by Kendall Ryan
“Enough about me,” Brody says, wincing from another sip of whiskey. “What’s going on with you, man? You look like you were hit by a bus. You need to get laid or something?”
I slouch into my seat, killing the last swig of my beer. “I wish it were that easy. Actually, I need to clear the air with you about what went down with Peyton. I need to know what exactly you told her.”
Brody squints at me, trying to get a read on my intentions. “What? Are you seriously that hung up on her or something?”
“Just answer the question, Brody.”
He looks up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to remember, then gives up with a sigh and a shrug. “Sorry, man. I really don’t think I remember the exact conversation.”
“Well, think a little harder,” I growl, causing Brody to flinch at my sudden shift in mood.
“Sheesh.” He snorts, then thinks on it another second. “I don’t know, something along the lines of you asking me to take you off the project.”
I pause, waiting for him to keep going. But no, that’s all he’s got. Great.
“That was it? You just told her I didn’t want to work with her anymore? Nothing else?”
My best friend is looking at me like I’m sprouting a second head. “Uh, yeah? I just told her the truth. You told me you weren’t going to be the point of contact anymore. And when she asked about you not responding to her texts, I just told her she probably wouldn’t be hearing from you in a while.”
Jesus Christ. Brody might be savvy as hell in the business world, but sometimes, I think this dude must be socially inept. Thanks to him, I may as well say sayonara to my relationship.
If I can even call it a relationship. I’m starting to question whatever it was that Peyton and I had.
What do you call it when you start catching feelings for your business partner? A fling? A flirtation? No, it was more than that. But no matter how you label it, it’s long gone now.
“Thanks a lot, numbnuts.” I sigh, nodding at the bartender to bring me another beer. “Now she hates my fucking guts.”
“Why do you care? I thought you didn’t want to talk to her anymore.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Did you listen to a word I had to say that day I was late to the office?” When I snap at him, he gives me a look of utter confusion.
Can he seriously be this oblivious?
“I told you I was pulling myself back from the project to show you how much I believed in her product,” I say, trying to wrestle my temper back under control. “That I was so sure her boxes would be a success that I was willing to bet my relationship with her on it.”
Brody goes wide-eyed, like this is the first time he’s heard any of this. “Shit, dude, my bad. I misunderstood. I guess I had some serious Swiss-cheese brain going on with all the craziness of the launch.”
I have about a hundred insults ready to hurl his way about having no brain at all, but the bartender interrupts by delivering my beer. Just in the nick of time. I guess there’s no point losing my cool with Brody anyway. He may be clueless, but it’s not like he was trying to fuck things up for me.
I take a long swig, hoping the beer will drown my anger. “Well, I guess that’s that,” I mutter, wiping my mouth with the side of my hand. “One stupid miscommunication, and I’ve lost the woman I love.”
Brody recoils at my word choice. “Whoa, man. You’re really using the L-word on this girl?”
Shit, did I really just say that I love her? I hadn’t even thought it through all the way. The words just kinda came out.
I suck in a long, slow inhale, trying to make sense of all the emotions racing through my skull. I haven’t said that word out loud in a long time. And maybe it’s a bit fast. But when you get that buzzing feeling deep in your chest, you can’t just ignore it. And every time I think about Peyton, that’s what I feel.
“Yeah. I think I am. No . . . I know I am. I love Peyton. And I’ve got to find a way to get her back.”
Damn, it feels good to say that out loud.
A smile threatens the corner of Brody’s mouth. “Damn. All right. Go get her, man. Do you have a plan or anything?”
I shake my head. “Nope. But I know that you owe me one. So you’re gonna help me.”
“Me? How the hell am I supposed to help?” Brody laughs. “My permanently single ass doesn’t know a damn thing about winning over women.”
Damn. He’s right. As much as I’d like him to get me out of this bullshit he launched me into, I don’t think he’s the solution. I’m going to need the help of someone with more relationship know-how, someone who knows Peyton like the back of their hand.
And then it hits me. I’m going to need to get Gram on my side.
I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it. I know what I have to do.”
Glancing at my watch, I realize I don’t have much time if I want to do something about it tonight. It’s already getting late. But if the past few weeks are any indication, I won’t be sleeping tonight unless I take some action.
After slamming what’s left of my beer, I jump to my feet. “I’ve got a phone call to make. Cool if I bounce?”
Brody waves me off toward the door. “Of course. I got the tab.” He snickers, suppressing a smile. “Least I can do, right?”
I’m hardly out the door when I start scrolling through my missed calls, hoping for a miracle. I’m sure that Peyton has called me from Gram’s phone once before when hers was dead.
Bingo. A number with the same area code as Peyton’s. I cross my fingers and hit the CALL button.
“Hello?”
Yup. That’s Gram.
I clear my throat, suddenly realizing I haven’t thought through what I was going to say. “Um, hi, Gram. I mean, Mrs. . . . Gram. It’s Josh.”
The line is quiet for a second, and I’m worried I crossed a line by calling her. But then her usual spirited tone returns to the call, slightly quieter than before.
“You can call me Gram, sweetie. That’s just fine. It’s good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”
Slipping into my car for a little privacy, I give her the abridged version of my side of the story. She’s probably gotten an earful from her granddaughter about what an asshole I am. And based on what Brody said to Peyton when I backed off the project, I deserve to be called every name in the book.
Gram doesn’t have much reason to believe me when I tell her that this was all a misunderstanding, but I’ve got all my fingers and toes crossed that she’ll hear me out on this. When I realize I’ve been rambling for a minute straight, I catch my breath and cut to the chase.
“Long story short, I just want to know if she’s okay,” I say, “and if I stand a chance at a second shot with her. Unless she’s already, you know, found someone new.”
Gram’s quiet again. Damn it. She’s probably trying to figure out how to break the news of Peyton’s much hotter, much nicer boyfriend who has entered the picture.
Fuck. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to hold the phone far enough from me that Gram won’t hear my heartbeat pounding in my chest.
And then she breaks the silence with two sentences that lift the weight of nearly a full month of sleepless nights from my shoulders.
“She’s okay. There’s no one else.”
I take in a huge deep breath, my first one since I hit that CALL button. “Thank God.” I sigh, which gets a soft giggle out of Gram.
“But listen,” she says, her tone suddenly hushed. “I don’t think we should have this conversation on the phone. Not with . . . I don’t live alone, as you may recall.”
I nod in understanding before it registers that Gram can’t see me through the phone. “I appreciate your discretion, Gram. Are you free to meet up tomorrow to talk more?”
Her tone perks up. “I know just the place. I’ll send over the address. Wanna meet there first thing in the morning, sweetie?”
We finalize our plans, and once we’ve said our good-byes, I end the cal
l and am instantly hit with the world’s biggest wave of relief.
Gram could have hung up on me. She could have lied and told me that they moved clear across the country. But instead, she told me what I’ve been desperate to hear since Claire planted the idea in my head earlier today.
Peyton isn’t seeing anyone else.
And it might be a long shot, but I just might still have a chance.
• • •
After the month I’ve had, I think I just about forgot what it feels like to get a good night’s sleep. But this morning, when my alarm buzzed me awake, I didn’t want to immediately suffocate myself with my pillow. And I have Gram to thank for that.
For the first time since Peyton and I stopped talking, I didn’t have to spend the whole night fighting off nightmares about losing her. Because last night, the glimmer of hope I got from talking with Gram was enough to push my anxiety aside and let me get some rest. I should bring that woman flowers for that alone.
After a quick shower, I snag a bagel for breakfast and head for my car to meet up with Gram. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I copy and paste the address she sent over last night into my GPS and hit GO, expecting a coffee shop or a diner to pop up on my screen.
Nope. Not even close.
The Painted Palette Nail Salon? That has to be a mistake. I must have only copied part of the address or something.
But after triple-checking Gram’s text, calling the store to make sure the maps app is up-to-date, and clarifying with Gram that she didn’t have a senior moment and sent me to the wrong spot, it’s clear that I didn’t make a typo. Nope. Instead, I made a date to get pampered with Peyton’s grandma.
With a sigh, I buckle up, both literally and emotionally. No time to change plans now. I have a nail appointment to make and a girl to win back.
It’s a quick drive to the salon, which turns out to be right down the street from Peyton and Gram’s house. When I walk in, a bell on the door rings, announcing my entrance. Like I needed any more introduction as a thirty-four-year-old man walking into a nail salon. Everyone’s eyes are immediately on me, so I roll back my shoulders, trying to look like this isn’t my first time setting foot in one of these places.
Gram is already here, standing in front of a wall of tiny, colorful bottles of polish, running one finger along the line of different shades of purple. She’s still got her walker, but I’m impressed by how little she’s relying on it. No wonder Peyton is so damn unstoppable. She learned from the best.
“Oh, good, you made it!” Gram gestures for me to come hug her, so I do. She has a mischievous gleam in her eye as she nods toward the nail-polish wall. “I hope your feet are ready for a pedi. What are you thinking? Maybe pink or light blue?”
I chuckle, noting the devilish smile on her lips. Joke’s on her, though. I may be a rookie in the pedicure department, but between the stress of the launch and the drama between Peyton and me, I’m due for a little R&R.
“I’m going to forgo the polish,” I say. “But if pedicures are on the agenda, I’ll try anything once.”
At Gram’s go-ahead, a pair of nail ladies from behind the counter head back to prepare what looks to be two very elaborate massage chairs with built-in tubs. Man, I must really be in for a treat.
Gram scoots her walker along the shiny white tile and toward the black leather lounge chairs in the waiting area. “Let’s sit and chat. They won’t be ready for us for a few more minutes.”
I offer an arm to help her sit down, but she makes a point of not taking it. Like I said, the woman is unstoppable.
As I snag the seat next to her, Gram’s eyes scan mine, taking in my expression of equal parts hope and anxiety.
“You miss her, don’t you.” A statement, not a question. She already knows the answer.
“Like crazy,” I mutter under my breath. “Can you please tell me how she’s doing?”
Gram sighs, rotating her wrist back and forth in the universal sign for so-so. “She was bad for a while. I think she’s a bit better now, but it’s hard to tell with how busy she’s been. I couldn’t tell you the last time that girl pulled her nose out of her work since you up and left.” Playfully, she elbows me in the ribs. “I guess she needs you around to balance out that work with a little play. Just like you promised me, right?”
A sad smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. I had almost forgotten about the bargain we struck back in that hotel lobby.
“I tried to keep up my end of our deal, Gram. I swear. But I guess it just complicated things. But now that I’m without her . . .” I trail off, scratching at my stubble as I try to choose my words.
Oh, to hell with it. We’ve made it this far. I gulp down the lump in my throat and speak my mind.
“I love your granddaughter. And I would do anything to win her back.”
Gram’s first response is shock, but her wide eyes and dropped jaw slowly shift into a warm smile. “Well then,” she says, fisting her hands and pressing them into her hips. “I guess we have some serious planning to do, don’t we?”
Just then, our nail experts return and escort us back to where the magic happens. I follow Gram’s lead as she ditches her shoes before climbing into the massage chair and sinking her feet into the bubbling foot bath.
Gram and both the nail ladies laugh as I dip one toe into the tub and jerk back. Fuck, that water is hot. How the hell do women do this all the time? Better try a slower approach.
Carefully, I sink my feet one inch at a time into the churning bubbles, sucking in a breath through my teeth and slowly letting it out. Once I get a chance to adjust, it’s really not so bad. And the smell of eucalyptus from whatever oils and salts are in the water is actually pretty damn soothing.
I turn and look at Gram to verify that I’m doing this right. She’s relaxed in her chair, her eyes closed, a satisfied grin on her face. She must feel me looking at her, though, because the second I glance her way, she speaks up.
“So, if you’re going to win back my granddaughter, you’re going to have to really impress her. Show her that you’re serious about her. If you can do that, I’m nearly certain she’ll at least hear what you have to say.” She slowly opens her eyes and gives me a skeptical look. “That is, if you can figure out how you’re going to impress her. That’s what we need to brainstorm on.”
Before I get a chance to give it much thought, my assigned nail lady taps on my left shin, looking up at me expectantly.
“That means you’re supposed to take that foot out of the tub,” Gram whispers.
Who knew that nail salons came with this secret code?
I lift one foot out of the water and into the nail technician’s hand. With some sort of spongy stone, she starts scrubbing at my heel, causing me to squirm in my seat, holding back a laugh.
“I’m ticklish,” I say apologetically.
“You really are a pedicure rookie.” Gram giggles so hard that she snorts. It takes her a second to collect herself, but when she does, her giggles are long gone, replaced with a completely serious expression.
“Now you have to be honest with me, dear,” she says, her voice low and stern. “Are you in this for the long haul? Things always find a way to get tough sometimes. I can’t have you running out on my girl when times are too hard. She deserves better than that.”
I nod soberly in agreement. “If she’ll have me, I won’t be going anywhere. She’s all I want in this world right now.”
Gram raises a brow in my direction. “Just right now?”
“No, not just right now,” I say, correcting myself. “Forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Peyton
When I walk into the kitchen, I can hardly see Gram through the enormous cloud of lemon-scented cleaning spray in the air. She’s been on a cleaning spree since the second she finished her coffee this morning.
“Hey there, Mr. Clean. Everything okay?”
“Fine, fine,” she mutters, giving the counter another wipe down, despite the fact that
it’s already glistening. “Just getting things ready for when Duncan arrives.”
Since the doctors cleared Gram to only use her walker as needed, she’s spent nearly every waking moment on her feet.
“Let me get that.” I reach out to stop Gram from trying to lift a mop bucket full of soapy water.
“No, no, don’t worry about it. You go get ready.”
I scrunch my nose. Get ready? For what? I was kind of planning on rocking this yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt look for most of the day. I’ll just be catching up on emails and watching TV all day.
Before I can ask her to clarify, Gram has already moved on to deep cleaning the outside of the dishwasher with quick, aggressive scrubs. She’s a woman on a mission.
The dishwasher doesn’t keep her attention for long, though. As I head for the fridge to size up my snack options, I can feel Gram’s stare on my back, giving me a thorough once-over.
“What’s wrong?” I call over my shoulder. “Is there a stain on my sweatshirt or something?”
“I just think you should put on something a little nicer,” she says. “You know, maybe throw on some makeup, do your hair.”
I close the fridge and turn to face Gram, folding my arms over my chest. “What’s the deal? You’re acting weird.”
“No, I’m not,” she says, her tone suddenly defensive. “We’re just having company, that’s all.”
“Duncan hardly counts as company at this point, Gram,” I say with an eye roll. “And I doubt that he would care if I’m in yoga pants or not.”
Gram sticks out her bottom lip and gives me her best puppy-dog eyes. “It would mean a lot to me if, just this once, you looked a little nicer, okay? It’s important to me.”
Ugh. I don’t know what she has up her sleeve today, but I can’t say no to my own grandmother pouting at me.
“Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll change if it makes you happy.” The old lady is clearly going senile.
Gram’s face brightens with an enthusiastic smile, and without another word, she shoos me out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.
