Peyton wiggled away. “Please let me go!”
“I don’t know much about relationships, but I know they can’t work if one person leaves.”
She released a deep breath and pulled away from him. “Please, I need some time alone.” It was one thing to know about his past but quite another to shake hands with it, talk to it, fight with it.
“Can we please talk about this?” Reed begged, searching her eyes. But he saw nothing.
The limo pulled up to the curb. “I just need some space,” she said and opened the door.
Reed walked to the driver to give him further instructions. Then he heard the door close, seeing Peyton disappear without even saying “goodnight.” He finished with the driver and watched the limo drive off, carrying both Peyton and his heart.
* * *
Peyton kicked off her shoes and curled into a little ball, hugging her knees to her chest in the back of the limo. The drive home from the hotel, though only a few miles, seemed to be taking forever, lots of starts and stops on a busy Mardi Gras night. But the delay was fine with her. It gave her more time to cry, more time for everything to crystallize in her mind. It was painfully obvious she could never have a relationship with Reed. She was too damaged, too broken. Heather was right: there was no way she could ever satisfy him. She could never be enough for him. Her tears were proof of it.
She was scared enough of a traditional sexual relationship, and Reed undoubtedly would want more than that. Threesomes? She cringed at the thought of Heather touching him — with some random girl, too — and hated her for it. The way Heather looked at Reed, the way she touched him, the way she still called him hers — it all made Peyton sick. She wondered whether she hated all of his past women. She wasn’t one to hate too many people, and that would be a lot of women to hate.
There was just something about Heather. Maybe it was that Heather could give Reed all the things that Peyton didn’t think she could, and she feared Reed eventually would revert back to that kind of girl. Or maybe it was just that she was a raging bitch. Peyton didn’t know for sure. It hurt her head to think about it. She closed her eyes tightly, tears flowing like a river, then looked down at her white dress covered in streaks of black mascara. The night had made her dirty.
Then the limo stopped again. She looked out the window at the revelers filling the streets, disbanding after a late night parade. She was tired of being trapped — in the limo, in her life, in a state of inertia and sadness — with others having fun all around her. She wanted to get home, to take a shower, to wash away the night — and her past — knowing full well she’d never get clean. Too much had happened over too many years.
At last, the limo pulled up in front of her house. She opened the door herself and walked around to find a Range Rover in the driveway. What the hell? She looked towards her front door, finding Reed sitting on her porch steps, his head resting in his hands. She walked cautiously towards him, the fog of Heather still clouding her mind, leaving her unsure whether to feel mad, angry, relief, upset, inadequate, broken — or whether there was even a proper emotion. He lifted his head as she drew closer, and the moonlight caught his eyes.
“How did you....” she started.
“I told the driver to take his time. I wanted to give you space like you asked, but I couldn’t end the night like that.” He shook his head. “Not that way.”
She looked down at him, his jacket gone, his tie loose around his neck, his hair messier than usual. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said quietly and took a seat beside him. “We need to talk.”
He kissed the side of her head. “I only planned for my father. I didn’t know Heather would be there. I’d told her I was dating you. I’m sorry.”
“I hate her.”
“I could tell.” Reed smiled, wiping her wet hair from her face. “Never had women fight over me before – at least not like that.” He took her hand; for once it felt weak. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Peyton shook her head, so many things running through her mind that she wasn’t sure where to begin.
He shook her hand a little. “Please talk to me.”
“I just don’t think I’m right for you,” she said. “I think I was just fooling myself.”
“Please don’t say that. That’s not true.”
“Well, how can you have sex with two women....” she began, then paused. “It was two women, right?”
“Gross,” Reed said. “Yes, it was two women. I can’t believe Heather brought that up.”
“How can you have sex with two women at the same time, but then wait for a date with me for weeks, insist on a committed relationship, and only kiss me? How are you capable of such different things?”
“I didn’t know one woman could make me feel the way you do,” he said. “I wish I could take back, well, a lot of things.” He dropped his head, hoping his past wouldn’t cost him his future. “I’m sorry about Heather. I’m sorry about them all.”
Peyton tilted his face to hers. “I’m not happy about those other women, but I knew who you were when we started. I knew what I was getting into – maybe.” She flashed a smile. “But at this point, I don’t know how I’m ever going to compete with all those other....”
Reed put a finger over her mouth. “There’s no competition.”
“There’s always competition.”
“Then you win over everyone else.”
“Maybe now, but will it last? I mean, I’m not interested in threesomes or....”
“Stop it!” Reed said quickly. “I wouldn’t share you with anyone – ever.”
“But you must like those kinds of things?”
Reed released a deep breath. He needed to make her understand. “Remember the day I came back to the pie shop for the first time after we met?” Peyton nodded. “Do you remember what you said to me?”
“Not really.”
“You asked me if I was the type who wanted a lot of variety or the type who would wait for one bite of the real deal.” He grabbed her hand. “Well, I’ve had variety. It left me hungry, unsatisfied, even a bit sick sometimes.” He kissed her bottom lip. “But one bite, one nibble of the real deal — of you — leaves me happy, content, wanting more of you, and only you.”
Peyton leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at the stars. He was saying all the right things, but she couldn’t shake the voices in her head — telling her she was too broken, that he really didn’t know her. “Why did Heather say ‘like father, like son’?”
“I already told you about his other women. Let’s please not talk about him now. I had enough of him already tonight.”
Peyton sensed there was something more and hated Heather knew what it was. She decided to let it go for now.
“Please tell me we’re OK,” he begged. Peyton didn’t move, stuck in the war between her head and her heart. “Baby?”
She looked up into his worried eyes then reached for her locket. “We are.”
Reed released a deep breath and stood up. “Then come on,” he said, holding out his hand and pulling her up, “we’re not supposed to be at your house now.”
“You think I’m sleeping at your place after tonight?”
“Oh, do you want me to stay here instead?”
Peyton laughed. She couldn’t help it. Reed, like every other guy, had a one track mind, with all roads — no matter how battered and uneven — leading to sex. “I just think we should maybe keep things going slowly.”
“Huh?” Reed dropped his jaw. “We talked about this earlier in the limo, about going back to my place, and you....” Reed caught himself before continuing, knowing it would do no good to throw her words back in her face. She’d already had a face full of his past tonight.
Peyton looked down at the streaks on her dress, mirroring those on her soul. “I’m scared.”
“Why?” He placed his hands on her waist, giving her a gentle squeeze.
“One day I might tell you.”
Reed didn’t like t
he sound of that. It made him a bit scared himself, and he was afraid to ask what she meant. “Please don’t let your fear win. I think we’re pretty damn perfect together.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
REED AND PEYTON walked hand-in-hand out to the rose garden of Poydras Home. They’d come to visit Gram a few times before and now found her in her favorite spot, sitting on a little bench inside the gazebo. Peyton let go of his hand and hurried up the steps for a hug. Gram closed her eyes and held her granddaughter a little longer than usual. She wasn’t going to be the first to let go.
“Did you have a good time at the ball last night?” Gram asked.
Peyton pulled Gram’s sweater back up around her shoulders. “Yes. We had a good time.”
“Reed’s father says he knows you, knew Grandpa.”
“What’s his name?” Gram asked.
“Richard Langston,” Reed said, bracing himself.
“I don’t recall. But I’m so damn old now.”
Reed breathed a sigh of relief and handed Gram a pack of chocolate Roman Candy. She smiled and opened up her arms to him. He thought she seemed more frail than before, the sparkle in her eyes a bit dimmer.
“How are you feeling today?” Peyton asked.
“Good, missing your grandfather.”
“I miss him, too,” Peyton said as Gram lightly touched her hair. “Remember when you were eight and wanted me to braid your hair everyday?”
Peyton tilted her head and smiled. “Of course.”
“Let’s braid your hair.”
Peyton looked down at her grandmother’s hands, riddled with arthritis. “Gram?”
“Go to my room, and get my brush. I want to make sure you remember how to do it.”
“You taught me how to braid years ago,” Peyton said, giving Reed a look of concern.
“I know, but one day you might have a daughter, and I want you to tell her you learned to braid from her great-grandmother.”
“When I have a daughter, you will braid her hair.”
Reed looked down at Gram, seeing a sadness in her eyes, like the one Peyton held in her baby blues. “I’ve never seen your hair in a braid,” he said, sitting down next to Gram, who patted his leg.
“You two are ganging up on me!” Peyton cried.
“Yep, now Peyton, go get my brush and a rubber band.”
Peyton shook her head and started back down the path. Gram handed a stick of candy to Reed, and he took a bite. “She’s a good girl,” Gram said.
Reed watched Peyton disappear down the path. “She is. You have a lot to be proud of.”
“She’s also a tough cookie.” Gram took his hand. “But it’s just an act. She is strong and tough but tender, shy, and sensitive, too.” Reed wrinkled his brow. “She likes you.”
“I like her, too.”
Gram smiled. “She changed a lot in recent years, towards the end of college, I guess. She wasn’t always Miss Frumpy. Her grandfather almost died when she was a teenager because her jeans were so tight.”
“Do you have any pictures?” he quipped.
Gram chuckled then coughed. “She was always smart and beautiful and used to be a lot more outgoing. She and Quinn were always stirring up some trouble.”
“No way.”
“That girl could get in some mischief. I could tell you some stories.”
“My Peyton?”
“She was never bad, just fun-loving. I’m not sure what changed. It was after her grandfather died. It was towards the end of college, I guess. I don’t know if it was the responsibility of having me to take care of or if it was something else, but she’s different now. She’s like the roses out here — the petals and the thorns.” Reed scanned the roses surrounding them and saw Peyton coming back. Gram continued, “I’ve asked her many times if anything was wrong. All she says is she’s fine.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
Gram patted his cheek. “Don’t give up on her — when she’s acting tough and busting your balls about something.” Reed laughed. “I’m serious. When she pushes you away, don’t give up.”
“I think she’ll give up on me first. I’m harder to love than she is.” Love? He bit his tongue, unsure where the hell that came from.
“If Peyton loves you, she’ll love you for life. She’s lost too many people to know how to love any differently.” Gram smiled at Peyton as she came into the gazebo.
“OK, my hair,” Peyton said and handed Gram the brush.
Peyton sat down in front of the bench, her back to both of them. Gram looked down at the brush in her hands — frail, shaking, old. She gave it a little squeeze but couldn’t hold it. She handed the brush to Reed, taking it in shock, staring at it like he’d never seen one before. Then he looked at Gram like she was crazy.
She gave him a little nod, as if some sort of torch was being passed. He gently ran the brush through Peyton’s long, brown hair, as Gram took a bite of candy.
* * *
The night sky falling, Julia wiped down the counter and looked out the pie shop window. “Peyton, you’ve got to come see this!”
Peyton appeared from the kitchen. “Is Reed here?” Her mouth fell open.
“Is that legal in this part of town?”
“I don’t know.” Peyton took off her apron and tossed it at Julia. “Thanks for closing tonight.”
Peyton stepped out onto the sidewalk, into the crowd gathering outside her shop, flash bulbs popping around a horse-drawn carriage. The crowd parted as Reed stepped towards her and swooped her off her feet, kissing her firmly on the lips. She overheard a man ask, “Are they filming a movie here?” and a middle-aged woman telling her friend, “He must be proposing,” with the friend responding, “If she doesn’t accept, I will.” Reed pulled back slightly, nuzzling her nose with his.
Over the past few weeks, there’d been more drama than romance. His father, Heather, and Griffin had made sure of that. So Reed knew he had to mix things up. He had to bring the romance back. He had to set the stage for getting some action — even if Peyton wasn’t giving him any.
“This is crazy!” Peyton cried, smiling ear to ear.
He took her hand. “You’ve never seen a horse-drawn carriage before?”
“Not in front of my shop! I thought they had to be in the French Quarter.”
“Normally they do, but I pulled some strings. The driver, Bruce — I designed his son’s house.” An elderly man with a white beard tipped his hat to Peyton, as Reed took her hand, helping her up the steps into the antique white carriage cascaded in twinkling white lights. He slid in beside her and put his arm around her, then the horse began a slow trot.
“This is...” she began, pausing for the right word and caressing his hair. “Just wow.”
“This is just the ride,” he said, the night breeze floating in through the open top. “I promise you the date will be even better.”
“In that case,” Peyton said, “I’ll thank you now.” She leaned in and kissed him slowly, caressing his tongue with hers in a slow circular motion, as the carriage rocked up and down. She moved on top of Reed, straddling him, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm, oblivious to the fact that they were in public. She felt him grow hard, pressing against his jeans, begging to come out for a different ride. Reed’s hands gripped her ass, pulling her tighter to him.
Bruce cleared his throat — loudly — as he began to point out some landmarks along Magazine Street.
“So where are we going?” Peyton asked.
“It’s not far,” Reed said, stroking her cheek. “We’re almost there.”
After a few minutes, Bruce slowed the horse, pulling the carriage in front of Audubon Park. Reed helped Peyton out of the carriage, then Bruce handed Peyton a carrot so she could properly thank the horse. Reed led her into the park around a little curve where a few majestic oaks shaded a sprawling crowd. The tuning of horns and violins filled the air, as the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra set up for a rare outdoor nighttime performance.
Peyton didn’t hear a word he said, just following along behind him, amazed how much preparation he’d done, how much trouble he’d gone to.
“You OK?” Reed asked, rummaging through the basket, slightly surprised by how quiet she was.
“I just can’t believe you did all this.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he said.
Reed set up a few things, making sure to get everything right. He poured her a glass of wine, as the orchestra started up. It was rhythm and blues night, with a couple local singers crooning out a wide mixture of tunes, from classic to contemporary, with some gospel thrown in. Through it all, Reed fed Peyton strawberries and crackers, and they shared bite-size muffulettas. Then he pulled her between his legs so her back was to his front. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the sweet smell of her hair — vanilla, a touch of caramel, a dash of cinnamon — the welcome afterglow of her long day at work. And he waited and waited for the right song. He couldn’t rush it. The up-tempo Barry White and brooding Adele, while beautifully performed, weren’t quite what he was looking for. But the geriatric attendees weren’t so particular; they seemed to sway and dance to everything.
Peyton kicked off her shoes and nestled her head against his chest, feeling the strength of his arms around her. She inhaled his fresh, clean, crisp scent, and her heart swelled, this stunning man taking care of her like no man had ever done before, scaring and thrilling her at the same time. As she finished nibbling a strawberry, the song came — the perfect one.
“I’m ready for that dance now,” he said.
Reed pulled her up to her bare feet, right on the picnic blanket, holding her close under the stars and moonlight, without a word between them — except for his occasional Al Green impersonation. Ooo baby, let’s stay together. His hand drifted to the curve of her waist, her skin soft and smooth, and he rested his hand there. He loved that part of a woman — the dip of the waist between the breasts and hips.
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