Chapter Five
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” asked Kelsey, blowing on the steam rising up from the hot cup of chamomile tea.
When Josie had showed up minutes earlier at her sister’s doorstep, looking sad and dejected, Kelsey had done the first thing she’d always done in situations like that. She made them both a cup of steaming hot tea.
“About what?” asked Josie, who was halfway done with hers. Years and years of drinking scalding hot coffee had made her throat immune to anything below boiling point.
“About the whole fate thing. Dad used to say that fate—”
“Was like a GPS,” Josie continued with a sigh. “It knows the route even when we don’t. He used to say a lot of dumb things like that.”
Kelsey shrugged. “His imagination was a bit wild, especially during those last few days, but don’t forget that Dad is also the reason you believe in fate in the first place.”
As it always did whenever their father was mentioned in conversation, his grinning face slid into Josie’s mind—the face before the stroke had stolen valuable years from his life.
Josie missed him every single day. She spoke to him often, not in a weird schizophrenic way, but in a sweet, innocent, heartfelt kind of way that kept his memory alive.
But then an image of Peyton’s scowl replaced her dad’s lovely face and Josie physically flinched. She placed the empty cup on the coffee table, stood up, walked to the windows overlooking the trimmed front yard, and blinked Peyton’s face away.
It took a few blinks.
The way Peyton had looked at her yesterday morning, as if she couldn’t loathe another person more in the world, had nearly made Josie doubt everything her father had ever taught her.
How love was like a ribbon floating through the air, finding the wrist of an unsuspecting soul, and weeks, months, or maybe years later, the other end found its way to someone else… nearly.
“Do you remember that story about the pirate?” asked Kelsey, checking on the baby monitor. Noah was fast asleep in his crib. In a few minutes, despite her sister’s disapproval, Josie would wake him up and stick her nose in his soft baby-smelling neck.
“Of course I do. I loved that story.”
“You made Dad tell it to us every night for a month when we were ten. I was literally dreaming about fish and mermaids every night.”
“There were no mermaids in Dad’s story.”
“Well, there should’ve been,” said Kelsey. “The story would’ve been far more interesting with mermaids.”
“Who likes mermaids?” asked Mark, walking into the living room.
His brown hair was disheveled, and his blue T-shirt had a milk stain just below the collar.
The dad bod had hit Mark hard and fast after Charlie was born and hadn’t let up.
Working from home wasn’t exactly doing him any justice, and neither was sitting behind a laptop all day, but at least he had kept the sharp cheekbones passed down by all the Riley men.
“Me,” said Kelsey, seconds before Mark smacked a kiss on her lips.
He then sat down on the edge of the coffee table, his clasped hands hanging between his legs while his elbows rested on his knees. “Are you two talking about the Peyton thing?” He glanced at Josie. “Smart move hiding her keys, Jo. Too bad you didn’t stand your ground.”
“You told him?” gasped Josie, spinning on the spot, feeling just slightly humiliated. Mark was anything but a romantic and she could easily imagine him laughing when Kelsey told him the story.
“Of course,” said Kelsey. “He’s my husband.”
Josie walked to the armchair and flopped back into the cushions. “Isn’t there some sort of twin agreement that overrides husbands?”
“Probably, but that’s not the point of this conversation.
What are you going to do about the whole Peyton thing, Jo?
” Kelsey studied the monitor again—Noah was babbling in his sleep—before she flicked her gaze back to Josie and added, “Are you going to put it to bed and move on or are you going to keep pining over a woman you slept with a year ago?”
“I haven’t been pining over her,” said Josie, running her teeth over her bottom lip. They were raw and dry after fighting the blazing heat yesterday. “And yes, I’m going to do something about it, alright?” The only question was how.
“Why don’t you just call her?” suggested Mark, crossing his legs and placing both palms facing down on his knee in a rather dainty fashion. He looked like a warped version of a Stepford wife. “A call is a good first step.”
“Do you have her number?” asked Kelsey.
“No,” sighed Josie.
“Step two then,” said Mark. “At least you know which fire station she works at. Why not just go over there?”
“She’ll probably shoot me upon arrival,” said Josie, believing it more than she would like.
“Call the fire station, then. Ask for her number,” offered Kelsey.
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Josie, brimming with newfound hope. “A bit unorthodox, but not bad.” She shot off the chair to grab her cell phone from the dining table and walked back into the living room.
The phone rang three times before a gravelly voice answered, “Good morning. You’ve reached Station 34. This is Sally Nichols speaking. How can I help you?”
Josie was suddenly trembling, visibly shivering. Even Mark and Kelsey looked nervous, their unblinking eyes locked on her as she paced up and down the living room.
“This is Lieutenant Josie Anderson from Morro Bay Station 26. I worked with Peyton yesterday.” She realized then that she didn’t even know Peyton’s last name. “I was hoping to get her contact details.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I cannot give out that information without consent.”
Josie’s heart fell into her stomach and kept falling with no end in sight. Of course, Sally couldn’t. It would be a breach of privacy, especially in this day and age, when privacy was absolutely everything.
The word ‘stalker’ suddenly shot into her head like an arrow from a cocked bow. There was a fine line between being adorably motivated and being obsessive, and although Josie was sure she would never cross that line, she also had no idea where that line even started and where it ended.
“Could you at least tell me if she’s there?
” asked Josie, considering making the short trip to Los Osos.
What would Peyton do if she showed up uninvited?
Call the cops to arrest her? Shoot her down with the fire hose?
Or would she do nothing at all, and instead give that same steely, painful look from yesterday, right before she slammed the door closed behind her?
But it was then that a familiar voice sounded in the background, smooth and velvety, eliciting the same thousands of butterflies that had lodged in her stomach in Manuel Antonio.
Josie’s breath stuck in her throat, but she managed to say, “It’s really important that I speak to Peyton. Is there any way you can put her on the phone for me?”
There was a hesitant throat clearing, followed by a few incoherent muttering sounds and a deep breath in, and then Peyton’s voice sounded. “Who is this?”
“Peyton, please don’t hang up,” said Josie so quickly she nearly stumbled over her words. There was a massive chance that Peyton would slam the phone down, block her number and possibly move a state over. The woman seemed entirely capable of something so dramatic.
When a moment of silence followed, every inch of Josie, including the web spaces between her toes, was as hot as fire.
But no dial tone came.
Instead, Peyton took an exasperated deep breath in and replied on the exhale. “What do you want, Josie?”
“I want to apologize.”
A snort sounded over the speaker. “Apologize? For what exactly? Hiding my keys like a psychopath?”
“Psychopaths are far more dangerous and would probably have tied you up in your sleep. But yes,” said Josie, glancing from Kelsey to Mark to her quivering knees. “I want to apologize and make it up to you.”
“I don’t need an apology, Josie. I just need you to leave me alone.”
That stung. A wasp kind of sting that lingered far longer than it should.
“Please, Peyton. Just give me a chance to explain myself properly this time.” It only dawned on Josie once Peyton’s car had shot out of the driveway that the mention of fate had been a poor choice of words.
Josie had, in fact, sounded like a madwoman.
Her approach to it all had been entirely wrong, far too aggressive.
“And if you still want me to leave you alone, then I will. I promise.”
Another silence followed, this one longer. Far longer. Josie considered biting her nails, a habit she had picked up as a kid and only kicked in her early twenties, but she kept her free hand at her side.
“Fine,” said Peyton. “Give your apology then.”
“I need to do it in person. I promise there’s no funny business. Just ten minutes of your time and you can leave whenever you want.”
“Alright then,” came Peyton after another excruciatingly long pause. “I’ll meet you at Steven’s in Los Osos tomorrow at seven pm.”
The call ended and Josie sank into the armchair, feeling hopeful. “I’ve got a date.”
“A date?” asked Mark, standing up and rubbing his palm over his extended belly. “So, what’s your plan, Jo. What are you—”
“Does Peyton know it’s a date?” interrupted Kelsey, scooting forward on the chair. She reached for her husband’s free arm, wrapped her fingers around Mark’s wrist, and smoothed her hand up and down his hairy arm.
“No,” said Josie bleakly, slumping further into the chair and pushing two fingers to her temple. “And it’s not technically a date. Not yet.”
“Then what exactly is it?” asked Mark.
Josie lifted a single finger. “The first step in a four-step process.”
“What does that mean?” frowned Kelsey, the lines on her forehead barely even there thanks to Botox.
“It’s a plan,” declared Josie. The idea had sprung into her mind barely a second after Peyton’s annoyed voice crackled through the speaker.
With Mark’s earlier mention of steps and Peyton’s evident disinterest, it only made sense to beat around the bush.
Josie raised her hand and began to count down.
“Step one is to convince Peyton to be in the same room as me. Technically, that step is done.” She dropped another finger.
“Step two is to convince her to go on a date with me, one that she’ll love so much that it’ll lead right into step three. ”
“Which is?” asked Mark, raising a single bushy brow.
“Convince Peyton that there’s a very good, very magical reason we met again exactly one year after Manuel Antonio.”
“And how are you going to do that?” The words were barely out of Kelsey’s mouth before her face lit up like a candle, and she shot her hand up in the air like an attentive student. “Why not take her to Dad’s cave? Tell her the story about Captain Sebastian. It will be adorable, Jo.”
“Adorable?” smirked Mark. “You mean weird.” He laughed out loud. When he caught his wife’s eye, he stopped.
Not paying any attention to Mark’s sarcasm, Josie tilted her chin in her sister’s direction. “You think that might work?”
“It worked on Mom, didn’t it?”
“Are you sure it’s even fate?” asked Mark-the-skeptic. “Maybe you’re just thinking too deeply into this whole thing. Are you even sure you actually like her?”
Of course, it was fate. It couldn’t be any clearer, feel any more like a cosmic wink, seem any more obvious.
Maybe if her father hadn’t been a hopeless romantic, if Josie hadn’t grown up with tales of paths intertwining and the gentle hand of fate, she would overlook something so obvious.
But she grew up with a father who spun stories of destiny and serendipity, and she wasn’t about to change her way of thinking.
Not yet anyway. Not until the universe contradicted her belief.
Besides, liking Peyton wasn’t the issue.
She did like her. She liked her very fucking much.
Heck, she liked her ever since she saw her sitting hunched over that book in the noisiest pub ever.
And if the last few months of constant dreaming about Peyton wasn’t enough proof, feeling helplessly attracted to the point of knees shaking and butterflies flying in her stomach, should be all she needed to know.
“I’m sure,” said Josie matter-of-factly. “Now help me figure out how I’m going to convince Peyton to go to the cave with me.”