Chapter Four
“Where are my keys?” asked Peyton, or more so, demanded.
She was standing in Josie’s dining room.
A six-seater table stood in the middle of it and the car keys, which she had dropped on the table last night, were nowhere to be seen.
“Where are they, Josie?” she asked again, dragging her fingers through a clump of knotted waves.
Sleep was still thick in her periphery, and she kept yawning at the worst of times.
Josie’s head whipped in the direction of the kitchen, her expression resembling that of a guilty five-year-old with crumbs on her face. “I have no idea,” she muttered in a high-pitched tone—undoubtedly guilt-ridden.
The keys were in the kitchen. They had to be.
Peyton stepped in that direction, but so too did Josie.
She mirrored Peyton’s steps, blocking her path with her soft, curvy but somehow still athletic body.
Peyton had seen her jump over several stumps yesterday as gracefully as Ruth Jebet jumping over a barrier in a steeplechase—and Josie did it in a full fire suit.
There was no doubt in Peyton’s mind that if she were to lunge past her into the kitchen, Josie would intercept and both, easily and successfully, tackle her to the floor.
“Are you being serious right now?” growled Peyton, stopping in her tracks. “First, you hide my keys and now you’re playing some weird game of capture the flag.”
Every inch of Peyton was suddenly as hot as the flames they battled yesterday. The only problem was that she couldn’t quite tell if it was anger or a weirdly warped version of attraction.
“Look,” said Josie, raising her hands up as if she was both surrendering and begging for her life. “Just hear me out, alright? I didn’t want you to just sneak out this morning before we could talk.”
“Talk?”
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about all night.”
Of course, there was. Staying the night at Josie’s place was the worst mistake Peyton could ever make.
Cataclysmic even. But she had been so tired, and the thought of a warm shower and a comfortable bed only a mere two minutes away had seemed so good at the time.
If only Peyton’s exhaustion hadn’t clouded her head.
If only she had considered the fact that Josie might have ulterior motives.
“There’s absolutely nothing to talk about, Josie,” said Peyton, folding her arms tightly over her chest. She was desperately hoping the woman wasn’t going to bring up that one event so many months ago.
“Just hear me out, please.” There was a fire in Josie’s brown eyes, a dangerous flame reflecting in her honey irises.
If Peyton had any common sense, she should fear for her life.
Obviously, Josie was insane, possibly even bordering on the manic.
And what if she was dangerous? The last thing on Peyton’s agenda for the day was being holed in an old cistern well being fed scraps until she submitted to whatever Josie desired.
“Just give me my keys, Josie,” she fired back. “Now! Before I call the cops and tell them you’re holding me here against my will.”
But Josie only shook her head. The sunlight shining through the large double-hung windows in the kitchen illuminated her hair so that it looked as if she was wearing a golden halo.
“Not before you give me a chance to explain.”
“Explain what?”
Josie’s eyebrows knitted tightly together and her mouth grew slack for a quick second before her jaw locked up. “Don’t you see it?” She sounded even crazier than before.
“See what?”
“Fate.”
If there was ever a time to laugh out loud, possibly snicker, that time was now. But Peyton was so taken aback by Josie’s revelation—or lack thereof—that she stood frozen on the spot.
“Fate?” Peyton mumbled, not comprehending what that word even meant. It was a word she had no business saying out loud. A word that made her skin crawl.
Josie lifted her chin ever so slightly. “Exactly one year ago, to this day, we met at that pub in Manuel Antonio. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
A rumble formed in her stomach, and the next minute Peyton burst out laughing.
She clutched her stomach tightly with her right hand and held her forehead with her left.
A dizziness suddenly fogged her head. She was feeling slightly drunk despite not having even a single sip of alcohol.
Even the room was beginning to close in on her. “Mean anything?”
“Yes,” said Josie, her face deadpan. “After all that time, countries apart, we stumble upon each other again. In Morro Bay, of all places. Isn’t that weird? Isn’t that some sort of sign?”
“It’s a coincidence,” shot back Peyton. The heat from earlier was clearer now, stronger.
She was bubbling with anger, a teapot ready to whistle.
And if she didn’t leave right that minute, she might just explode.
“Nothing more and nothing less. It’s definitely not something to read into or get yourself excited about. ”
Josie breathed in and shook her head on the exhale. “It’s fate, Peyton.”
“If you say that word one more time, Josie, so help me,” spoke Peyton through gritted teeth. Her hands were clenched. Her ribs felt like they were pulling together so tightly that she couldn’t get a breath in.
Josie appeared to weigh her options. She was gazing over Peyton’s shoulder to the living room, to the slouch couch pressed up against a wall with rust orange scatter cushions on it and a coffee table that looked as though it was made of driftwood.
When Peyton had walked into the apartment last night, it was one of the first things she had noticed. A driftwood coffee table.
“Your keys are in the top left cabinet,” said Josie, stepping aside. “In one of the cereal bowls.”
“Thank you,” muttered Peyton so softly she barely even heard herself speak.
She walked slowly, reluctantly to the kitchen, expecting Josie to change her mind and tackle her to the ground, and then imagined the scene in her head.
Except it wasn’t a pure tactical tackle, but rather something else.
It was something hot and sexy and forbidden.
In the daydream, Josie had lost her silky pajamas and Peyton wasn’t wearing anything either.
Their naked bodies collided. With their arms entangled and lips locked, they fell to the tiles, which were actually as soft as a cloud.
Josie’s fingers played her like the piano…
Peyton’s heart suddenly beat faster, and she quickly pushed that thought down into the very depths of her mind where she could never find it again and yanked open the cabinet.
No more than five minutes later, Peyton was in her car driving along South Bay Boulevard.
She was practically buzzing. Both hands clutched the steering wheel and seconds earlier, when a maniac in a Jeep honked at the Camry behind her, Peyton had literally jumped, causing the car to veer dangerously sideways.
She needed to talk to someone, to hear another voice except for the one in her head.
That voice in her head couldn’t deny the strangeness of seeing Josie exactly one year after what could only be deemed an unintended one-night stand in Costa Rica, of all places.
Peyton needed her best friend Gabby, who was also married to her favorite cousin, Harry.
The two lived just around the block from Peyton and together the three had their own book club, running club, and I-hate-the Karens of the world club.
“Siri, please phone Gabby.”
Siri’s robotic voice echoed from the phone. “Which Gabby would you like to call? Gabby Stevens or Gabby Johnson.”
“Gabby Stevens,” said Peyton, loud and clear.
“Calling Gabby Stevens.”
She answered on two rings. “Peyton,” she sang. “I’m so glad you called. I was actually going to call you. I had a dream about you last night.”
“A dream?”
“You were swimming with dolphins, but then they turned into orcas and pulled you down into the depths of the ocean. Luckily, you grew gills and became one of them. Unluckily, I never saw you again.”
The sides of Peyton’s lips quirked faintly. Gabby always knew what to say to make her feel better, or at least to forget about whatever was bothering her, even if just for a moment. “I’ll never leave you. Promise.”
Gabby sighed in relief. “That makes me feel a ton better. So, how was the mission in Morro Bay?” Gabby was an accountant and knew very little about Peyton’s job and what it entailed and often used words such as mission and hosepipe. “Did you put down the fire?”
“We got it under control.” Peyton slowed down at the traffic lights. “Listen, Gab, do you remember when I told you about that woman I met in Costa Rica?”
“The one you slept with because you were feeling extremely tender and vulnerable and had a momentary lapse of judgment?”
“That’s the one,” said Peyton, pushing down on the gas when the traffic light changed to green.
“What’s her name again… Jocelyn.”
“Josie,” corrected Peyton. “And it’s not a nickname. I checked with the secretary at the fire station. Anyway, not important,” she added, shaking her head.
“What about her?” asked Gabby. In the background, Peyton could hear a grinding sound followed by the swoosh of steam and Harry calling out, asking if his wife wanted two shots of coffee or one.
Just last week, Harry had bought one of those fancy coffee machines and swore to Gabby that he would never buy a takeaway cup of coffee ever again. So far, he had kept his promise.
“I bumped into her at the fire station at Morro Bay, even though she was supposed to be away on holiday.” Peyton relayed all the details, starting with yesterday and ending with, “And then this morning she hid my keys and said it was fate that we met again.”
“Fate?” gasped Gabby on the other end. “Oh shit, Pey. Are you okay? I know how much you hate that word.”
“I do,” said Peyton as prickly goosebumps ran up her arms and legs. “I hate it with a passion. I could literally stab that word to death if it was flesh and bone.”
Fate was the reason Sorel had left Peyton standing at the altar.
Fate was also the reason Peyton had to apologize to the hundred guests eagerly waiting for the wedding reception to start, informing them that Sorel wouldn’t be walking down the aisle—or attending at all—and had decided to make a break for it instead.
According to the hand-written note left by Sorel in Peyton’s room just before she quietly slipped away forever, she had mentioned that it was the storm that had swept in from the ocean the night before that had highlighted her doubts.
Apparently, it was fate that had whispered to Sorel’s soul and revealed to her that her life was actually meant to be on the ocean, on the Mini Transat sailboat she had fixed up with her dad.
Fate was to blame for all of Peyton’s heartache.
“Please remind me never to go back to Morro Bay ever again,” said Peyton as she pulled into the driveway of her one-story, three-bedroom house.
A lemon tree threw shade onto the driveway, and on either side of the three steps leading up to the front door were bushes of lavender and California poppy.
They were planted by the previous owners and looked after by Peyton, who had vowed upon purchase that she would do her utmost best to keep them alive. So far, things were going great.
“Done,” said Gabby. “Let’s avoid Morro Bay like the plague.”