Chapter 33
PEYTON
Liam has to call one of the hotel cars to get us back to the house as none of us is fit to drive and he came with the bike.
We drop Lila off first, so he beats us home.
Emma and I pile through the front door in a mess of laughter and cold air and the lingering buzz of too much tequila.
Emma hops to kick off her boots, and the bouncing sends her devil horn headband skidding across the marble foyer.
Liam catches it against his foot like a hockey puck, and the look he gives me over Emma’s head—dark, heated, full of unfinished business—lights up the fire in my belly all over again.
My entire body is buzzing. Not from the shots, those burned off somewhere between the dance floor and the drive home, but from a different kind of intoxication. The molecular, cellular inebriation that comes from kissing a man you like and hearing him say he likes you back.
I want to grab him by the letterman jacket and drag him upstairs.
But Emma is here. My beautiful guardian devil, who has stumbled barefoot into the living room and is admiring the moonlit lake beyond the glass walls.
“Are you sure this view is real?” she asks. “That these aren’t screens projecting what the Matrix wants us to see?”
Liam moves behind the kitchen island, filling a glass of water and setting it on the counter for Emma without being asked. He grabs a second one for me.
For a moment, we’re both holding the glass, its smooth, icy surface a contrast to the heat of Liam’s skin where it brushes mine. He holds my gaze with the intensity of someone who’s staring at a locked door he’s considering kicking in.
He lets go of the glass, but not of the eye contact.
“I’m heading up.” His rough voice vibrates in my sternum. “You two have fun.”
He kisses my temple. His lips linger against my hairline, as the slow drag of his exhale burns against my skin in a promise. A placeholder for everything we can’t do tonight.
Then he pulls away and disappears up the stairs.
When I catch Emma’s gaze across the room, she’s grinning.
“In here,” she commands, pointing toward the guest bedroom. “Now.”
We change into pajamas and climb into the queen bed, pulling the covers up to our chins. The lamp on the nightstand casts a warm, golden circle around us.
We lie on our sides, heads on the pillows, faces inches apart.
Emma studies me. She reaches out and taps the tip of my nose with her index finger.
“Someone,” she says, “is in love with her husband.”
My stomach flips. “I’m not in love.”
“Liar liar, pants on fire.”
“I’m not.” I bury my face in the pillow, muffling my voice. “At least I’m not sure.” I peek out at her. “Not yet.”
Emma props her head on her hand, grinning reproachfully. “I’ve spent the last month convinced that my best friend had been captured by the beast and locked away in his castle. I came armed with my Taser.”
“You did not.”
“I did.” Emma shakes her head, her blonde hair fanning across the pillow. “And the whole time, you were living with Prince Charming.”
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. A sigh escapes me—dreamy, involuntary, embarrassing.
“He is charming, isn’t he?”
“Disgustingly so,” Emma confirms. “The way he looked at you in the bar? I was about to throw up. In a good way.”
I laugh, loose and warm, untethered from the anxiety that’s been my baseline for months. I roll back to face her. “What about your cowboy?”
Emma’s teasing grin fades into a more complicated smile. “Remy Evans”—she rolls the name out as if she’s trying it on for size—“is nauseatingly hot.”
“Why didn’t you go home with him?”
“I came to be with you.” She nudges my shoulder. “And he’s going to remember me better this way. A man like that has women throwing themselves at him every weekend. I would’ve been another notch on his belt and nothing more.”
I reach for her hand under the covers and squeeze it. “Well, if you want to torture him a little more, we’re going to his family’s farm tomorrow for their Halloween festival.”
“Glad I brought my sexy jeans, then. I hope he has a strong heart.”
We laugh until our stomachs hurt, the sound muffled against our pillows and drawn comforters. When the giggles subside, the silence that follows is peaceful. The comfortable quiet that only exists between people who’ve known each other so long that words become optional.
I almost don’t recognize the warmth bubbling inside me, but for the first time in forever, I’m happy.
I’m with my best friend. I have a new job I love, colleagues who respect me, and a town that’s starting to feel like home. I have a man I’m crushing hard on who’s crushing back on me.
The situation with my parents is difficult. Matt’s shadow still looms over everything. But my mom and dad will be fine. They’re strong, and they’re moving closer, and having them nearby will be wonderful.
I fall asleep with this effervescent joy fizzing through my blood, ticklish and bright, and I hold it carefully, afraid that if I breathe too deep, I might startle it away.
* * *
The rest of Emma’s visit passes in a blur. On Saturday, we drive to Hollow Creek Farm. The pumpkin patch is transformed for Halloween weekend—hay bales draped in cobwebs, scarecrows wearing witch hats, the corn maze entrance flanked by two massive carved jack-o’-lanterns with flickering candles.
Rebecca beckons us over to the apple fritter booth. Incidentally, it sits next to the cider stand, where Remy is working. He’s serving drinks in a plaid jacket, and the double take he does when he spots Emma is so dramatic he misses the cup he was filling entirely, pouring cider onto the counter.
January, who was waiting for the drink, turns toward us and when she spots Emma she can’t hide a wince. She takes the ladle from Remy and pours the cider herself, walking away.
Remy doesn’t seem to notice he annoyed his best friend; he wipes his mess and is quick to recover.
“Well.” He sets down the towel. “The devil came back.”
“Couldn’t resist the fritters.” Emma shrugs, maintaining eye contact with her cowboy.
Remy leans his palms flat on the counter, blue eyes bright. “Is that the only thing you couldn’t resist?”
“Yep.”
She pops the P, and I swear the poor man is about to keel over.
Liam nudges my arm. “Should we leave these two alone?”
I nod. “You want to give the corn maze another go? We have to redeem ourselves.”
“Yeah, sure,” he agrees, his mouth twitching. “Going in there to reaffirm my orientation skills.”
We enter the maze holding hands and make it approximately forty seconds before he pulls me behind a wall of corn and kisses me until I liquefy. He cups my face, tilting me to the exact angle he wants, and I grab fistfuls of his leather jacket to keep from floating away.
We kiss at every turn and dead end. But this time, between make-out sessions, Liam keeps track of our turns, muttering directions against my mouth between kisses. And, miracle of miracles, we emerge from the exit.
“Whoo-ooh.” Rebecca slow-claps from the information booth. “No rescue required. You nailed it, guys.”
* * *
On Sunday, I go from having two of my favorite people with me 24/7 to being alone. Emma has to go back to Springfield, and Liam’s phone rings during brunch.
He steps away to take the call, and when he returns, his jaw is tight. “I have to fly out today. The new, smaller-format stores we’re setting up in Arizona need on-site overview. I’ll be gone a week.”
“A week?” I’ve been waiting all weekend to be alone with him, and now, having to wait another seven days seems like an eternity.
Liam must read the disappointment on my face; maybe he shares it. “I’ll be back Friday.” He leans down and kisses my forehead. “A week will fly, I promise.”
We drive Emma to her car that’s still at the Moonshine. She hugs me so tight my ribs creak.
“I know the situation is complicated,” she whispers in my ear. “But don’t overthink it. Pretend you’re in college and crushing on your roommate.”
Liam leaves for the airport forty-five minutes later.
He texts me after a few hours.
Liam
Landed. The hotel is in the middle of nowhere
Peyton
Why did your secretary book it?
Liam
It was the only five-star in town, but it took forever to get here. And the in-room coffee is instant. It’s barbaric
Peyton
The fact that I’m 99% sure you’re writing all that unironically is tragic
Liam
They also don’t offer strawberry toothpaste
Peyton
Aww, forced to use adult mint? Sending my thoughts and prayers
Liam
Mockery noted. You in bed already?
Peyton
Not yet, I’m debating which of your hoodies to steal
Liam
I knew it. Don’t take the navy zip-up. It’s my favorite
I’m zipping that one up when the text arrives. I snap a selfie of myself pouting with nothing but the hoodie on, the zipper pulled a little low, and caption it.
Peyton
But it looks so much better on me
Liam
…
Okay, you can keep it
Peyton
*smug face emoji*
Night, hubby, sweet dreams…
He sends back a crying emoji and then a kiss one.
On Monday, I write to him first.
Peyton
Did you survive your commute in the back of a limo?
Liam
Brutal, but I’m hanging in there
I didn’t sleep well, though, I missed my favorite pillow
Peyton
Please don’t tell me the memory foam wasn’t coconut-infused!
Liam
The problem was that it didn’t snore in my ear and didn’t sass me first thing in the morning
Peyton
I don’t snore
…but cute
He doesn’t reply until a few hours later.
Liam
If I hear the word “synergy” one more time, I’m jumping out the window
Peyton
Don’t do that. You’ll mess up your other leg
Liam
Ha. Ha. I’d rather crash the Ducati again than sit in this meeting
Peyton
Should I call your “resourceful personal assistant” to extract you?
Liam
You’re obsessed with my guy
Peyton
I’m obsessed with the fact that you have “a guy”
Our chat continues all week. It’s mostly silly daily stuff and lots of low-key flirting.
Thursday night I send him a picture of a glass of wine next to the stack of historical-fiction books on his nightstand.
Peyton
Trying to understand the appeal
Liam
The appeal is me wearing the glasses while reading them
Peyton
WOW. The ego on this man *exploding brain emoji*
(But you’re not wrong)
Liam
I’ll wear them on our date
Peyton
Where are we going?
Liam
Nah, come on, you know I can’t tell you that. So you’re not having cold feet?
Peyton
No, I don’t have cold feet
Liam
I disagree. I felt them on my calves every night last week
Peyton
You didn’t complain then
Liam
I wasn’t complaining now
I miss sleeping next to you
Peyton
…
I miss it too.
The bed is too big without you
Liam
Gosh. I need to get home
I couldn’t agree more. By Friday, I’m vibrating with the anticipation of him getting back. But the stars are aligned against us. He calls me late on Friday afternoon.
“Hey,” he says heavily when I pick up.
“What’s wrong?”
“My flight got canceled. I’m sorry.” His voice is rough with exhaustion and an edge I want to believe is longing.
“Ah, I guess I’ll survive one more night alone.”
“I won’t.”
My heart hammers in my chest, but I play it cool. “Yeah, another night in a five-star resort. Harsh.”
For once, Liam doesn’t banter back. He floors me with: “I was dying to see you.”
I’m not ready to switch to this much honesty, so I deflect. “Understandable, I’d be dying too.”
He chuckles. “You know I’m gonna be home tomorrow and you’re gonna have to back all that sass up.”
“I’m more used to you backing me into stuff, like windows, walls of corn…”
“I have a few other surfaces in mind for tomorrow. Starting with the front door.”
“I thought we were going on a proper date, pretending to be civilized?”
“Yeah, but you also said you wanted me to kiss you at the end of the night. I never promised to be civilized about it.”
My toes curl in my socks; well, his socks that I’ve also stolen.
We hang up after saying goodnight, and I curl up in the center of the bed, wrapping his hoodie tighter around myself.
The silence of the forest outside usually makes me nervous, but tonight it sounds like a pause.
A moment of suspension before everything changes.