62. Peyton
PEYTON
My fingers fly across my phone as I text Allie and Harper.
Me: SOS! I need help.
Their responses hit the group chat so fast it’s honestly terrifying.
Allie: ARE YOU DYING???
Harper: Oh no! Was Gram streaking by Daltyn’s cabin?
Allie: WAIT. DID DALTYN MURDER SOMEONE?
Me: What is wrong with you people??? These responses are concerning.
Harper: You said SOS.
Allie: What happened???
Me: Why would Gram be streaking by Daltyn’s cabin?
Harper: She got into a fight with a raccoon two nights ago. While running after it, her robe got caught in the fence and ripped off her, leaving her naked.
Allie: OMG! Crying! That’s hilarious.
Me: My stomach hurts from laughing. Did she get in trouble?
Harper: A cop saw her and brought her to our house. Ford was livid.
Harper: I’ll tell you more after Peyton tells us what the SOS is about.
I stare at my phone while butterflies assault my stomach.
Me: Daltyn asked me on a date this weekend.
The chat absolutely explodes.
Allie: WHAT????
Harper: EXCUSE ME????
Allie: THE GOALIE ASKED YOU ON A REAL DATE???
Harper: OH MY GOD!! This is EPIC!!!
Me: I panicked.
Harper: WHY???
Me: Because he grabbed my hand and dropped to his knees.
Three dots instantly appear from both of them.
Allie: HE WHAT!?!?
Harper: Peyton Sinclair! If you tell me this man fake proposed in a parking lot I will pass away!!!
Me: He dropped my hand and tied his shoe!
Allie:
Harper: I hate you.
Me: And then he looked up and asked if I’d go on a date with him Saturday night.
Three dots appear from both of them.
Allie: SCREAMING!!!
Harper: THAT IS DISGUSTINGLY CUTE!
Allie: YOU NEED A GIRLS’ DAY!!
Harper: Hair. Nails. Outfit. Emergency hot girl protocol activated.
Me: This feels aggressive.
Allie: You’re dating a six-foot-two emotionally constipated hockey goalie who looks at you like you invented happiness.
Harper: Aggressive is necessary.
Then, suddenly, my worst nightmare appears.
Gram: I CAN COME TOO!
I stare at the screen in horror.
Me: How are you in this group chat???
Gram: Connor accidentally added me during tequila night.
Harper: How?
Allie: Dammit! He took my phone when I fell asleep! I’m going to strangle him!
Me: Fine. You can come. As long as you behave.
Gram: No
I don’t know what that means, but I’m deeply concerned.
Three hours later, I’m deeply regretting every life decision that led me here.
“This color says sexually confident but emotionally available,” Harper announces while holding up a bottle of red nail polish.
“How does nail polish communicate emotional availability?” I ask.
“Energy.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
Beside me, Allie snorts into her iced coffee while a nail technician massages lotion into her hands.
Meanwhile, Gram is somehow arguing with another elderly woman across the salon. “She called me wrinkled. Aggressively,” Gram informs everyone loudly.
“You ARE wrinkled,” the woman fires back.
Gram gasps. “Well, your husband follows thirst traps on Instagram.”
The entire salon goes silent.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, horrified.
Allie is crying with laughter.
Harper nearly falls out of her chair.
“Maureen,” the woman screeches.
Gram points triumphantly. “That’s right, Maureen. I saw the comments.”
“How do you even know how to use Instagram?” I ask weakly.
“You have to ask that after Allie’s wedding?”
She has a point.
Still, the woman is a public menace.
An hour later, the stylist is running her hands through the curls, turning them into big, soft waves. Allie sits in the chair beside me, her dark hair framing her face in soft curls .
“You’re nervous,” Allie says knowingly.
I glance at my reflection.
Maybe I am. Because I think this means something.
Real dates are intentional.
Real dates mean effort.
Feelings.
Vulnerability.
And Daltyn? He doesn’t do anything halfway.
That realization settles softly inside my chest while Harper says from the other chair, “You look radiant.”
I blink at myself in the mirror.
The woman staring back at me looks… happy. Softer somehow. Lighter.
Like she’s finally starting to breathe again after holding it in for years.
Emotion catches unexpectedly in my throat.
Because somewhere between the mountain cabin, hockey chaos, late-night conversations, soft forehead kisses, and Daltyn quietly handing me his jersey, my life changed.
And maybe… maybe I changed, too.
Allie smiles softly. “He planned something meaningful, didn’t he?”
My chest squeezes so hard it almost hurts.
Because she’s right.
Daltyn didn’t ask me out casually. He asked me out carefully. Intentionally. Like this date actually matters to him. Like I matter to him.
And somehow? That scares me almost as much as it thrills me.
Gram suddenly appears behind us, holding a bottle of glitter lotion.
“Remember,” she says solemnly, “a good man worships three things. ”
I close my eyes. “Please don’t.”
“Your mind, your body, and your feet.”
Harper chokes.
Allie collapses in the chair, laughing.
“GRAM,” I hiss.
“What?” she shrugs innocently. “Healthy arches are important in relationships.”
I groan.
She shakes the bottle. “Some men even like rubbing their dicks on women’s feet.”
“Oh. God. Please stop.”
The entire salon goes quiet... before erupting into a mix of outrage and hysterical laughter.