7. Callum #2
She shrugs. “I walked around and talked about my amazing research in Asia and how I never would’ve become one of the top researchers in the world without the schooling I received at Sylton Academy.”
A short, disbelieving laugh falls out of my mouth. “Aren’t you worried people will look you up afterward and see that you don’t exist?”
“You think people are going to look up top scientists of microbiomes in migratory birds? For fun, Callum? I told them I studied bird poop.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a thing?”
She laughs. “You tell me. You know all about birds.”
“Dead ones.”
Still grinning, she throws her hands up. “Whatever, Inspector.”
From this close, I notice a birth mark near the back of Peyton’s neck. She has a cartilage piercing in her ear—not just two in her lobes like I initially thought. There’s a small white scar on her chin, and I wonder how she got it. Maybe from one of her many strange assignments.
“I’m having the best time.” Romy’s voice breaks through our discussion, and I realize how close Peyton and I are sitting to each other.
We snap our heads toward Romy, who’s leaning back in her chair and eating pretzels.
Peyton brushes non-existent lint off her sweater and scoots back around to her side of the desk. “Anyway, that’s the gist. Professional, in-person influencing. Launch parties and openings, but also weddings and funerals. And everything in between.”
I scratch my chin. “So, at MingHin Kitchen, you were…”
“Prepping for their opening day. I was contracted to generate buzz on social media and talk loudly about how much I was enjoying the food, among other things.”
“And the seahorse costume?”
“That one’s mostly personal. We sponsor a local charitable foundation, and I am the woman beneath the mask.” She props her head up with her hand. “The different jobs keep things interesting, that’s for sure.”
My lips tip up as I lean back in my chair. “Wow. That’s really cool. You own a business.”
Peyton blushes. “I own it, yeah.”
I duck my chin to meet her gaze. “Congratulations. And you did all this in… what was it? Two years, right?”
I remember Peyton mentioning at the smoothie shop that her big move to Waterton was around that time.
She nods, sitting a bit straighter in her seat, and I can practically feel her pride second-hand. “Thanks, Callum.”
I glance at Romy, approval written across her face.
Peyton rubs her hands together. “Alright then. Go ahead.”
“Go ahead with what?” I ask.
Peyton props her head up with her hand. “I know you have at least one other question in that noggin of yours. Ask it.”
Thank God. I didn’t want to pry, but she’s not wrong. I have a lot of questions, but one sticks out among the rest.
“Do people ever catch on? What would happen if one of your Nutty Nana worshippers caught you yeehawing in Russian at the bar?”
Romy loudly cackles behind her computer.
Peyton huffs. “Fuck off, both of you. It was a perfectly executed boutique Southern accent!”
I wince. “Sorry. It, uh, wasn’t that bad.”
Romy doubles over in laughter. “Oh my God. He’s being so nice to you, Peyton. This is hilarious.”
Peyton shoots Romy a pointed look before focusing on me.
“Anyway, to answer your question, being in a small town is actually a huge benefit to us. We’re not easily recognizable anywhere other than Waterton.
When we first moved here, we did more local gigs.
Now that we’re integrated into the town, we rarely do business in Waterton.
We service all of Northwest Ohio, Southeastern Michigan, Northeast Indiana, and I’m open to air travel—if the assignment and pay makes sense.
We also accept online bids, like Zoom events.
” A mischievous glimmer flashes in her eyes.
“How will you pass the time now? I imagine so much of it was devoted to developing conspiracy theories about me.”
It’s my turn to blush—she has me there. “I wouldn’t call them conspiracy theories…”
She crosses her arms. “Oh yeah? What would you call them?”
I clear my throat. “Professional hypotheses.”
“Never go into influencing, Callum. You are a terrible liar.”
Shaking my head, I blow out a breath. “It’s really impressive you created a whole business from scratch. Nowadays, it’s practically impossible to think of anything new, and I’ve never heard of something like this before. Waterton’s lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” Peyton says softly. “So, um, what’re your plans for the rest of the day?”
I glance down at my clothes. “I know you probably think I live in this uniform at this point, but I do have to work.”
The spark in her eyes dims as the corners of her full lips point down. Is she disappointed? Over me leaving for work?
“Well, mystery solved, Inspector. You know what we do now, so…” She trails off, but her underlying meaning implies this might be it for us.
We’ve officially run out of excuses to see each other.
The curiosity is quenched. Except… it isn’t.
Not for me. I know what she does now, sure. But I still don’t really know her.
My lips droop, and now we wear matching frowns. Something about saying goodbye to Peyton doesn’t feel quite right. Before I can suppress the thought, I consider asking her to hang out again, maybe meet up somewhere. Then I shake my head, releasing the idea from my mind. What am I thinking?
Peyton and I stare at each other wordlessly in some sort of a blink-off. I’m not sure either of us know what to say. I have zero experience with making adult connections, so I’m not about to break the silence.
“This doesn’t have to be goodbye.” Romy’s voice pops up from across the room.
The question “What do you mean?” flies out of my mouth at an embarrassing speed. I’d blush, but when I glance at Peyton, she’s nodding along, like she wants to know, too.
“Well, we do need someone—a man, specifically—for Eaglewood’s golf club invitation.”
“Romy…” Peyton’s tone comes out low and cautionary.
“I’m just saying! Callum is a man. You two already know each other.”
Peyton pales and ducks her head. I wonder if she dislikes the idea of the event or the idea of attending the event with me. When our eyes meet, hers hold a shyness I haven’t seen from her yet.
“He wouldn’t want that, anyway. He doesn’t like that sort of thing,” she mumbles.
I think I might like it with you.
“Maybe we should let him answer for himself,” Romy presses. “Cal?”
“I can go,” I say slowly.
I want to, even.
Peyton jerks her head up. “You don’t even know when it is.”
“When is it?”
“Next Saturday,” Romy answers.
“I can go,” I repeat, my eyes still locked on Peyton.
Even if I had other plans, they’d pale in comparison to spending more time with her.
Peyton fidgets with the stress ball on her desk. “You don’t know all the assignment details.”
“Do I have to do a Southern accent?” I ask.
A pale pink flush blooms in her cheeks. “No accent required. They want a younger couple to talk up their course and clubhouse, targeting the next-gen demographic. So, we’d have to, um, pretend to be together. For the job.”
I swallow. “I can go.”
Peyton’s breath catches. She looks as surprised as I feel.
I don’t think either of us thought I’d agree.
But all of the hesitation I normally experience when someone asks me to be somewhere that isn’t my townhouse is nowhere to be found.
In its place is an underlying excitement I can’t seem to curb.
A few moments of charged silence linger between us before Romy breaks it.
“Perfect! We don’t usually do assignments where men are required. This’ll be a good first step. If you give me your number, I’ll reach out to you with more details tomorrow.”
I try not to let my investigative tendencies distract me from the conversation, though I can’t help but wonder why they don’t take on assignments like this.
There isn’t a man shortage in Waterton, and I can’t imagine anyone would turn down working with Peyton.
It feels like there’s more to the story there, but I’m in no hurry to figure it out.
In fact, the more time it takes, the better.
Instead of giving Romy my number, I turn toward Peyton, propelled by an uncharacteristic burst of confidence. “You have your phone on you?”
“…yeah?” She opens her desk drawer.