3. Peyton
CHAPTER 3
peyton
“ A lright, y'all, let’s push up outta that plank and back into down-dog. Just like that. Nicely done,” I whispered to Angela, a new student in the front row. “Now pedal those feet, really pushing back. Get that butt in the air.”
The digital doorbell dinged, but I ignored it. It was only Lemon coming in to set up for her circuit barre class that started in twenty minutes.
“Let’s bring it on home.” Twenty-two bodies eased down onto their mats. “Roll back into corpse pose and relax.” The morning sun streamed through the east windows, painting everything golden. “Close those beautiful eyes and let your body melt into your mat like butter on a hot biscuit.”
A few giggles broke out, and I peeked an eye open, trying to discover the cause. But all I saw was a roomful of clients lying on the floor.
“Now, extend your legs, let them get real heavy…” I kept my voice honey-smooth. “Arms by your sides, palms facing up to receive all that good energy."
I pushed to a stand and headed for the cabinet at the back wall. Once I had the vial of lavender essential oil, I walked back to the group. “Lift a hand if you’d like me to rub some lavender on your temples.” Twenty-one hands went up. The only one not raised was Daisy Johnson, a seventy-two-year-old retired postal worker who unashamedly had honest-to-goodness OCD and did not like being touched.
As I bent down and began the ritual we always ended with, whispers broke out again. I hushed them with a glare. “Y'all better get back to your meditation before I make everyone hold plank for another five minutes,” I warned, letting my accent drawl a little extra. More quiet laughter, but the eyes closed.
I rubbed the essential oil over everyone’s temples. Then I made it back to the front of the room as one song ended and another began. When I went to return to my spot, a short squeak erupted in my throat. Because right there, stretched out on my hot pink mat at six forty a.m., was Ford Dupree in a pair of joggers and a tight T-shirt that showed off every ripple in his extremely defined chest. Well, that explained all the whispers.
He stared up at me with that familiar half-smile that he knew full well made me swoon like I was one of his stupid fans. I definitely was not.
I stood over him, hands propped on my hips. “Really?” I hissed, making my expression fierce. Not at all betraying how my heart was pounding. He looked tired. He must’ve driven all night to get here.
“Hi, Peyt.” His aquamarine eyes, his smile lines, the constant five o’clock shadow that made him look rugged and like he was too cool to care about his appearance. It was no wonder the whole world was in love with him. Even if he was a country singer.
Every time he returned home from recording an album in Nashville or being on tour, my body reacted like I was meeting him for the first time. My heart whooshed uncontrollably and I felt weak and flushed.
I’m too old for this nonsense!
I tried to speak and it caught in my throat. But I pushed through, acting unfazed. “I don’t see you for two months and then you plop down on my mat like you own the place?” I propped a hand on my hip. “My day’s busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kickin' contest. How about I head out now and you talk everyone through Savasana?”
He raised his hand like we were in elementary school math class. His wildflower tattoo—from his Whiskey Kisses and Wildflower Wishes album—inked right over the inside of his right bicep, peeked out below the sleeve of his T-shirt. “I didn’t have time to stop and get my mat,” he whispered. “I’m waiting for my lavender.”
I squinted and pursed my lips. “Close your eyes then.”
He did as I said.
I bent down, hands trembling, and began rubbing circles over his temples. He let out a throaty noise of satisfaction—half growl, half moan. Then he sank into the mat, looking so serene. My heart swelled at the thought. There was a time when he was never at peace and I counted it as a miracle that he’d come so far.
A wayward brown curl fell over his eye and I brushed it off his forehead. I was taking too much time with him. I hadn’t spent nearly this long on anyone else. But I didn’t want to stop touching him. He was my best friend and I’d missed him so much. Every stupid day. A tear escaped my left eye.
I was about to stand, wipe it away, and pull myself together when his hands shot up, grabbed my wrists, and yanked me down on top of him. I swallowed a shriek as I landed with an oof against his hard chest.
He chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist, locking me against him.
“Seriously?” I hissed.
He freed one hand and brushed the tear away. “I missed you too.”
I shouldn’t have let myself, but I leaned into his touch. “I just have something in my eye.”
“Sure, sure.” He smiled, and it was ridiculous how it made my stomach purr. “You owe me a kiss.”
I pursed my lips. “Hmm. Looks like you already did plenty of kissing if you made it back this fast.” I placed my hands against his chest and tried to push up.
But he tightened his arms around my back and stared up into my eyes, his expression so serious. “I made it back this fast because you promised me a kiss.”
He was so full of it. Someone as famous as him, who could have any woman he wanted—and had—was not motivated by a mere kiss. Putting my mouth on his wouldn’t mean anything to him. But it would mean something to me. I already knew that. If I let myself get physical with him, my heart would not come out the other side still intact.
His arms were tight around my waist, but I pushed up on my elbows, digging into his pecs. “Okay, lover boy. I have a class to wrap up.”
His head cocked in a dare. “As soon as I get my kiss.”
I pushed up, trying to break his hold, but he only held me tighter, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I glanced down at his massive biceps and sighed in defeat. “Later. I’m not doing that right here in front of everyone.”
“But I drove all night.” His death grip on my waist told me he was not letting me go until he got his reward.
“Fine.” I put my hands on either side of his head and looked down at his mouth like it was a black hole waiting to suck me in. Then I leaned in closer, closer…hovering. I could practically taste his mint toothpaste. His aftershave wafted up my nose and I almost moaned. I needed out of these arms…and quick. With lightning-fast speed, I placed a feather-light peck on his lips.
The bell dinged as someone came through the door at the same time that a slew of camera clicks went off. I jerked back and glanced over to see four women taking pictures on their phones and another videoing. Lemon was by the door, arms folded at the picture of me on top of Ford in front of the class.
The door opened again, and my thirteen-year-old son, Cash, and my ex-husband, Braxton, walked in. Cash stopped, eyes wide, causing his dad to stumble into him. When Braxton saw my predicament, his gaze narrowed.
My face flamed.
Ford laughed silently, his chest rumbling beneath me. I pushed against him, trying to stand. But he had me locked down.
“You still owe me a kiss,” he whispered.
“I gave you one,” I said, panic in my voice.
“No,” he said quietly, not the least bit frazzled at our current situation. His fingertips trailed up my spine. He was trying to calm me. “No one would consider that a kiss.”
Click, click, click , the women took more photos.
“Do you want to be in People magazine?” I hissed.
He shrugged against the mat. “With you? Absolutely.”
“Well, I enjoy my privacy thankyouverymuch.” I swung a glare at the yoga paparazzi. “Excuse me.” I elbowed Ford in the gut. He let me go with a grunt. “Absolutely not,” I said at full volume, yanking everyone out of their Savasana meditation. I stood, walked over, and flipped all the lights on. “Taking photos or videos of Ford Dupree or posting anything about Ford Dupree is grounds for automatic dismissal from The Downward Dog. No refunds.” I jammed my finger toward the sign on the door. “Now that he’s back in town and will be attending class, your phones need to either stay in your car or be put into the basket on the counter for safekeeping.” I wagged a finger. “Each of you will let me watch you delete the pictures and videos.” It was policy. Without it, we were inundated with fans who wanted selfies or worse—and Ford wasn’t able to come to class.
Staggered groans broke out. Some from well-meaning women who merely wanted to finish their yoga class properly. But most were from the eight who’d been caught with their hand in the Ford-sized cookie jar.
Lemon walked over, lips pursed. “I’ve got it.” She nodded for me to go talk to Cash. Ford hopped up and took a step for the cart. He always put everyone’s blocks and bolsters away at the end of class. I was pretty sure he was trying to butter me up—and dang, if it didn’t work. Every time.
Lemon snapped her fingers at him. “Hold it right there, dear brother-in-law.” I watched as she walked over to him with a disapproving stare. But when she got to him, she simultaneously grinned, squealed, and threw her arms around him. “You’re finally back.”
I pretended I wasn’t completely humiliated as I walked over to Cash.
“Hey,” I said, too chipper, smoothing my hair back. “Did you have fun with your dad?” He’d spent the night at Braxton’s like every other Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. Now, my ex was dropping him off so I could take him to breakfast before he had to go to middle school in an hour.
Cash smiled. “Yeah. We played the new version of Madden on the Xbox.”
“Fun,” I said. “What else did you do?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. That’s it. I’m going to say hi to Ford.” He walked away.
I cocked a brow at Braxton. “Sounds like you did some serious parenting.”
Brax shrugged. All he cared about was being the fun parent. Doing whatever was easiest. “You only live once.” His eyes flashed back to Ford, his nostrils flaring.
My teeth clamped. “It’s a total shocker that’s your life motto.”
Braxton leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, marking his territory. “Miss you, baby. I’m late for work.”
I wiped his germs away voraciously. I glanced over my shoulder to see Ford shooting Braxton with his death-ray vision right before Brax darted out the door.
I hurried out into the April sunlight. “Hey,” I caught Braxton as he was unlocking his car. “Y-you don’t get to act all sweet in public.” The shake of my voice was downright embarrassing. “And then take me to court for full custody. Just be the douchebag you know you are. Consistently. You’re giving me whiplash.”
He turned to face me and smiled. “I’m just doing what’s best for Cash.”
“What’s best for Cash?” My lungs were gripped with frustration. “Taking him away from his mother is not what’s best for him.”
Braxton popped the door open. “No baby, what’s best for him is if his mom and dad get back together.”
My hands curled into fists at my side. “What’s best for him would’ve been his dad not cheating on his mom.” My voice trembled. Turns out, discovering your husband's a chronic cheater is the gut punch that keeps on giving, even after you’ve been divorced for five years.
“I don’t have time for this right now. I said I was sorry.” He sighed like an apology should erase all the hurt he’d caused me and Cash. “I gotta go.”
I jammed my finger at him. “Drop this stupid custody battle. They’re going to side with me. They always side with the mother. All they have to do is ask Cash and he’ll tell them who he wants to live with.” He was thirteen now. Old enough to have a say. “You can’t actually want to spend all this money on a lawyer.”
“You’re right. I’d rather pay off the house with that money.” He tilted his head like it was all my fault.
“Then pay it off,” I spat.
He laughed. “Why would I pay off a house I’m not allowed to live in?”
“Because your son lives there. Because you’re trying to be a decent human being. Because you know I can’t afford the payment.” My fingers curled into fists. “I’m not getting back with you. Ever. So stop this nonsense and let us all get on with our lives.”
He turned the key, revved the engine, and gave me a hard stare. “See you in court then.” He pulled the door shut and reversed.
I did meditation breathing—four seconds in, eight seconds out—as I watched him pull out of the parking lot. Then I yanked the door open and walked back inside.
Everything was picked up and put away. Lemon stood at the front of the room, writing a list of barre exercises on the floor-to-ceiling mirror using a dry-erase marker. Three women huddled in the center of the room, tittering and whispering as they eyed Ford like he was a massive ice cream sundae.
If he noticed, he paid them no mind. His attention was focused on Cash. There was a sparkle of pride in his eyes as he chatted with my boy.
“He’s such a sick coach.” Cash bounced on his toes. “So much better than Coach Foster.”
Ford swayed a little as he reached over and cuffed Cash on the shoulder. The man was exhausted. “’Course he is. He played in the NFL.”
They were talking about Blue, Anna’s husband. Anna was Ford’s niece. She was married to Blue Bishop, a former starting QB for the Kansas City Chiefs. He’d recently become the head coach for the J.V. football team here in Seddledowne. It was only April, but they were already conditioning for the fall.
Cash shook his head. “Now, if we could just get a choir teacher half as good as Blue, we’d be set.”
Ford raised a brow. “You still dealing with Mr. Skank?” They both snickered at the name.
“ Yes ,” Cash breathed. “All we sing are baby songs like ‘Zippity Do Dah’ or boring stuff like ‘Kumbayah.’” His adorable face twisted up like he’d eaten something gross. “Come with the rest of us into the 2000s, bro.”
“I keep telling Skank I’m happy to help out.” Ford shrugged, belying the actual frustration I knew he felt. He’d offered many times. Seemed Mr. Skank hated country music even more than I did and held a grudge against Ford because of it. Everyone in Seddledowne knew that pretentious snob only listened to classical music and show tunes.
My hand pressed against my heart as they chatted. My eyes drifted to Lemon when I felt her watching. She gave me a sad smile and cocked her head. I glanced away and back at the guys.
“I think you grew while I was gone,” Ford said. Cash had. A whole inch.
“Come measure, Mom.” Cash waved me over as he backed up to Ford.
“Head up. Pretend there’s a string running from the top of your head to the ceiling,” I said like I did every time they did this. Ford didn’t straighten, trying to give Cash the advantage. I studied them for a moment. “You’re at his chin now.”
“Nice.” Ford smiled as he turned to face Cash.
But Cash’s shoulders fell. “I’m never going to catch Griff.” Silas and Lemon’s son was destined to be at least 6’4” like his dad.
Ford gave a wry laugh. “Be grateful. Griff looks like a gangly giraffe.”
“I heard that,” Lemon sang, never slowing in her writing. “A very handsome giraffe who will one day grow into those arms and legs.”
“Facts.” I offered Cash a smile. “You’re taller than me now.”
“Not hard to do, darlin’.” Ford chuckled and tossed his chin up at Cash. “You’re right on schedule. You’ll be at least as tall as me. Your dad’s tall. Ish.”
“Yeah, but my mom’s short. What if I t-take after her?” Cash’s voice cracked. Just a reminder that puberty was in motion.
As cute as these two were, I had to get some food in Cash’s belly before I dropped him at school. “Well, we need to head to McDonald’s.” I glanced at Ford, about to ask if he’d like to come. But I hesitated. He looked like he was ready to lie on a mat in the back room and take a four-hour nap.
“You wanna come to breakfast?” Cash’s eyes were bright and his tone eager.
“I would if I wasn’t so tired. No sleep last night.” He pointed at Cash. “But I was about to invite you both for dinner tonight. Just the three of us? We can grill burgers.” Ford knew the way to Cash’s heart.
Cash glanced at me, excited.
Just the three of us really meant just the two of us. Because Cash would scarf down the burgers and promptly beg to borrow the side-by-side. Then he’d take off to hang out with one of the various Dupree grandchildren, leaving the two of us alone. Which always led to Ford proposing marriage. Again.
I was a strong woman. Resilient, some people said. But even I could only resist the Great Ford Dupree so many times. And ever since he’d called things off with Georgia, he’d doubled down on his efforts.
But I’d missed my best friend. Desperately. He’d been gone too long and we should celebrate his return.
My eyes locked on Ford’s. He was hopeful. And sleepy.
I smiled. “Yeah. Of course. Can I bring a salad?”