by Ranae Rose
“Too bad.” Jackson gave the barest of shrugs and pulled citation papers out of his pocket.
Elijah nodded. No one took it well when you wrote them a court date for a traffic infraction, and this guy clearly wasn’t going to be an exception.
Elijah shifted his weight so that the man couldn’t see him and cracked a grin. “Have fun handing him that summons. Don’t think he’s going to take it quietly.”
“The law is cut and dry. Nothing I could do about it, even if I didn’t think it was his fault. Maybe he’ll think twice before riding someone’s ass next time.”
Yeah, right. “You forget where we are?”
Jackson shrugged. “Call me a dreamer. I hate working wrecks.”
Fender benders did have a way of bringing out the jackass in most people. Either that, or the hysterical sobs.
Still, either of those things was better than the accidents where people were hurt.
Elijah let Jackson return to the driver at fault, while he returned to the woman who’d been hit.
The rest of the call wasn’t fun, but it could’ve been worse – he could’ve been in Jackson’s boots.
The male driver was vocal enough with his disgust over the blame that a second kid – this one on the sidewalk – whipped out his phone to record the spectacle.
The driver’s temper tantrum would probably end up online somewhere.
It was the least of Elijah’s concerns.
In fact, the only thing that really had him worried was Peyton.
Last night had been good, but it’d been cut short. When he saw her again, he had to make up for that, bridge the gap.
He didn’t want to lose whatever spark had allowed her to trust him enough to act on the attraction between them. If he let that connection be severed, he’d be back at square one: wanting her from the other side of the wall between them.
When he finally left the scene of the accident and drove down Mangrove Street, a certain storefront caught his eye and gave him an idea.
CHAPTER 12
Peyton’s mind whirled, frantic thoughts racing one another. What the hell was she supposed to do?
Call 911? Run out into the streets and start combing the neighborhood for her sister and nephew?
Nothing seemed good enough, and nothing made any sense.
Sick to her stomach with worry, she dialed Madison again.
“Hello?”
She lost her breath when someone answered.
“Jace?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Aunt Peyton. Where are you?” She couldn’t keep her desperation out of her voice.
“At the hospital.”
Her stomach clenched and roiled. She braced herself with a hand against the nearest counter. “Is your mom there with you?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Hold on. Mom wants to talk to you.”
She forced herself to breathe steadily, focusing on the suddenly momentous task of inhaling and exhaling.
“Peyton?”
“Madison! What the hell is going on?”
“Calm down. Everyone is all right.”
“Neither of you are here and there’s blood on the kitchen floor. What’s your definition of ‘all right’?”
“I had a little accident. Did something dumb. It’s not a huge deal, but since I couldn’t drive myself to the hospital, I called 911.”
Madison’s words hit Peyton like a blow to the gut. She bent slightly at the waist, resisting the urge to double over with guilt.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Not that she should’ve had to. Peyton should’ve been there in the first place.
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You wouldn’t have been bothering me. I would’ve come right away. What happened?”
“I was making a pot of coffee and I pulled myself up by the counter so I could stand and scoop the grounds into the coffee maker. I slipped and bumped my head on the corner.”
Peyton sucked in a harsh breath. “You have a head injury?”
“A small cut. It only needed five stitches. The doctor said I’m not showing any signs of a concussion.”
“I can’t believe you were up and trying to move around the kitchen like that.”
Except she could. Madison loved coffee, and Peyton hadn’t been there to make their morning pot like she usually did.
“I’m sorry, Madison. I’m on my way to the hospital right now.”
She turned for the door and grabbed her purse, barely remembering to lock the front door on her way out.
“Take your time. There’s no need to rush. They stitched me up, but I’m still waiting on a nurse to bring me a sheet with wound care instructions.”
Peyton wouldn’t take her time, and Madison knew it. But like always, Madison couldn’t resist embracing the role of big sister.
Madison was always looking out for Peyton. In comparison, Peyton was terrible at having her sister’s back.
The truth of it weighed on her as she climbed into her car and peeled away from the curb. Her family was small, but it was all she had. Her parents each lived hours away and were even more distant than they had been when she’d been young, busy with the other families they’d each married into after their divorce.
Madison and Jace were her world.
The weight of that world made her shoulders ache and bow as she drove down the street, pushing the speed limit.
After all Madison and Jace had been through, she’d let them down. They both deserved better than her. She’d forgotten her priorities for just a night, and it’d blown up in her face. In their faces, really.
She sucked.
* * * * *
Elijah’s shift slipped by – all twelve hours of it – and he never heard from Peyton.
Twelve hours wasn’t a lifetime – unless you were working traffic accidents out in the heat, waiting for the hottest woman you’d ever laid hands on to call you after a night of smoldering sex. Then, it was a little different.
He didn’t want to read too much into it, but he knew she had off work on Sunday. Maybe she had been pissed by his leaving her behind.
Even if she was, he wasn’t about to let that ruin what they’d started. As he left the department building and crossed the street, heading toward the adjacent parking lot, he carried a nylon duty bag slung over one shoulder.
By the time he reached his car, he was pulling out his phone.
“Hello,” he said as he slung his bag into the passenger seat. “I’d like to place an order. Do you do same day deliveries? Great.”
He’d passed a florist that day, after working the first traffic accident. They’d had a bouquet of violet roses in the window, the same soft purple color as Peyton’s dress from the night before.
“I’d like a dozen of the roses you have on display in the window.”
“The lavender ones?” a female voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Where would you like them delivered?”
He rattled off Peyton’s Weyland Street address.
“Okay. I’ll need the recipient’s name and a note, if you’d like one included.”
“Just a short one.”
When they wrapped up the order, the florist promised the bouquet would be delivered before seven-thirty.
“Thanks for fitting it in before the day’s over.”
“It’s no problem.”
He felt a little more at ease as he drove for home. He wasn’t going to settle for sitting around on his ass and hoping his phone would ring.
Not with a woman like Peyton. She deserved flowers, romance – the works. The taste of her he’d had had only made him ache for more, and he wasn’t afraid to let her know it.
* * * * *
Peyton dumped a jar of tomato and herb sauce over layers of meat and pasta. Jace loved lasagna, and the large pan would last for at least two days.
Not that that made up for anything.
She
’d already made a batch of General Tso’s Chicken – one of Madison’s favorites – plus fried chicken, which was packed away cold in the fridge.
She still needed to throw together a salad and make a dessert after she finished the lasagna. She’d been cooking since shortly after she’d gotten home from the hospital, and her feet were aching from standing for so long at the kitchen counter.
The pain wasn’t significant enough to lessen the gaping void of guilt that’d hollowed out her chest. She still felt like such shit over what’d happened that morning.
And Madison didn’t even blame her for it, which almost made it worse.
“Hey, Betty Crocker.”
Peyton turned on her heel, her ponytail whipping the hot kitchen air.
Madison sat at the edge of the kitchen linoleum in the rented wheelchair she resented so much, her dark waves cascading over the white bandage at her hairline.
“Is everything okay?” Peyton asked.
“Yeah, but you’ve been in here all day. Jace wants to watch WALL-E. Care to join us?”
“No, I’ve still got more to make.”
Peyton began arranging the final layer of lasagna noodles.
“Don’t you think you’re going overboard? How are we supposed to eat all this food?”
“You know I never get around to cooking unless I do it for the whole week on Sunday. If I don’t, I end up letting the Pavlises send me home with restaurant leftovers, and then I feel guilty.”
“I have gained weight,” Madison said. “Free baklava and not being ambulatory is a dangerous combination. I’m not sure fried chicken’s any better on that front, though. Or lasagna, or homemade takeout…”
“You have it hard enough right now; I’m not going to force you to subsist on salads and handfuls of almonds, or whatever the heck is supposed to be healthy this week.”
Peyton laid the last noodle with a vengeance, causing red sauce to splash onto the front of her already stained apron.
Madison wasn’t who she was mad at.
She was mad at herself. Madison was stuck in a wheelchair, her head swathed in bandages, and what did she do to make the situation easier for her?
Cook. Big freaking deal.
But it was something, and it kept her busy.
She slid the lasagna into the pre-heated oven and pulled out a large glass bowl for the salad.
“I thought you said no salad?” Madison arched a brow.
“It’s a side dish, not a main course. I’m no health nut, but I still wouldn’t want anyone to develop scurvy.”
“Let me help. I can shred lettuce.”
“No way.” Peyton shot her a pointed look. “You’re forbidden to enter the kitchen; I’ve got this.”
But Madison clearly wasn’t going anywhere. She rolled her chair just past the edge of the linoleum, toward Peyton.
“How was last night?”
Peyton’s hand slipped, and she cut straight through a bell pepper, nearly slicing her thumb.
“Okay.”
“Just okay? You said you were going to dinner. You never said you didn’t plan to come home afterward, so unless I’m sadly mistaken, I’d say last night went better than okay.”
Madison cracked a knowing smile.
Meanwhile, Peyton’s stomach was busy tying itself in a million knots.
“It doesn’t matter how last night went. I should’ve been home with you and Jace.”
“Stop beating yourself up. Accidents happen, and I’m thirty-two years old, in case you’ve forgotten. I don’t need to be babysat by my little sister.”
Myriad emotions bubbled to the surface of Peyton’s mind: frustration and exasperation, seasoned with enduring guilt.
“I never said you needed to be babysat. But the accident wasn’t that long ago, and being gone overnight was dumb. I wish I’d come home last night.”
“Do you?”
Her stomach sank. No, she didn’t. At least, part of her didn’t.
And that just made her feel even guiltier.
“I didn’t have to stay gone all night. I could’ve come home.”
Before Madison could reply, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” Jace shouted from the living room.
Peyton dried her hands on a dish towel as the sound of her nephew’s pounding footsteps echoed through the house. “Let me get it, Jace.”
He knew he wasn’t supposed to answer the door without an adult.
When she reached the front door, he was bouncing up and down on his toes, rocking up toward the peep hole.
Peyton pressed her face against the door. There was a guy in a green polo shirt on the other side, wearing a matching baseball cap embroidered with roses. He held a large bouquet.
She unlocked and opened the door. “Hello.”
He tipped his head. “I’m looking for Peyton Argent.”
“That’s me.”
He raised the bouquet carefully, almost reverently.
Maybe he was new to the job, or maybe he was just treating the flowers with the care he thought they deserved, because wow – they were gorgeous.
Each blossom glowed a soft twilight purple, and sprigs of baby’s breath dotted the arrangement, matching the white satin ribbon that fastened the cellophane wrap. She’d never seen roses that color.
“These are for you, then,” he said. “Hope you enjoy.”
A feeling of numbness stole over her as she accepted the bouquet. It could only be from one person.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and turned for the stairs. “Have a pleasant rest of the evening.”
“You too.”
As he climbed back into a van emblazoned with a local florist’s name and phone number, she was left on the threshold with an armful of beautiful, expensive-looking roses.
“Who sent you those, Aunt Peyton?” Jace’s voice echoed through the entire house.
Peyton winced, and her own voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll just have to open the card and see.”
She pulled the door shut and carried the arrangement to the kitchen, where Madison was waiting with an expectant look on her face.
Peyton dropped her gaze, trying not to gape at the arrangement too blatantly. It was beautiful – perfect – and a flamboyant reminder of how she’d been busy selfishly indulging herself while Madison had been injured.
“Wow, nice.” Madison angled her chair to better see the flowers as Peyton dug a vase out of a cabinet and filled it with lukewarm water.
She took her time transferring the flowers into the vase and emptying the pack of flower food into the water.
“So who’s the lucky guy?”
Peyton’s mouth went dry.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Madison made a sound of disbelief. “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to live vicariously, here. Being house-bound is driving me nuts.”
Living vicariously? Yeah, right. Madison hadn’t shown interest in any guy since she’d lost her husband.
“We hardly know each other. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“Well, judging by the romantic gesture, I’d say Mr. Mysterious wants to get to know you better. At least tell me what he looks like.”
Peyton sat the vase in the middle of the kitchen island, not far from the counter where Madison had hit her head.
“Tall, dark and handsome,” she said miserably. “Really handsome.”
“Lucky. You’re such a workaholic – how did you meet?”
“He came by the shop.”
“Really?”
“The day the window broke, he saw me trying to cover it with a tarp. He stopped to help.”
Madison’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “You never told me a handsome stranger stopped to help you out.”
“I didn’t think I’d see him again.” Peyton shrugged, her half-truth weighing heavily on her shoulders.
She hadn’t exactly lied to Madison, but she hadn’t told her the whole truth, either.
She couldn’t. Not right now.
Peyton plucked a small envelope from a prong nestled among the flowers and opened it to reveal a mini greeting card.
They were the prettiest I could find, but they’re not half as beautiful as you. Elijah
CHAPTER 13
The message had obviously been printed off from a computer, not handwritten, but still…
Peyton was torn between the urge to re-read the note a dozen times, and the urge to drop it down the garbage disposal and pretend it had never existed.
The note, the flowers, the scorchingly hot night before … admitting what a great time she’d had to Madison would’ve felt like throwing salt in her wounds.
No matter how happy Madison appeared to be for her, it just didn’t feel right. She’d lost the love of her life, and now here Peyton was with a sweet, flamboyant gesture from a man she’d just met.
From a cop she’d just met. The idea of Madison finding out about Elijah’s job made her break out into a sweat.
What was she doing? What was she thinking? That was what Madison would ask her if she found out – if she’d speak to her at all.
Jace popped around the corner, into the kitchen, and slid across the linoleum in his socks. “Aunt Peyton’s got a booooyfriend!”
Peyton took one look at his teasing, gap-toothed grin and felt her heart drop.
When he came to a sliding stop by the island, she ruffled his hair. “You’d better knock it off, or I’ll remember this in a few years when you go on your first date.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, right. All the girls at my school are gross, except for Bridget, and she could never be my girlfriend – we’re friends.”
“Well, these flowers are from a friend, too. I’m afraid I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”
“Suuuure.” His grin widened. “I bet you kissed him! Gross…”
When Jace spun out of the kitchen, Madison wheeled a little closer to Peyton.
“So, is Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome a good kisser or what?” She nudged Peyton in the hip with her elbow. “’Fess up.”
