Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
For the past week, Peter had checked his cubby every single day. It had become a ritual—a ridiculous, pathetic ritual—but one he couldn’t seem to break.
And every single day, disappointment had greeted him like an old friend.
He’d tried to reason with himself. What more is there for her to say? She’d asked to meet, and he’d turned her down—politely, thoughtfully, but still. Maybe she was disappointed. Maybe she was rethinking their whole connection. Maybe she’d decided he wasn’t worth the trouble.
Or maybe she’s just busy, he reminded himself. Doing…whatever it is she does all day.
He, too, had been busy—gathering reference letters, sending off inquiries about the teaching position in France, convincing himself he was making the right decision.
Yet, here he was, back at the cubby, hoping for a pink envelope that wasn’t there. Again.
“You know, I’ve seen gamblers at a roulette table look less desperate than you do right now.”
Peter jerked his head up at the familiar voice.
Joe Wexman strolled toward him, hands in his pockets, an amused glint in his eyes.
“What are you doing down here?” Peter countered, crossing his arms as if that might somehow shield his embarrassment.
“I was headed home when I saw you.” Joe’s smile turned knowing. “Figured I’d remind you about the party at my place tomorrow.”
Peter had completely forgotten about that.
Joe cocked his head. “You are coming, right? And bringing Hope?”
Peter groaned inwardly. He should have seen that one coming.
“Like I’ve told you before, Hope and I are just friends,” he said, keeping his voice level.
Joe didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. But let me ask you something: Does a man who’s ‘just friends’ with a woman check his mail every day like a lovesick Victorian heroine?”
Peter shot him a glare. “Not funny.”
Joe grinned. “No, but it is entertaining.” Then his expression turned curious. “So, is there a woman? Other than Hope, I mean.”
Peter hesitated. Was there? He thought of A Heart Finally Heard and how much her words had come to mean to him. If he had agreed to meet her, would she be the one he’d take to this party? Would he still be standing here, looking like a man waiting for a letter that wasn’t coming?
He shoved the thoughts away.
“Maybe,” he admitted. Then, “Not really.”
Joe’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “So that’s a ‘yes, but it’s complicated.’”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Do you ever not analyze everything?”
“Not when it’s this much fun.” Joe clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Look, you don’t have to come to the party. But I think you should.”
Peter exhaled, knowing Joe had a point. He didn’t feel much like partying, but saying no to the man who had welcomed him to GraceTown, who had made him feel less like a temporary visitor and more like a part of something—well, that wasn’t an option.
“I thought I’d drop by,” he said, shrugging.
“For the food and drink?”
Peter smirked. “Of course. Isn’t that why everyone goes to parties?”
Joe snorted. “And here I was hoping you’d come for the scintillating conversation.”
“Will there be any?”
Joe laughed. “Of course. Plus, the wine will be excellent.”
Peter chuckled, shaking his head as Joe walked off.
Still, as he turned back toward his cubby one last time, his chest felt heavier than before.
Maybe tomorrow’s party would be exactly what he needed.
Or maybe it would only remind him that what he wanted most wasn’t going to be there.
“That dress is perfect.”
Mila looked up from where she sat cross-legged at Landry’s desk, carefully painting her nails a bold shade of red for her date tonight.
She flicked her gaze over Landry with a critical eye, then her expression softened into an approving smile. “Of all the ones you’ve tried on, this is my favorite. The pale mint color makes your eyes look ridiculously green, and those diagonal stripes? Girl, they are working for you.”
Landry turned to the mirror, smoothing a hand down the fabric, but hesitation still clung to her expression. “But does it look…literary?”
Mila’s brows shot up. “Does your dress look literary?” She snorted, capping the nail polish and waving her hands in the air to help dry the polish. “Yes, Landry, it looks like it just got its MFA from Collister and will be publishing its first novel in the fall.”
Landry rolled her eyes and tossed a pillow at her friend, who barely dodged it with a laugh.
She told herself not to overthink things.
This was just a casual gathering, a backyard party—an informal meet and greet.
Yet, here she was, on her fifth outfit, spiraling into the depths of wardrobe-induced anxiety while Mila sat there, perfectly at ease, critiquing outfits like some kind of fashion oracle.
“Seriously,” Mila said, her voice softening, “you look great. Relax. I get that you’re nervous, but Joe and Sophie wouldn’t have invited you if Daniel wasn’t willing to meet you.”
Landry took a slow, measured breath, as if she could inhale Mila’s confidence along with the air. “I think you’re right.”
“About the dress or Daniel?” Mila smirked. “Never mind, doesn’t matter. I’m right about both.”
She stretched her legs out, wiggling her fingers in the air as she admired her freshly painted nails.
Then, turning back toward Landry, she gave her another once-over.
“For the record, the other dresses would’ve been fine, too.
I mean, they were all cute. It’s just that this one has the trifecta—cute and trendy, and it enhances your curves. ”
“I don’t have curves,” Landry said dryly.
Mila scoffed. “The bodice of that dress says differently.” She grinned. “Seriously, you look amazing.”
Landry bit back a smile and moved toward her dresser, picking up two tubes of lipstick. “Pink or red?”
Mila narrowed her eyes in consideration. “Do you have a peachy coral?”
Landry perked up, rummaging through her bag. “I believe I do.”
Minutes later, after careful application and several approving nods from both parties, the lipstick was declared perfect. And just like that, time had run out. It was time for Landry to go.
Standing by the door, she hesitated, glancing at Mila with a mix of excitement and nerves. “I wish you were coming with me.”
Mila smiled. “Wish I could, but as you know, I have a date.”
“Other than Joe and Sophie, I won’t know anyone there.”
“And that’s a problem why?” Mila challenged, folding her arms.
Landry blew out a slow breath. “I like meeting new people. I really do. But a whole backyard full of them…”
Mila’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. “Are you the same Landry Fisher who’s planning a solo trip to France?”
Landry blinked, then let out a reluctant laugh. “Point taken.”
“Good.” Mila’s expression softened. “You’re strong, Landry. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. It can be difficult walking into a space filled with strangers, but, like my granny always says, ‘Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.’”
Landry’s laughter came easier this time. “I happen to know you don’t have a granny.”
“She’s an imaginary granny whose words of wisdom I bring out whenever necessary.”
“You know,” Landry mused, smiling as she reached for her bag, “I think I’d like this fictitious granny.”
Mila grinned. “She’s a gem.”
Even if Landry hadn’t had the address, she’d have known she was getting close by the warm hum of laughter spilling from a backyard up ahead. The sounds of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses floated through the night air, blending with the rhythmic buzz of cicadas.
The streets in this part of town were still paved with the original bricks, uneven but charming, whispering stories of the past under the soles of her heels.
It was the kind of neighborhood she dreamed of living in—tree-lined, elegant, filled with homes that looked like they held generations of love and history within their walls.
She passed the neighboring houses, each one boasting an array of hanging flower baskets bursting with color. Ceramic planters lined up in perfect symmetry along winding pathways. It felt like walking into a storybook—one where she wasn’t sure if she would be the main character.
Then she reached Joe’s home.
An impressive structure with tall windows glowing in the late-day sun.
It was the kind of place that made you want to run your fingers over the weathered wood of the wraparound porch just to feel its history.
But instead of climbing the front steps, she followed the pathway that curved around the side of the house, the sound of voices growing louder as she neared the open gate.
And there, standing just inside the gate, was Peter.
Her breath hitched.
Peter turned at the sound of her footsteps, and the moment his gaze met hers, a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
Her heart did an undignified little skip.
“I should have guessed you’d be here,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.
“This is a nice surprise.” His voice was warm, inviting. And, God help her, that smile of his was lethal.
She mirrored it, feeling the weight of anticipation curl around her ribs. “Now I’ll know three people here.”
“I’m betting you know more than that.” He arched a brow. “What’s that?”
She held up the wine bottle wrapped with a ribbon. “Hostess gift. Since we’re heading into fall, I thought they might appreciate a mulled wine.”
Peter studied the label, nodding in approval. “Good choice. The perfect mix of thoughtful and festive.”
She rolled her eyes with a smirk. “It’s a bottle of wine, Peter.”
“It’s a seasonally appropriate bottle of wine.” His grin deepened. “It shows attention to detail.”
She laughed, and for a second, it felt so easy between them that she almost forgot the entire reason she was here.
Almost.