Peyton recoiled, remembering Quinn’s words of warning. Do girls fall for that kind of crap? She turned her cap around backwards, so she could better see into his eyes. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “You can try a whole lot of different kinds of pies and never be satisfied. So you just keep trying them all. Or you can wait for that one special kind of pie that can satisfy you with just one bite.” Peyton leaned forward on the counter. “So the question is — are you just looking for variety, or are you willing to hold out for the real deal?”
Reed grabbed his neck again. He could feel his heart pounding through his chest, as if she were looking directly into his soul, hurling more weird pie voodoo at him.
Julia emerged from the kitchen. “All done.”
“Great, lock up for me.” Peyton took off her cap and untied her apron then walked from behind the counter.
Reed stood dumbfounded, as Peyton headed straight out of the shop, closing the door behind her. He couldn’t remember a woman ever walking away from him before — certainly not like this. He rushed out of the shop, calling after Peyton walking down the street. “Hey!” But she kept walking. “Hey!” Reed jogged to catch up, as she clicked open her Mini Cooper and hopped inside. “Hey!” He knocked on her window. “I didn’t give you my answer.” Peyton rolled it down. “I’ll wait for the one bite. You know, the real deal.” Peyton rolled her eyes and drove away.
* * *
Quinn stretched out on Bret’s sofa, her legs on his lap, deep in thought watching Say Yes to the Dress. Then her phone rang.
“You’ll never believe who just showed up at the shop,” Peyton said.
Quinn sat up. “Drew Brees?” Bret looked at her curiously. “I just love him.”
“I wish,” Peyton said. “Can you talk?”
“Hang on,” Quinn said, walking to Bret’s bedroom and closing the door. Bret reached for the remote and turned the channel to Duck Dynasty.
Quinn plopped down on his messy bed, a hidden XBOX controller stabbing her. She grabbed the controller with her thumb and index finger, holding it away from her body like a dirty diaper. She tossed it on the floor and added the removal of all XBOX equipment to the growing list of changes she intended to make to Bret’s bedroom. “OK, tell me now.”
“Reed. I think he was hitting on me!”
“I tried to tell you.”
Peyton grinned. “I had no idea.”
“Stop smiling. I can feel you smiling through the phone.”
“I am not!” Peyton cried. “I’m not interested anyway!”
Quinn didn’t quite believe her. “Maybe you’re not interested, but Reed won’t give up so easily.”
“Really? Any advice?”
Quinn had a mind to spill every rumor, gossip, half-truth, fact she’d ever heard about Reed and the whole Langston family. She felt Peyton deserved to know before getting involved, or even thinking another minute about him. But Quinn decided not to. The excitement in Peyton’s voice — something Quinn hadn’t heard in the longest time — told her not to. And Quinn wasn’t about to squash that. Peyton, more than anyone else, deserved to have some excitement, some happiness in her life. Plus, Quinn remembered Bret’s request to be nice and, as hard as it was, decided to trust his judgment. “Look, I really don’t know him that well. He was in the same class as Griffin, but all I really know is from the rumor mill or Bret. Both aren’t totally trustworthy, I’m sure.”
“I’m honest,” Bret said from the doorway.
Quinn frowned. “Bret just came in, so I really can’t talk anymore. Just listen to your gut.” She hung up and looked at Bret. “I was on the phone. Peyton needed me.”
“Sorry. Have you seen my XBOX controller?” Quinn winced and pointed at the floor.
CHAPTER FIVE
REED CAME BY Adelaide’s each night. And Peyton never had the devil’s food chocolate praline. He knew it was intentional — that she was holding out on him — so he didn’t order another kind. She’d given him the choice of waiting for the real deal or just picking and choosing, and he wasn’t going to settle. He was determined to beat her at her own game. So he sat alone night after night, usually at the same table, working on some drawings or remaining paperwork from the day, and when that was done, played on his phone. Some nights he tried to engage Peyton in conversation, but it always fell flat. She’d say she was too busy behind the counter, though he saw she found time for small talk with Julia and every other customer.
After more than a week of playing their little cat and mouse game, Reed came in after work one night and stepped up to the counter, behind a well-dressed twenty-something guy whose full attention was on Peyton, plating a slice of the devil’s food chocolate praline. Reed tapped his foot, as Peyton smiled and chatted up the guy for what seemed like ten minutes. Before leaving, the guy dropped his business card and five bucks in the tip jar.
Reed stepped up to the counter. “You know what I want.”
“That was the last piece.” Peyton turned to Julia. “I need to step into the kitchen. Can you handle the counter?” Reed turned away and slumped to his table.
Julia waited until Peyton was in the kitchen and Reed was the only customer left. She then slipped into the restroom and removed her apron, undid a few buttons on her top, making sure her cleavage was properly exposed, and applied a fresh coat of make-up. She returned behind the counter and peered through the glass window of the kitchen door, making sure Peyton was still occupied, then reached into an ice box for a plate. She sashayed over to Reed, proudly holding a slice of devil’s food chocolate praline.
“Has Peyton had the pie every night?” he asked.
Julia took a seat beside him. “Yep.” She tossed her hair. “Some girls just like to play games.”
He stared down at the pie, wanting to take a bite, but disappointed it didn’t come from Peyton. He pushed it away. “Maybe you could help me figure out what Peyton likes?”
Julia sat back, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on, Julia,” Reed said, leaning forward, splashing his best smile. “Help me out.”
“I really don’t know. We don’t talk about guys. I can’t remember Peyton ever talking about a guy or a date.”
Reed looked at her, confused. It seemed impossible a woman as beautiful as Peyton didn’t have guys lining up over her, no matter how badly she dressed. He didn’t know what else to say. An awkward silence fell over them — and then Julia obliterated it.
“You know I was on American Idol last season, right?”
Reed bit his tongue hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry, Julia. I missed last season.” And every season.
“I made it through the first few preliminary rounds. I’m going to try again next year.”
“Good for you.”
“The producers were interested in my back story, working here at the pie shop, so I’m going to push that more next year.” Julia nodded. “I know that would be awesome for Peyton.”
“I’m not interested in being on American Idol,” Peyton said sharply.
Reed snapped his neck to look at Peyton, a cold gray in her eyes, for a moment wondering if she was jealous.
“Why don’t you head on home, Julia?”
Julia shot up from her chair, embarrassed, then grabbed her purse and left.
Peyton took the pie from Reed. “You can’t eat that,” she huffed, walking behind the counter. “Julia didn’t even garnish it properly.”
He strolled to the counter, a crooked smile on his face. “At least she gave me a piece.”
She locked on his smile and dumped the pie in the garbage. “How long are we going to do this?”
“As long as it takes.”
Peyton exhaled and wiped her hands on her apron. “Fine, you win.” She reached under the counter — Reed sneaking a peek as she bent over — and pulled out a fresh piece.
Reed watched her shave some chocolate for the top, licking a smidge from her finger, the motion of her tongue across her lips causing hi
s pulse to quicken. It seemed every little thing she did was sexy, and she wasn’t even trying. He took the pie from her and returned to his table. Peyton turned the sign to “closed,” but she didn’t lock the door.
“I’ve been wondering something. What kind of pie are you?”
“That’s private,” she teased.
“If I guess, will you tell me?” He took a giant bite.
“Guess away,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “But you’ll never get it right.”
Reed motioned for her to sit at his table, and she came over slowly, carefully. He smiled, pleased he was finally making some progress. “Let me see your hand,” he said.
Her heart pounding, Peyton placed her hand in his, fitting perfectly, the same jolt of electricity shooting between their fingertips. She quickly pulled her hand away, as if electrocuted.
“Same as me,” Reed said. “Devil’s food chocolate praline.”
“You’re really bad at this.”
“How about you tell me over dinner?”
Peyton reached for her locket. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Are you involved with someone?”
“I just don’t think it’s the best idea.” She looked away.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said sweetly, tilting his head to see her eyes. “Are you seeing someone?”
Peyton gathered herself and turned to face him. “I don’t have to answer you. It’s none of your business.”
“Just tell me you aren’t wasting your time on Griffin Dupuis.”
“Who told you that?”
“So you are dating him?”
“No,” Peyton replied but then wished she hadn’t been so quick. “Where are you getting all this?” Reed hesitated for a moment. “Who?” she pressed.
“Um, Google.”
Peyton raised her eyebrows, finding the intense, confident Reed nowhere to be found. “Find anything interesting?”
“I found a picture of Griffin Douchebag with his hand around your waist.”
“And did that bother you?”
“Let’s just say it made me curious.”
“Curious, huh? I’m curious what I’d find if I Googled you.”
“You haven’t already?” Reed squirmed in his chair, not knowing how many women she’d find on his arm, or God forbid what she might find out about his father. “How about you just ask whatever you want to know?”
She paused for a moment. “Can’t think of anything I want to know.”
Reed rolled his eyes and stood up, knowing she again had the upper hand. She’s so damn cute. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe you’ll think of something by then.” She shrugged her shoulders. He walked towards the door but before opening it, turned around. “You and Griffin?”
“Just friends.”
“His hand did bother me, by the way.” He saw Peyton’s cheeks blush. “Save me a piece of my pie tomorrow, and don’t forget to lock up.”
* * *
Bret looked around Cooter Brown’s, a popular New Orleans watering hole. Reed was late, but that was fine. Bret took out his phone and pulled up a video, turning the volume down low. He fixed his eyes on the screen — a young Asian dude with a cool vibe and crooked hat moving to some electronic music.
“Pop your shoulders, left then right,” the Asian commanded, demonstrating how it was done. Bret complied as if his life depended on it.
“Now add in your feet. You can go front to back, or side to side. Doesn’t matter. Feel your own flow. Just bounce slowly. Don’t rush it.” Bret again complied and moved as best he could in his chair. “Keep doing both things.” Bret quickly added his shoulders back in, having forgotten about them when he moved his feet. “We’ll add another layer in a moment.”
“Now add in your hips.” The Asian gyrated his in a circular motion. “Let them talk — really talk.” Bret tried to keep pace, swinging his hips violently while trying to keep his shoulders and feet going. He quickly grew angry, overwhelmed, pissed at the Asian who’d suddenly begun to move his hands and arms without any accompanying instructions.
Reed walked into the bar, and several women in mini-skirts flashed him a sexy smile. But he walked right past them, needing to find Bret. He spotted his friend sitting alone, moving like he was in pain while looking at his phone. He approached Bret from behind and took a seat at the table. “What the hell are you doing?”
Bret quickly sat up and shut off his phone. “Um, nothing.”
“Whatever it was, it was perverse.” Reed grabbed a pretzel and tossed it in his mouth. “What were you watching?”
“Quinn wants me to take her dancing. You know I can’t dance.”
“So you thought a video would help?”
“I don’t know.” Bret slugged his beer. “I was trying to learn some moves.”
“The video isn’t helping, but I need your help.”
“That’s a first.” Bret raised an eyebrow. “Who is she?”
“Peyton.”
Bret shook his head. “Quinn will jack you up, dude. She’s petite but has a big temper. Very controlling — especially about the people she loves.”
Reed waved him off. “Peyton’s playing games. You have to help me out.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Come on!” Reed begged then had a thought. “Any chance she’s going dancing?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Because I could show up if she was there.”
Bret rolled his eyes. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“I need to get her out of her shop — get her on a level playing field.”
“That’s ridiculous. You do need help.”
“Give me something! Anything!”
Bret finished his beer. “Peyton lives in her grandmother’s old house, where she grew up. Her grandmother lives in a nursing home now.”
“How’s that supposed to help me?”
“Peyton’s not like the girls you hook up with. She’s not going to just jump into bed with you.”
“I’ve figured that much out.” Reed signaled for a beer.
Bret narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t just some challenge, huh?”
“No.” Reed grabbed the back of his neck. “I guess I just like her.”
Bret flashed a wry smile. “I’ve never seen you get serious about a girl. And Peyton is a girl to get serious over. She’s the type that wants a boyfriend, a husband, babies, the white picket fence. You up for that?”
“I don’t know. At this point, I just want to take her to dinner.” Reed slumped back in his chair.
Bret signaled for another beer and looked at Reed, hardly recognizing his friend. He gathered his thoughts then looked around the bar, ensuring there were no spies or undercover agents in Cooter Brown’s before divulging highly-classified government information. “Peyton runs in Audubon Park every morning.”
Reed’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, dude.”
“No matter what,” Bret warned, “you cannot let Peyton know I told you. Quinn will kick my ass.”
“Understood.”
“I don’t need more problems. She’s already pissed about my XBOX.”
CHAPTER SIX
THE PAST TWO mornings, Reed dressed like he intended to run, stationing himself in different places amongst the runners, bikers, dog walkers, and yoga groups, hoping to “accidentally” bump into Peyton. But he never found her. He wondered whether she’d taken the mornings off, or whether he had come at the wrong time or maybe holed up in bad spots, or perhaps Bret was simply jerking him around, making him out to be some creepy stalker on the hunt for a young, single woman in Audubon Park in the early morning hours.
He picked a new location on the third morning, by the fountain at the St. Charles Avenue entrance. It was a good spot, probably where he should’ve been the first two mornings, where the joggers made their turn along the path. But with each passing runner, he worried he once again might be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Coffee cup in hand, he
braced himself against a graceful oak tree, the sun just beginning to peek through, creating a maze of shadows along the green grass around him.
Then in the distance, he saw a woman in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, whizzing past other runners in tight shorts and tank tops. He couldn’t make out her face yet, but there was only one woman in the world who’d dress like that. He tossed his coffee cup in a trash can and prepared to make his move. As she drew closer, he saw she was wearing earbuds.
“Peyton!” he called out. She ran right past him. Reed cursed under his breath then raced to catch up with her. “Peyton!” But she didn’t turn back. After some more cursing, Reed came up next to her.
Peyton stopped mid-stride and pulled out her earbuds. “What are you doing here?” She started to run in place.
“I run here sometimes,” he lied then cracked a smile giving himself away.
“Right,” she mocked, as Reed watched her breasts jiggling slightly, her locket rising and falling. “How many miles is it all the way around the park?”
“Um, three,” he guessed.
Peyton stopped running in place and narrowed her eyes. “Are you following me around now?”
“No!” Peyton looked him up and down, making him uncomfortable. His worry about being a creepy stalker rushing back, Reed said the first thing that popped into his head. “Bret told me I could find you here.” Peyton smiled. “But please don’t tell Quinn! I promised Bret I wouldn’t tell you he told me.”
“I won’t say anything to Quinn.” She walked off the jogging path and put her heel on the back of a park bench to stretch.
Reed tilted his head admiring her flexibility. Is she teasing me? “You’re really fast. How long have you been running?”
“A few years,” Peyton said, tightening her ponytail then starting to walk the path.
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