Page 116 of Bleacher Report
"Not the twin?" Peyton gasps dramatically, eyes gleaming with laughter as she smirks at me. “I was promised a twin bed, Reed. I packed emotionally for it.”
My mom waves a hand. “Please. You’re a grown man bringing your girlfriend home. I wasn’t about to let you share a mattressbuilt for a tooth fairy. Besides, I’ve been meaning to turn it into a proper guest room for a while.”
I arch a brow. “You kept it the same for ten years.”
“I kept it the same because you kept acting like it was still yours,” she shoots back, opening the oven door and sliding in another tray of cookies. “Now that you’ve brought someone home worth impressing, I figured it was time.”
Peyton’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. I drop the subject. We’re only here until Christmas evening, and the last thing I want to do is discuss the contents of a room that I’ve stayed in a small handful of times since college.
We eat dinner around the small round table in the breakfast nook, the three of us swapping stories while my mom fills us in on the latest salon gossip. Peyton listens with wide eyes as Mom recounts how Lorraine from the Wednesday morning knitting group got turned in to the HOA for harboring an illegal pot-bellied pig.
“Apparently, she walks it on a leash,” Mom adds between bites of meatloaf. “And yes, it uses the toilet. Smartest damn animal on the block.”
Peyton’s laugh is bright and real, and I can’t stop staring at her while she laughs like that in my childhood kitchen. It feels...right. Exactly right.
I want to ask my mother about her health—about what the doctors are saying—and if Bethany’s intuition is right, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. It’s too heavy for our first night.
After dinner, Peyton rinses while I load the dishwasher, both of us elbowing each other playfully until I catch her stifling a yawn.
“All right, I’m stealing her upstairs,” I tell my mother, draping a towel over my shoulder. “Long flight.”
“Thanks for the cookies and dinner,” Peyton says, giving my mom a genuine smile. “And for letting me raid your icing stash.”
“You’re welcome anytime, sweetheart,” my mom replies warmly. “I’m going to head off to the bath as well. I’ve been on these legs too long.”
When we step into my room, Peyton halts in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the neatly made king-sized bed.
“So this is the upgraded childhood lair,” she says. “Color me disappointed. Not a single dinosaur bed sheet.”
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “They’re in the attic. Want me to pull them out? Really complete the fantasy?”
“Only if you’re going to return the old playboys under the bed also,” she teases.
When we finally settle into bed, Peyton turns to me, her expression soft. "Thank you for bringing me here. I know this place means a lot to you."
I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You mean a lot to me, too."
She snuggles into my side, her hand sliding over my chest.
And this is it.
I know I don’t want to just try… I want to make this work.
Chapter Twenty-Three
PEYTON
The smell of cinnamon and coffee greets me before I even open my eyes. I roll onto my side, blinking in the morning light pouring in through Hunter’s childhood bedroom window, the snow from last night dusted on the rooftops of the neighboring houses outside.
The new comforter is soft, the mattress firm, and I can hear the faint clinking of dishes from downstairs.
Hunter stretches beside me, shirtless, sleep-ruffled, and already smirking. “I think my mom’s trying to seduce us with breakfast.”
I laugh. “I’d fall for it.”
We eventually make our way downstairs where Carly is already dressed, dishes set out, and bacon sizzling on the stove. She greets us with a warm smile and a plate of scrambled eggs.
“Eat up, kids,” she says. “I’ve got a busy day ahead. Gifts to drop at the animal shelter and the salon. Then I’m heading over to the old folks' home to set up for the cookie exchange.”
