by Beck, Jamie
Mrs. Prescott looked up and then snapped a polite smile on her face. Dignified and elegant—like Peyton might look in twenty-five years if she didn’t laugh enough between now and then—the woman bore a confidence that comes from being in charge. “You must be Mitchell.”
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Prescott.” Mitch returned her polite smile and extended the box of macarons. “Thank you for making room for me at the last minute. I hope it wasn’t too much of an imposition.”
She peeked inside, her expression inscrutable. “These look delicious, thank you. And please, call me Darla. Mrs. Prescott makes me feel old.” Another smile, but not quite warm enough to dispel his awkward feelings about crashing her party. “Peyton speaks very highly of you. It sounds like you two had quite the trip.”
“We did. Worked out all the kinks before our big event this coming week. I assume you and your husband will be at the Strand on Wednesday?”
“We’ll see.” A placating smile this time, accompanied by a shrug. “I’m sure Peyton has confided that I’m struggling with this memoir. I prefer to keep personal things private, not share them with the world.”
“Mother.” Peyton bugged her eyes.
“Should I lie?” Darla then turned to him. “Wouldn’t you prefer I be honest with you?”
“Always.” There was something refreshing in knowing where one stood, even if one stood under the heel of a woman like Darla Prescott.
Darla turned a self-satisfied expression on Peyton. “Now, let me go put these in the kitchen and then get back to making sure everything is set exactly as I asked. I swear, no matter how specific my instructions, the only way anything gets done correctly is if I manage it myself.”
It unsettled him that he felt the same.
“We won’t keep you.” He tipped forward in a half bow, convinced she had no appreciation of the skill and time it had taken to make that gift. “Thanks again for having me.”
She smiled and strolled inside, closing the door behind her as if to warn them not to follow.
Peyton looped her arm through his. “I’m sorry if my mother offended you. She’s private. Well, sort of private. She loves to go public with good news—like this engagement.”
“Don’t let her get in your head. You did something extraordinary under trying conditions. It deserves to be shared and celebrated.”
“Thank you.” She touched her head to his shoulder for a moment. “I hope you don’t end up sorry you came.”
“How could I? I came to be with you.” He looked into the eyes he’d hungered to see all week and wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her close. “All of the rest is unimportant.”
She gazed at him, one hand on his chest, reminding him of that kiss on the terrace in London. Of course, she was sober now, which made the tender gesture better.
With her head tipped to the right, she said, “Let’s make a pact to take a break from all work-related topics tonight and simply be Mitch and Peyton on a date in a natural environment.”
“Sounds perfect.” He meant that, although this was far from any natural environment he’d ever known.
“Are you ready to meet my dad?”
Mitch had done some research into the impressive business icon she called “Dad.” “I wouldn’t mind a bourbon.”
“More proof of how smart you are.”
They slipped through the house to the parlor, where Peyton knocked on the glass door beside the hearth. When she heard her dad’s muffled “Come in,” she opened it. “Hey, Dad. Can you take a ten-minute break to meet my friend Mitchell?”
Mr. Prescott shut his laptop before standing and coming around the antique writing desk in the center of the stunning walnut-paneled office. Mitch kept his focus on Peyton’s dad, although he would rather have inspected every book, award, and photograph in this hallowed room. The great William Herbert Prescott had written at that desk—yet Peyton had probably played in this space as if it were no big deal. “Mr. Prescott, very nice to meet you.”
“Call me Harrison, please.” He gave the firm handshake you’d expect of a guy who’d been born to money. Looked the part, too, with a bespoke shirt and tailored slacks, a full head of hair, and a strong jawline.
“I thought we’d break into your stash.” Peyton nodded toward an antique beverage cart carrying a bottle of Michter’s.
“The broken seal suggests you or Logan already have.” Harrison shot her a knowing look before he checked his watch. “Guess I won’t be getting much more done today, though. I’ve been hiding from your mother. You know how she gets right before an event.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She made a wry face. “Mitch got a firsthand view of Mom in action.”
Mitch darted a gaze between them both, a bit confused. “She seemed calm to me.”
“She’ll spare others the minutia, but if I go out there, I’ll hear a litany of complaints. I wouldn’t mind, but when I offer help, she never takes my suggestions.” Harrison gestured toward the two worn leather chairs as he made his way to the bar cart. “Have a seat. I’ll pour.”
A minute later, he handed Mitch a tumbler with a three-finger pour. Mitch sipped it. Even his unsophisticated palate detected rich toffee undertones. “That’s nice.”
“I have my sources.” Harrison tossed back a healthy swallow. With a pleased sigh, he asked, “So how are the European book sales going?”
Down to business. Mitch could respect that, although Peyton wouldn’t enjoy the conversation. “Robust, although a hair shy of what was needed to hit any of the major European lists. But we’re building great buzz here, and preorders are trending up. If we can hit the New York Times, we could see a bump abroad, too.”
He stopped himself from going into more detail because he wanted to respect Peyton’s wishes.
“You get paid no matter what happens, though, right?” Harrison’s even tone almost hid the subtle hint of disdain.
Mitch’s stomach tightened. “Yes.”
“Pretty good gig there, like all my lawyers. Even when my deals implode, they get a fat check.” Harrison took another swig, leaving Mitch uncertain about whether he’d been hit with a dig or a compliment.
“Literary PR’s a bit of hustle and a bit of art—knowing how to position something as subjective as a book,” Mitch said. “It’s impossible to predict which debut authors will break out. In Peyton’s case, however, we have a lot going for us. Accessible writing, powerful imagery, your family name—especially here in the US—and the charitable endeavor. We’re leveraging all of the pluses and partnering with the foundation’s PR team to cross-promote the launch. Peyton got comfortable in her role as author by the time we reached London. I think she’ll hit a grand slam next week in the city.”
Harrison winked at his daughter before finishing his drink. He smoothed his hand over the desk, then looked at Mitch. “Is your father in publishing, or are you like my son, off doing your own thing?”
“Dad—” Peyton interjected, but Mitch laid his hand on her chair to cut her off.
He shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. “My father passed away when I was in high school.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Harrison looked genuinely uncomfortable. “That must’ve been difficult.”
“It was. I missed him, of course. But, as Peyton might say, the silver lining was what I learned about responsibility. I doubt I’d own my own business now if my dad were still around and I’d enjoyed normal teenage freedoms and security.”
“Well, that’s something we have in common. My father lived longer, but he wasn’t any kind of role model. Like you, I had to step in to keep all of this in the family.”
“Daddy.” Peyton squirmed, apparently uninterested in hearing a story she must’ve heard a hundred times.
Mitch had gleaned a lot from what he’d read about the Prescotts when he’d researched Peyton months ago. “Peyton and I were just talking about how no family is perfect.”
“Cheers to that.” Harrison raised his glass. “N
ow if we could get Logan to accept that so he doesn’t end up disappointed in his marriage down the road.”
“What are you talking about?” Peyton scowled as her hand came down hard on the arm of the chair.
“Nothing specific, but marriage isn’t all romance and candles. It takes commitment and compromise, two things your brother has spent most of his life avoiding while chasing his art.” Harrison raised a single brow as if it alone could defend any argument she might raise.
“I thought you two had come to respect each other more this year, Dad. If you can’t be more supportive of him than this, maybe you should stay in this office tonight.” Peyton set her empty glass on the table. “Not to mention how wrong you are about him. He’s shown nothing but commitment and sacrifice for me since my diagnosis. And he’s been blissfully happy with Claire despite making compromises for her, too. You shouldn’t talk about him that way in front of someone you just met, either. Now I have to wonder what you say about me behind my back.”
“Settle down, sweetheart. I don’t mean anything by it. We were talking about imperfect families. It seemed relevant.” He shot Mitch a look as if asking for some help, but Mitch wouldn’t side with him against his daughter, especially not when he agreed with Peyton. “You know I adore Claire, but I worry about her holding your brother’s attention for life. Nothing ever has before. Even he crows about his restless need to seek new stories.”
“Logan’s more at peace than he’s ever been. I wish you could be happy for him instead of always picking him apart.” Peyton stood, head shaking, and motioned for Mitch. “Mitch and I are going into town for an hour or so. I hope your attitude is better when we return. I swear, if you make one wisecrack tonight, I will find a way to make you pay.”
Harrison didn’t look perturbed. If anything, he looked proud of the spitfire who carried his genes. “Well, Mitchell, guess you can see what happens when you cross my beauty. Better be on your toes around this one.”
Again, Mitch couldn’t tell whether the man had praised or slammed his daughter. He polished off the last drops of bourbon. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. See you later.”
They closed the office door behind them and then went out to the Zipcar.
Peyton grabbed her hair while making a strangled sound. “I don’t even know what to say. I promise, Logan and I are not as freakish as our parents. They aren’t always like this, either. Sometimes they’re even kind of nice.”
Mitch laughed. “Don’t worry. If you ever meet my family, you won’t think yours is so odd.”
“If?” she repeated quietly while waiting for him to open the car door.
“Did I say ‘if’?” He let her adjust her skirt so it wouldn’t get caught in the door. “I meant ‘when.’”
“Better.”
He slipped behind the wheel. “So where to?”
“I need to stop to pick up a special gift I had made.”
He snapped his gaze to her. “I thought you said no gifts.”
“Don’t panic. The invitation said no gifts. This is a small thing I did on the sly. I found some old photos that I had enlarged. When we get home, I’m going to slip them into a special album I bought. Claire likes keepsakes.”
“You don’t give up on that friendship, do you? It can’t be easy to face your regrets and her rejection, but you keep at it. It’s impressive.”
“You’re sweet to say so, but we both know I did something unforgivable. I don’t expect much. All I can do is keep hoping.” She sighed, and he was happy to drop any subject that touched on her memories of Todd. “Anyhow, after we grab the pictures, I’ll show you my favorite places. You’ll like A Novel Idea. It’s a combination bookstore, bakery, and gift shop. It’s old and creaky, and the employees handwrite little reviews of the books and post them everywhere.”
The outskirts of the small business district were coming into view—a collection of two- and three-story offices, restaurants, and retail outlets situated around a town green. Americana at its nostalgic best. “Why not do an event there?”
“No thanks. It’s one thing to be in front of a roomful of strangers, but nothing will get me to stand in front of old teachers, ex-rivals, and other townsfolk who know me to discuss those photos or my own words. Now, no more business talk.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Bad habit.” He hadn’t realized how easily he lapsed into talking about work. Had he lost the art of conversation because his career had been his primary focus for so long? As he looked for a parking spot, he couldn’t quite shake Harrison’s wariness of Logan and Claire’s opposites-attract relationship, which made his mother’s warning harder to dismiss.
He glanced across the car at Peyton, who met his gaze with a smile. She looked happy and healthy and full of promise.
“I’m happy you’re here.” She ruffled his hair, melting the tension that had bunched up his shoulders.
Their parents knew nothing. If he could keep her smiling that way, everything would work out fine.
Chapter Fifteen
Twilight gasped its last breath before starlight and the golden sliver of the moon consumed the sky. Mitch was sitting beside Peyton. She doubted he noticed himself softly humming along to Cole Porter’s “Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall in Love,” which played in the background, thanks to the outdoor speakers her dad had installed a decade ago, but it made her smile.
She sat back to make room for the caterers to clear the dinner plates—which had been licked clean of the seared scallops with brown butter–and–lemon pan sauce—and to refill water and wineglasses.
Across the table, Peyton’s mother spoke with Mrs. McKenna, no doubt about wedding plans. Logan was whispering something in Claire’s ear, while her dad spoke with Mr. McKenna and Steffi’s dad, Mr. Lockwood. To her left, Steffi laughed at something her brother must’ve said to her and Ryan. Farther down the table were other more distant friends and family, including Claire’s beloved, if kooky, book group.
“I think it’s time,” Peyton murmured to Mitch, stomach tightening. Some might have advised her to hide in the shadows tonight rather than stand in the spotlight. “Wish me luck.”
He rested a hand on her thigh with a smile. “You don’t need luck. It’s a beautiful gesture.”
She pushed back her chair and stood, tapping a dessert fork against her wineglass. “Excuse me, everyone, but I don’t want the night to pass without making time for a little surprise.”
Wide-eyed gazes turned toward her, but she’d become numb to scrutiny after so many readings and interviews. She set her glass down and walked toward the far side of the patio, where she’d hidden a bag with the white silk-and-lace photo album she’d assembled.
When she returned to the table, she stood behind Claire and Logan to address all the guests. “I know we were under strict orders from my mother and the happy couple not to bring any gifts. But given how well everyone here knows me, I’m sure none of you expected me to follow the rules.”
A ripple of chuckles fanned throughout the crowd. She glanced at Mitch, who nodded encouragingly.
“The first time I met Claire was at a sleepover Steffi had planned to welcome her to Lilac Lane. By morning, we had all become fast friends the way preteens do. Throughout the years, we spent many hours here at Arcadia. However, even back in the beginning, I knew—as did most everyone else—that I wasn’t the only draw for Claire.”
Logan winked at Claire and threw an arm around her shoulders. As usual, she blushed as others smiled at them and threw in a few “awwws” for good measure.
Peyton continued her speech. “Several weeks ago, Logan took me to look at some rings he’d been considering while working up to the proposal. To see him so excited and in love, so full of joy, and to know that a woman I’ve always loved and admired would be the person who’d share the rest of his days with him”—she paused to clear the tightness from her throat—“I can’t describe what a gift that is. When I got home from Europe, I went to the attic—as one does when bored—to pick through t
he boxes of junk I’d stored up there from when I was young. Most of it was old journals and awards that would bore most everyone but me, but I also found a trove of photographs, including some of Claire and Logan.” She handed the gift to Claire, whose hands trembled.
Peyton then looked at Steffi and Ryan, Steffi’s brother Benny, and the McKennas. “None of us will be surprised to see that, whether on the dock or in my room or out in the tree house, whenever Logan joined us, Claire’s cheeks glowed pink and her eyes shone. But what might surprise you is a pattern that I hadn’t noticed before.” She rested her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “When you thumb through these images, you’ll see Logan was often sitting near Claire, his smile in action, even when he was holding court with the rest of the group.”
Logan shrugged. “I’ve always had an eye for beauty, what can I say?”
More “awwws” followed, so Peyton used that moment to return to her side of the table. “I thought you two would enjoy proof of your early mutual affection. I put it in the album hoping you might add pages as you build your life together.”
“Thank you, Peyton.” Claire opened the cover and started scanning the images, a smile spreading across her face.
Peyton raised her glass. “Duck would find the perfect words for this occasion. All I know is that, with life so fragile, we’re all blessed to be here tonight, and to learn from these two how love can overcome all barriers and bring out the very best in anyone. To Logan and Claire—may you keep the feelings you have for each other today close at hand, and never take one precious moment together for granted. I love you both. Cheers!”
“Cheers!” Steffi chimed in and others followed.
Peyton took her seat after swigging some wine.
Claire whispered something to Logan, who then spoke with a voice roughened by emotion. “This is a beautiful gift, Peyton. As usual, I love that you never follow the rules, and hope that never changes.”
A round of laughter followed his little joke, dispelling the sentimental ache taking up space in Peyton’s chest and restoring the evening to its previous conviviality.
