Chapter Nine
“You planned this, didn’t you?” scowled Peyton, grabbing a cushion from the armchair and walking it over to the bed.
She placed it at the end of the mattress, finishing off the pillow fort, and then marched into the bathroom, shouting over her shoulder, “You probably hid the key under the wheel or something.”
“No,” said Josie, truthfully. “I swear I didn’t, not physically…
I mean.” She breathed in deep, sighed, and let her hands—which were moving far too erratically—drop to her sides and then waited for Peyton to walk back into the room before she said, “Look, Peyton. It really isn’t what you think.
I just sent up a little prayer to the heavens asking for help. ”
“Asking for help?” scoffed Peyton.
“I know it seems absurd, but you just seemed so disinterested in my story, and the whole point of today’s trip was that story… I… I just didn’t think it would actually work.”
Losing the keys was like an act of fate.
One minute Josie was praying for a way to convince Peyton that the world was more than just logic and reason, that there was magic hidden in the seams of life, and the next, the keys were gone.
She couldn’t even take credit for the master plan.
They really had fallen out of her pocket along the way.
Peyton’s frown smoothed, her shoulders loosened, and she shook her head, bouncing it ever so slightly on her neck. “You know you sound mad, don’t you?”
A snort escaped Josie’s lips. “I guess, I do.”
“And for some weird reason,” sighed Peyton. “I actually believe you.” She looked annoyed with her own revelation, as if she had hoped to prolong the period of disbelief.
“Um… Thank you,” said Josie, both relieved and exhausted. If she wasn’t so hungry, she would slug off to the bed and throw her dirty body under the sheets. But in that moment, food overrode sleep.
“So, have you made the call yet?” asked Peyton, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “To your sister.”
Josie nodded. “Mark’s leaving Morro Bay tomorrow morning at six. He’ll pick us up here and give us a lift back to my car.”
“Good.” Peyton’s gaze darted to the ensuite bathroom. “You can shower first. I’m going to see if I can convince that woman to let me use her phone.”
Josie nearly asked who Peyton intended to call, a brother maybe, or a friend, or possibly a girlfriend she hadn’t yet mentioned, but bit her tongue instead.
When Peyton left, the door closing with a soft click, Josie climbed into the shower, washed all the grime off her body, and reluctantly changed back into her clothes.
Alone, Josie found her way through the corridor, down the steps, to a small living area converted into a dining room.
A cluttered bookshelf took up one half of a wall, antique portraits, herbal charts, and family photos took up the other.
In the middle were five round, mismatched tables and chairs, each covered in too many candles and floral tablecloths.
There was no one else there, so Josie sat down at the furthest table, picked up a napkin, and smoothed it out across her lap.
When she looked back up again, Peyton walked through the rounded archway.
Her steps were so light it looked like she was floating.
Fluttering moths suddenly circled Josie’s stomach like it was a lamppost. She forgot to breathe and coughed the air back into her lungs. At the same time, Peyton pulled the chair back and sat down.
“I feel like I’ve just walked into the Owen’s house from Practical Magic.”
Josie laughed. “I knew this place reminded me of something. All we need now is a couple of aunts to brew up some love potions and margaritas.”
“I won’t put it past the innkeeper. Do you know her name is Frances? Isn’t that a serious coincidence?”
Josie nearly said, ‘or fate,’ but bit the comment away and instead said, “Well, if she’s Frances, then you’re definitely Sally. Sandra Bullock but with sun-kissed locks.”
“Yeah?” said Peyton, raising both eyebrows toward the ceiling. “You mean the practical, I-take-life-too-seriously, Sally Owens?”
“Exactly,” teased Josie, embracing the swarming moths. “Someone who spends their Saturday night reorganizing their spice rack like it’s a witches’ apothecary.”
Peyton gasped; her blue eyes were warmer than before. It was as if the sun was shining directly on them. “Well, then you’re definitely Gillian.”
“Everyone loves Gillian. She’s adorable.”
“She’s reckless and chaotic and always stirring up trouble.”
“The perfect balance,” said Josie. “Gillian’s the kite that’s always drifting off and Sally holds the string that keeps her grounded.”
“I think you’re thinking too deeply into this.”
“Just deep enough.”
Peyton giggled but then caught herself—as if she wasn’t prone to giggling and didn’t know what the hell had just happened—and instead focused her attention down.
There was something different about her.
It was something in the way Peyton aligned the fork and knife, straightened the napkin, and repeated the process again.
Was she nervous? Had that icy wall crumbled down only for Josie to glimpse a part of Peyton she tried so hard to keep to herself? Was Josie finally one tiny step closer to knowing the real Peyton?
The silence that followed quickly made it clear that they were both nervous. Even Josie still hadn’t gotten a handle on the nerves in her stomach. Wine would have been a great addition, but she had just enough money to afford the single room and two plates of food.
“Apparently dinner is Lamb Ragu,” said Josie after some time, feeling stupid for stating the obvious. Especially when a man dressed in jeans and a checkered shirt walked in with two steaming bowls of pasta.
“You can just leave the bowls when you’re done,” said the man. He had a strong Boston accent and Josie wondered if he was married to Frances, but she didn’t get a chance to ask before he left just as quickly as he arrived.
They ate in silence.
Now and then, they’d both lift their heads, catch each other’s gaze, and break free from the awkwardness by scooping big bites into their mouths. Josie was nearly done with her plate when Peyton broke the silence.
“Why did you have that much cash on you?” she asked, with not a hint of accusation in her voice, just genuine interest.
Josie placed her fork down and shrugged. “I always carry cash on me. A habit I got from my dad, I guess. He always used to say, ‘Money in your pocket is like a safety net. It’s ready to catch you when you least expect it.’ But at the same time, he was also the most carefree man I knew.”
“He sounds just like…” Peyton stopped abruptly, as if she was on the verge of sharing something significant, something monumental, and glanced down at her near-empty plate.
She pushed it back, wiped her mouth with the napkin, and kept her gaze everywhere but on Josie’s face as she said, “I think I need to go to bed.”
~~
Josie couldn’t sleep. Despite being exhausted, despite her lids feeling as heavy as if they were filled with cement, she just couldn’t seem to drift off. The events of the day were like a camera reel, playing over and over again.
The mattress suddenly shifted and creaked and then Peyton whispered softly, “You never finished your story.”
Josie had nearly thought she had imagined the words the same way she often imagined her phone pinging with an incoming message when there were none. She held her breath.
“Josie. Are you awake?” whispered Peyton, louder this time.
“I am,” said Josie, glancing back over her shoulder. She was completely taken aback when she saw that Peyton was facing her, shifting herself closer. She was pushing the sheet away until she was on Josie’s side of the bed, the pillow fort gone.
She was still fully dressed. Both of them were.
“You didn’t finish your story,” she said again.
Josie turned over, vividly aware of Peyton’s closeness.
She could feel the reach of her breath across the barely there divide, and the heat wafting off Peyton’s body.
Her throat thickened, and her breath got caught in her throat for a second before the muscles relaxed and she was able to say, “It doesn’t matter now.
It’s not like it’s going to change anything. ”
“It does matter,” said Peyton, meaning it.
“Why?”
“Because you made an effort, and I should have tried harder to listen.”
“It’s fine.”
“It isn’t. Not really.” Peyton’s hand reached up, hovering between them briefly before her fingers reached Josie’s cheek and skated across the skin, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
At Peyton’s touch, goosebumps broke out across Josie’s entire body, and her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her head. She wondered if Peyton could too. Was the room so quiet that every heartbeat was amplified, echoing between them?
This was a dream. It had to be. She had actually fallen asleep and drifted off into an alternate world where Peyton was the one instigating, making an effort. She was the one peeling back the layers of herself, one by one, until Josie could see all of her and more.
Josie snapped her eyes closed. Briefly. She wondered why she was even trying to wake herself up from such a lovely dream.
When she fluttered her eyelids open once again, Peyton was a mere inch away.
Her gaze was down, locked on Josie’s lips.
Perhaps she was debating whether or not it was a good idea.
Why couldn’t it be both, thought Josie, right at the moment when Peyton bridged the gap between them and skated her lips across hers.
All thoughts disappeared after that.
Especially when Peyton closed her mouth around Josie’s bottom lip, her fingers sinking into her hair, curling behind her head as she pulled Josie even closer.
One minute, Josie was on her side, and the next she was climbing on top of Peyton, her leg sliding between the woman’s thighs like interlocking puzzle pieces.
Fingertips ghosted up Josie’s back, along her spine, and moved down again, only to slip beneath the T-shirt. Peyton dragged it up and over Josie’s head, discarding it to the floor. They moved so slowly they could have been sloths walking across beams in tourist-infested bars.
Lips and teeth and fingers, all moving in an agonizing sort of slowness.
It was so vastly different to that night so many moons ago when everything had been frenzied, every movement sharp and quick and frantic.
Now, their bodies met at every touch. Careful and cautious.
Their hands swiped as if concurrently, their breaths collided, while their mouths crushed into each other’s.
And in the darkness of the room, every touch felt amplified, as if her body’s nerve network had been tuned to another channel where sensations thrummed with a heightened sensitivity.
Josie shrugged up Peyton’s top, pushed up the bra as well, and traced a finger over the swell of her breast. Her nipple peaked.
She could feel its hardness beneath her thumb and heard the grumble in Peyton’s throat.
Clear evidence that they both wanted this equally.
Yet Josie still pulled back, briefly, momentarily, not because she wanted to stop but because she wanted to make sure Peyton didn’t.
“Do you want to stop?” she muttered under her breath. Still, her fingers kept moving, skating over Peyton’s flat stomach to the stretchy waistband of her shorts. Josie dipped her fingers beneath her shorts, cupped her panties, and felt the wetness between her legs. A wetness that mirrored her own.
“No,” whispered Peyton and flipped Josie onto her back. “Definitely not.”