by Kendall Ryan
Maybe if I hide from this whole mess it’ll just go away. When I take my head out of this pillow, maybe we’ll be back at Speakeasy, just me and my girls, celebrating the success of my company without the added trouble of trying to piece my broken heart back together.
I peer out cautiously. Nope. No luck. Still in my bedroom, still brokenhearted. Damn. It was worth a shot.
“Okay, look,” Sabrina says bluntly, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re allowed to be mopey for the rest of the night. Eat your ice cream and pout, and watch all the sad romantic movies you want. But come tomorrow, you have to give this some actual thought and decide if you want to give this guy a chance or not.” Before I have a chance to respond, she adds, “And if you decide not to give him a shot, you have to promise to move on. Like, for real. Which includes dating someone new. Deal?”
I suck in a deep breath. The idea of moving on and dating another man sounds like the worst kind of torture, but I know she’s right. “Deal.”
• • •
I wake up to the smell of chocolate-chip pancakes wafting in through my door.
Sabrina and Libby stayed pretty late last night, but they must have given Gram the rundown on what happened before they left, because there’s no other reason Gram would be cooking my all-time favorite comfort food.
I can barely hear the sound of some pop song I’ve never heard before playing on the kitchen speaker. Gram is shamelessly singing along, but she’s not the only one. A low, gravelly voice joins in. It’s Duncan, I realize. I guess she needed a cooking buddy.
A quick glance in my mirror tells me that a good night’s sleep did me some good. The puffiness around my eyes has subsided, and thanks to Libby coming to the rescue with her makeup wipes, my mascara trails are long gone. I might even pass as someone who’s doing okay.
Despite all that, there’s no fooling Gram. If I so much as step into the kitchen, I’m going to have to talk about it. But I can’t resist chocolate-chip pancakes.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Gram is steadying herself on her walker with one hand while flipping a pancake on the griddle with the other. She’s recovered enough that she doesn’t need the walker much anymore, but I appreciate her being smart. “Duncan, darling, could you pour this girl a cup of coffee? I think she needs it.”
Duncan stands up from his seat at the table, following Gram’s request. I watch as his shaky hand grabs a mug, pouring it to the brim. He’s wearing some gray plaid pajama pants that perfectly match his silver hair. When I look back at Gram, I see she has on a similar pair.
Matching PJs. These two couldn’t get cuter if they tried.
“Here you go, sweetie,” Duncan says, passing me a hot mug of coffee. “I’ll let you fix it up the way you like.”
As I add my cream and sugar, he piles up a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes for me and sets it at the empty setting at the table.
“You guys are spoiling me,” I mutter under my breath after taking my first sip of coffee and sitting down in front of my pancakes. They smell like heaven.
“Sabrina and Libby told me you might need a little spoiling,” Gram says, turning down the volume on her pop music.
I can hardly suppress my eye roll. I knew those girls wouldn’t keep their mouths shut. Not that I wouldn’t have filled Gram in myself eventually.
She scoots her walker over to the table and snags the seat between Duncan and me as I busy myself with cutting my pancakes with the side of my fork, hoping to avoid this conversation as long as possible.
“Pass the syrup, please?”
Gram reaches across the table to grab the sticky brown bottle, then holds it up in the air above her head. “No syrup unless you agree to talk about it.”
I scowl at her, but she doesn’t budge. The woman knows me too freaking well. “Fine, I’ll talk.” I reach out and she passes the bottle over, then folds her hands on the table expectantly, ready to listen.
Between bites of pancake, I give Gram and Duncan the abbreviated version of the tragic tale of Josh and Peyton, skipping over the part where he and I slept together the night before he made his grand exit from my life. I’ll let them assume what they want, but no way am I saying that, especially not in front of Duncan. I also leave out the fact that we technically met before ever being introduced at the office. No reason to let them know about the dick pic either, I decide.
“In summary,” I say with a sigh, “the guy disappeared just as I was starting to fall for him. And now he’s suddenly showing up again, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.”
Gram raises a brow at me. “So you admit that you were falling for him, huh?”
My shoulders drop as I stare down at my syrupy plate. “Yeah. I really was.”
She cocks her head. “Was? Or still are?”
The question weighs on my heart heavier than I’d like to admit. “I don’t know.”
Gram chuckles, shaking her head. “It sounds like there’s a lot of things you don’t know. I think it might help if you talked to him, sweetie. Maybe you’d find out a thing or two.”
Duncan nods in agreement, then reaches over the table and grabs Gram’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Trust me. Talking things out is always the best way. When your Gram told me she spent that whole work thingamajig at the hotel dancing with that other fella, I was so jealous, I swear I turned green. But that’s because she didn’t have a chance to tell me why.”
Gram’s eyes crinkle as a soft smile spreads across her face. “Because if I didn’t stop hanging around Josh and Peyton, they never would’ve had any alone time that night. Plus, they were playing mine and Duncan’s song. I couldn’t miss that.”
“The point is,” Duncan says, “if you really care about a person, you need to let them tell their whole story. Because if you don’t, you may be losing them somewhere in the details.”
“And if you love somebody,” Gram adds, “there’s nothing in this world worth losing them for.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Josh
It’s been a full week since I strolled into Speakeasy, expecting to join in on a legendary celebration. The Wish Upon a Gift launch was a total success, meaning I was finally free from that stupid deal I made with Brody.
My plan for the evening was foolproof: surprise Peyton at her favorite bar, meet her best friends, and then take her home with me for some much-deserved celebrating one-on-one. Instead, I was greeted with the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. So, yeah, just about the opposite of what I had in mind.
Even with a week to recover, my ego is still a little bruised from being rejected so completely by a woman I miss on the daily. Unfortunately, that’s the least of my worries. I’m torn the fuck apart over the thought that I obviously hurt her. But I had no choice, and I need to make her understand that.
I thought I was doing the right thing by backing away from the project. Brody would have evidence of how much I believed in Peyton’s product, Peyton would have the professional work environment that I couldn’t give her, and once the launch was over with, I thought we would pick things up where we left off. Boom. Perfect. Everyone wins.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy—hell, I missed her like crazy during those two weeks of silence. Not to mention my dick had to be reintroduced to my hand in a big, bad way. But it was worth it to see Peyton and her business succeed, and I was so sure she’d understand.
And maybe she will, if she ever answers my calls and gives me a chance to explain.
After putting in a few good hours of tossing and turning, I give the finger to the sheep I’ve been counting. I’m wide awake. I swear to God, I’ve been running on nothing but energy drinks and a fucking prayer since things with Peyton fell apart. And it’s starting to look like I won’t know what a REM cycle feels like again until I sort my shit out. It’s un-fucking-pleasant, to say the least.
Unplugging my phone from its place charging on my bedside table, I opt to endure tonight’s episode of insomnia by scrolling through my contacts, looking for anyone I
can go to for advice. Brody sure as hell isn’t the one to ask about this situation. Even if he weren’t so involved, I need womanly advice, not bro advice.
When I get to the Cs in my contact list, one name sticks out to me. It’s so obvious. There’s only one person who saw Peyton and me together as a couple, not as business partners. My cousin Claire.
My thumb hovers over her name as I weigh my options. Claire is all the way upstate. Not exactly a quick trip to discuss my woman problems. But there’s no harm in shooting her a text to see if she’s free. Maybe she’ll get back to me in the morning.
My phone buzzes immediately. Looks like I won’t have to wait that long.
Claire is up with the baby, and although she agrees that I’m insane for wanting to drive all the way up there, she promises to be home and ready to listen if I have an emergency to talk out. That’s all I need to hear to hop in my car and head north.
Yeah, driving six hours for relationship advice seems a little insane. But then again, so does continuing to lose sleep over Peyton. And if anyone can help me make sense of this mess, it’s Claire.
Six and a half hours of hugging the left lane later, I’m back where I was a few weeks ago—standing on Claire’s doorstep, the doorbell chiming its usual tune. It makes me wish Peyton were standing here with me again.
To my surprise, there’s no herd of excited kiddos sprinting up to the door this time, though. Just Claire, gripping a mug of coffee and shaking her head, the slightest smile on her lips.
“You really did it. You drove all the way up here.” She sounds equal parts shocked and delighted. “Come on in. Whatever you need to talk about that was worth that drive, I think I need to be sitting down to hear it.”
Inside the house, it doesn’t take long for me to see why I didn’t get my usual stampede greeting at the door. Claire’s husband is home for the day, and he and the kids are lounging in front of the TV, watching some movie with talking animated cars. He gives me a wave from where he’s planted on the floor with little Connor in his lap, who is running a toy car along his dad’s thigh.
“I put him on kid duty,” Claire whispers as she hands me a full coffee mug.
Thank God. I’m exhausted from that drive.
With the living room occupied, and the kitchen close enough that the little ones would be within earshot, I suggest we take advantage of the nice weather and move this conversation outside. Claire agrees, and I follow her out through the sliding glass door and onto the patio. Although the last thing I want to do is sit after being in a car for so long, I politely take a seat in the Adirondack chair across from her.
We’re quiet for a moment, which gives me a chance to get a few sips of coffee in me before I launch into my mess of a story. As we sit here, I can’t help but reminisce about the last time I was on this patio, introducing Peyton to the kids and watching them race to the playset. I’d be called a rotten egg all over again to have her here with me again.
My heart swells at the memory of how good she was with the kids, how she didn’t even think twice about getting her nice dress dirty. She said she wants to come back here. Or at least wanted. The thought of that being in the past tense puts a knot in my stomach.
“So,” Claire says, putting an end to my daydream. “What’s going on, and why do I have a feeling it has to do with the girl you brought here?”
I snicker into my coffee. “Busted. But yeah, it’s gotten complicated.”
Claire stifles a giggle. “Complicated? Wasn’t it already complicated that you and your business partner were so totally into each other?”
“Was it that obvious? We were trying to hide it.”
This time, she doesn’t even bother trying to hide her laugh. “Yeah, it was incredibly obvious. The way you two looked at each other? That’s not how you look at a coworker. Anyone with eyes could see that.”
“Yeah, and that was the problem.” I sigh, working a hand through my hair. “I guess people caught on. Well, Brody did, at least. He got all riled up and was going to put an end to our deal with her company. So I kinda had to play hardball.”
A crease forms across Claire’s forehead. “Define hardball.”
“Well, after Peyton, you know, spent the night for the first time, I overslept, and Brody pitched a fit. So she was worried that us being together would get in the way of work stuff. And then Brody comes at me with this how are you gonna prove you’re not thinking with your dick bullshit. Long story short, I made him a deal where I’d back off the project and stop talking to Peyton until the launch was done.”
Claire’s eyes bulge, and her chin drops to her chest. “You slept with her and then you stopped talking to her? Are you kidding me?”
“It wasn’t permanent. Just for two weeks, give or take. It was for the good of the business, she has to know that,” I explain, my tone turning defensive. “And it was so Brody would believe me when I said this deal would be a success. This way, I could keep things professional, like she wanted. I was trying to help.”
Claire blinks at me in disbelief, her mouth hanging open a solid two inches. “Um, question . . . When did you inform her of this brilliant plan?”
I recoil. “Sorry, what?”
Claire squeezes her eyes shut and inhales sharply. She’s obviously trying to stop herself from yelling at me, but whether that’s for my benefit or the kids’, I’m not sure.
“Listen, Josh,” she says in what’s obviously a forced calm tone. “A woman left your bed feeling insecure about your relationship. Your job is to soothe those worries, to make things right with her. Instead, your solution was to completely ignore her for two weeks?”
“Well, I guess when you put it like that . . .”
“What do you mean ‘when you put it like that’? That’s what you did. It doesn’t matter that there was some kind of professional reasoning behind it. All you did was confirm that poor girl’s worst fears—that she’s a one-time fuck who means nothing to you.”
“But she’s not,” I snap, as if Claire were the one I’m trying to convince.
Claire rests her mug on the arm of the chair and folds her arms across her chest. “And how is she supposed to know that?”
An insane amount of pressure starts building in my chest. Fuck. She’s right.
There’s no way in hell for Peyton to know that. Because all I did was disappear and then crash her celebration at Speakeasy without an explanation. And I never thought to ask Brody about how he broke the news of my disappearance to Peyton. For all I know, he might have said I was dead. Or worse, seeing someone else.
“You need to call her, Josh,” Claire says, leaning forward in her chair and laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“No shit.” I snort, shrugging her hand off of me. “I already tried that. She won’t even pick up. She doesn’t want to hear a word I have to say.”
Claire rolls her eyes and folds one leg over the other, then crosses her arms again. She looks like the world’s most annoyed pretzel. “Listen. I can’t tell you how to fix it. I wish I could, because I really liked Peyton.” Her face softens, probably at the memory of the two of us goofing around with her kids on the playset. “But I will say this. If Peyton is half as wonderful as she seemed when I met her, she’s not going to stay single for very long. Girls like that get snatched up quick.”
My gut tightens like I just took a punch to the stomach. “What, are you saying you think she’s already moved on?”
Claire shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s not out of the realm of possibility. So, whatever you do, you’d better do it fast.”
I give up on sipping my coffee and slam what’s left in the mug, then check my watch. “Is seven hours from now fast enough?”
Claire’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Are you telling me you’re gonna turn your ass back around and drive back to Manhattan already?”
When she says it out loud, it makes me sound like a lunatic. But judging by the feeling in my gut, it’s what I need to do
. I need to talk to Brody and find out what he said to Peyton when I left the front end of the project. I need to know what kind of damage I need to repair in order to win this girl back.
That is, if I’m not too late.
“First, you’re going to take a nap,” Claire tells me, rising to her feet. “And then I’ll see if I can help you make a plan.”
I nod and follow her inside.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Josh
In our time running this business, Brody and I have logged more than our fair share of Saturday night meetings. As co-founders of the company, we don’t get the luxury of keeping work to a Monday through Friday grind. The one perk? When you’re the boss, there’s nobody to stop you from swapping out an office chair for a bar stool.
When I call Brody on my drive home and suggest we grab a drink tonight, I can tell by his attitude that he’s expecting an evening of more work than play.
And he’s not far off the mark. We can’t talk about what went down between Peyton and me without talking through the details of the last few weeks of work. But little does Brody know that we won’t be chatting about profit margins or marketing plans tonight. We’ve got much bigger fish to fry.
I’m a few sips away from polishing off my first well-deserved beer of the night when Brody makes his entrance. A glass of whiskey neat is already waiting for him on the other side of the table. I can be a good friend sometimes.
“You look exhausted, dude,” Brody says as he slides into his seat.
I scoff. “Not even a hi, how are ya? Some friend you are.”
I tap my longneck bottle against his glass, then down the rest of my beer as he samples his whiskey. The hops go down smooth and easy, taking the edge off the twelve and a half hours I’ve spent behind a steering wheel today.
Brody and I spend a few minutes shooting the shit, catching up on the ins and outs of our everyday lives. It’s been a while since we’ve talked as friends instead of business partners. He tells me he’s been spending more time at the gym, even when I’m not there to make him lift heavy. I’m glad he’s been doing just as well outside of the office as in it. I wish I could say the same for me.