Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
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I stood in my office doorway, watching Peyton nurse her Coke. The set of her shoulders reminded me so much of Ford it made my chest ache. But there wasn’t time to unpack that particular emotional landmine. This whole situation had me feeling more than I usually allowed myself to feel in a month. My capacity for continuing to function through all of it was rapidly running out. So I did the only thing I could. I shut it all down and shoved it deep into a mental closet to pull out when things didn’t feel so much like a crisis.
“I spoke with your dad.” Not a sentence I’d ever thought I’d be uttering. “He’s working on getting home as soon as he can. Thankfully, he’s just up in Virginia for a training instead of shipped off to who knows where.” It seemed prudent not to mention he’d been stationed in Japan the past few years.
Peyton seemed relieved by that news.
“You’re going to stay with me until he gets back. Is that okay?” I wasn’t sure what the hell I’d do with her if it wasn’t, but a kid in her circumstances had few enough choices. I knew how important it was for her to feel like she had some control.
“That’d be okay.”
“All right. I’ve got to square a few more things away here, then we’ll go.”
No way was I keeping the kid at the Brewhouse tonight. We needed to be out of the public eye. I’d be lucky if Mama Flo and Mimi didn’t show up on my doorstep later, as it was.
Whipping out my phone, I texted Monty.
Bree:
I need you to come in and cover for me tonight.
Monty:
Ooo, did we find some sexy young thing to break your dry spell with? :eyebrow waggle GIF:
Bree:
Not even a little bit.
Monty:
:pouty face GIF: Hope springs eternal.
Bree:
It’s an emergency. I’ll explain later. Just please get here as soon as you can.
Monty:
Is Ed okay?
Bree:
He’s fine.
Monty:
On my way.
That sorted, I pulled my mental armor into place and headed back out to the floor to check on customers. Drew McNamara and his family were already gone. So were two of the other tables. Willa and Sawyer were still at their booth. I crossed over, automatically checking every other table. A few more patrons had wandered in while I’d been in the back.
Willa arched both brows. “Well?”
I kept my voice low. “He’s working on getting back. I’m taking her home with me in the meantime. Did anyone say anything?”
Sawyer shook his head. “No. Drew and Kelly will keep mum. I think the other tables might have been too far to hear for sure.” He leaned forward, gaze intent on me. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
When he only looked at me, I blew out a breath. “I’m taking this one minute at a time. Right now, my focus is on Peyton.”
He and Willa exchanged one of those married-people-telepathy looks.
I wagged my finger between them. “Just no. I want no part of whatever silent conversation you’re having about me right now.”
Willa reached out to squeeze my hand. “Fair enough. But we’re here if you need us. For anything.”
I unbent enough to squeeze back. “Thanks, Wills.”
I went back to check on Peyton. She’d just about finished her Coke.
I was on the verge of asking if she wanted food, when Monty burst through the kitchen doors in a whirl of color and energy. “Your knight in fabulous armor has arrived, darling.”
“Thank God.” I pulled him into a quick hug. “I need you to handle things tonight.”
His gaze slid past me to where Peyton sat. Questions blazed in his eyes, but bless him, he didn’t ask them. Instead, he straightened his bow tie and gave me a small nod.
“Peter’s popping by for dinner later. We’ll keep the ship sailing smooth as silk.” He squeezed my hand. “Go do what you need to do.”
I grabbed my keys and gestured to Peyton, who eyed Monty with equal curiosity. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get out of here.”
She slung her worn backpack—the only thing she had with her—over one shoulder. My throat tightened at the sight. I remembered what it felt like to have next to nothing of my own beyond a broken heart and what fit into a trash bag. We slipped out through the kitchen’s back door. The rain had finally stopped, and the evening air had turned crisp, carrying the salt-tang of the ocean. My Jeep sat in its usual spot in the small back lot, and I unlocked it with trembling fingers.
Peyton climbed in without a word. The silence stretched between us as I drove through the village streets toward my cottage. I caught glimpses of her in my peripheral vision, the way she kept her backpack clutched tight against her chest like a shield.
The drive was mercifully short. As I pulled into my driveway, I realized I had no idea what to say to this girl who’d traveled across the country alone, searching for a father who didn’t know she existed.
The lights inside were on. I’d texted Pop to go ahead and drop Keeley home. I hadn’t explained why, just said I’d be home early tonight. If he’d wondered why I hadn’t been by to pick her up myself, he hadn’t asked. We both slid out of the Jeep and trudged up the walk to the front door of the cottage. The moment I opened the door, my sweetheart of a mutt began to bark and dance, turning excited circles as she realized we had company.
Too late, it occurred to me that Peyton might not be okay with dogs. Sure, she’d seemed okay with Roy, but he hadn’t been in total crackhead mode like Keeley was. As I turned to grab for her collar, Peyton made a noise of delight and dropped to her knees. My pup yipped and immediately began bathing her face with kisses. The giggle snort that followed relieved at least a little of the anxiety coursing through me.
“Peyton, meet Keeley. Keeley, please do not feel the need to bathe our guest.”
Keeley barked and bounced, her blue eyes sparkling with joy and mischief.
“Cookie?”
Her floppy ears perked.
“Assume the position.”
She raced into the kitchen and plopped her butt to the floor, tail swishing. I crossed over and dug out a biscuit. “Good girl.”
She nipped it out of my hand.
I realized Peyton still stood in the open door. “Come on in. Let me feed her, and I’ll sort out what we’re gonna have.” Maybe I should’ve had my kitchen staff prep something for us, but I’d been in too big a hurry to get her out.
Peyton shut the door, and I pretended not to notice her looking everywhere at once, taking in my space while I scooped kibble into a bowl. I wondered what she saw. I wasn’t exactly a decorator. My place was a hodgepodge of furniture that was more about comfort than cohesion. I spent so much of my time at the Brewhouse that I didn’t concern myself overmuch with how things looked here.
Eventually, the girl came into the kitchen while I was poking around the fridge and freezer in search of something for dinner. I didn’t have much. Owning a restaurant, I usually had most of my meals there. Other than breakfast.
“How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”
Peyton slid onto one of the barstools at the counter, easing the backpack to the floor by her feet. “Pancakes?”
“I can do pancakes.” It wasn’t precisely nutritious, but I wasn’t aiming for parent of the year here. I just wanted to see the kid got fed. I wondered when her last meal had been.
I began pulling out ingredients.
“Why are you helping me?”
Eggs in hand, I glanced back at her. “As I said before, I’ve been where you are. I never knew my dad, either. My mom died when I was eight, and I got put into the system until they found my grandfather, and he brought me here.” I began measuring out pancake mix, keeping my voice casual. “It’s a scary place to be.”
I doubted I’d earned enough trust to get her to talk about whether she’d had any problematic experiences in the foster system, but I wanted to open the door in case she had.
Peyton shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. They weren’t mean or anything.”
Nothing in her posture or expression suggested she was hiding anything. For her sake, I hoped like hell it was true.
I couldn’t resist satisfying at least some of my curiosity as I mixed the pancake batter. “How did you even know to come here? Did your mom tell you about Ford?”
“No. Never.” Peyton traced patterns on my counter with her finger. “But after she… after she died, I was going through her stuff, and I found some letters she wrote him. She never sent them.”
My hand stilled on the whisk. “Letters?”
“I guess maybe she felt guilty about never telling him about me, and every year she wrote him a letter talking about me. She talked about vacationing here on Hatterwick and meeting him. I took a chance that he was still here.”
My stomach turned at how differently this could have played out. What if she’d arrived after Ford had left the Navy and moved somewhere else? What if she’d run into someone who didn’t know him? The possibilities made me ill.
I forced myself to pour batter into the heated skillet, keeping my voice steady. “Smart and resourceful. That’s something else you have in common with your dad.”
“You said you were friends.” There was a question in her voice.
“Growing up, yes.” I focused on the forming bubbles in the pancake. “He’s been in the Navy for a long time now.”
“What’s he like?”
This was absolutely the last thing I wanted to talk about, but I knew the girl was hungry for any scrap of information. I understood what that was like.
I flipped the pancakes, buying time to organize my thoughts. “He’s… kind. Always has been. The sort who’d drop everything to help someone in need.” Like he was doing now. “He was a track star in high school. Got a scholarship to Georgia for it.”
The spatula trembled in my hand as memories flooded back. Ford helping Pop repair the old sign back when the Brewhouse had been the Tidewater Tavern. Ford teaching the younger kids to swim at the community pool. Ford defending kids getting picked on. It was how we’d met. When he’d intervened with a bully getting up in my face about my lack of parents. He’d handed that kid his ass and become my shield, my confidant, my everything.
I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed through the pain. When I was sure my voice would be steady, I kept going. “He’s funny too. Quick with a joke, but never mean ones.” I slid the first stack of pancakes onto a plate. “And loyal. To his family, his friends.”
Until he wasn’t.
I pushed that thought away. This wasn’t about me or my issues.
“Do you have any pictures of him?” Peyton’s voice was small, hesitant.
“Not here.” I hadn’t been able to look at them in years. “But Pop has albums full of photos from when we were growing up. I can ask him tomorrow.” If she stayed that long. If she didn’t bolt like I’d wanted to so many times before Ed became my anchor.
My phone buzzed. A text from Ford.
Ford:
Got emergency leave. Coming home tomorrow.
Relief washed through me. I showed Peyton the message.
“Tomorrow?” Her eyes went wide.
“Yeah. Which means you should eat and get some rest. I expect you’re tired after all the travel it took to get here.”
God knew, I was exhausted simply from the past couple of hours of trying to process the reality of her existence.
She poured a small ocean of syrup on her pancakes. “It has been a minute since I had a bed.” Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Or a sofa’s good, too.”
Had she managed any sleep at all since she left Oregon? Or had she stayed in that faintly dozing state, ready to bolt in case someone invaded her personal space or threatened her? Either way, tonight she’d have a room of her own, with a proper bed.
“I’ve got a guest room, kid. I’ll make it up after we finish dinner.”