Page 5 of After Party

He glanced at her again. Her eyes were closed and she looked beautiful and peaceful.

Damn. She was a gorgeous woman and they had an undeniable chemistry. And now she was being vulnerable and sweet and his backseat had turned into a sort of confessional.

“Where’d your love for cake decorating and parties come from?” he asked, trying to divert the conversation. Desperately. He knew from experience that some of the best parties in town—Ron Thompson’s retirement party, Kaelyn Spencer’s birthday party, Theresa and Tom Gordon’s anniversary party—had Peyton’s touch beyond the cake. She often gave suggestions for themes and decorations and other food besides the cake.

“Birthday parties as a kid probably,” she said softly.

“Yeah? You had some good ones?” He was grateful that at least her parents had gotten that right.

“I went to some really good ones,” she said, bursting his bubble instantly.

“You didn’t have any yourself?”

“My grandma had parties for me until she died,” Peyton said. “She always made sure I had a special day. It sounds crappy probably, but that’s what I missed most when she died.Mybirthday parties.”

Scott felt his heart squeeze. Her grandma had thrown her parties? Not her mom and dad? They couldn’t even do that much? And she felt guilty for missing the one day a year when she felt like she was the center of attention? That was bullshit. “How old were you when she died?”

“Eight.”

Jesus. “You haven’t had a birthday party since you were eight?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

“Oh, sure I have. As soon as I was old enough to throw my own, I did,” she said. “And I made sure they wereepic.”

Scott felt relieved, then suspicious. “How old were you when you started to throw your own, Trouble?” he asked.

He looked up to see her grinning, even though her eyes were still shut. “Fourteen.”

“And what did this party consist of?”

“Inviting my friends over while my parents were out.”

Uh, huh. “And?”

“My first beer, my trip to third base, and my first time punching someone.”

Scott rubbed a hand over his face. Maybe he should just be glad she hadn’t done all of those thingsbeforeshe was fourteen. That was a very, very thin silver lining.

“I love parties,” she finally said. “I got a taste of what it was like to have someone put thought and energy into something that would make me happy. And I missed it like crazy when it was gone.”

How was he supposed tonotwant this wounded-but-sweet woman who loved to cause trouble all in the name of fun because she wanted to make other people happy in a way she’d never been? “You’re a natural party planner, Trouble,” he said, his voice a bit husky.

“My Halloween party was awesome this year,” she agreed.

Yeah, it had been. Her parties always were. But the thing about parties at Peyton’s house—she didn’t need a ride home.

“Do you remember my costume?” she asked.

He shifted on his seat. Did he remember? Seriously? She’d worn a similarly skimpy costume in October. But that tiny tight dress had been white and part of a naughty nurse ensemble. “Definitely.”

“I’ve dressed up like a nurse probably ten times for Halloween. I used to think I wanted to go to nursing school. Like since I was little.”

He could admit, that surprised him. “A nurse, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because sometimes people don’t get better. And you can’tmakethem get better. That’s depressing.”

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