms.Penelope.” Marie knocks on the doorway of the study. “Appetizers have been served.”
“I’ll be right there,” I say, fumbling my phone.
I open up my TikTok app once more and do a quick scroll through his videos. There’s got to be at least fifty. Martin tying knots wearing flannel in the forest. Martin tying knots on the beach in a tank top and trunks. Martin tying knots sitting in an office. I’m not going to pretend to understand why a guy like Martin makes videos like this. I write spicy sex for a living. To each their own. What I do know is that the nearly one hundred thousand subscribers on Martin’s account are not all Boy Scouts.
“Penelope, I’m going to be dead by the time you come back here!” Nana Rosie yells.
“On my way, Nana.” I tuck my phone away.
“Good!” she hollers back. “And then we’re going to tie you to your seat for the rest of the night.”
I nearly drop both drinks in the hallway. If only Nana Rosie knew exactly how capable Martin is for that exact job.
The mood feels lighter in the dining room. Smith and my father are locked in conversation about traveling overseas. Phoebe and Falon listen intently, occasionally smiling or laughing when the timing is right. Nana Rosie and my mother are eating, which is always a good sign. They’re kind of like tigers in a zoo: loud and could possibly bite your head off if not fed at regular intervals. As for me, I’m pleasantly buzzed and allowing Martin Butler’s TikToks to play rent-free in my head.
I set Martin’s drink in front of him and take my seat next to him. He takes a sip and nearly gags trying to swallow it down.
