Page 91 of One More Kiss

“Always,” I agreed as I stood and held my hand out to help her off the swing. Which one of us was more surprised when she took it, I wasn’t sure. Which one of us was too scared to bring attention to the fact neither of us let go as we walked to the kitchen, I wasn’t sure.

I think it was me though. When I stole a glance at Peyton, I re-evaluated. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was biting her lip, her tell when she was nervous.

“What’s been cooking?” I asked her casually.

“I found quiche in the freezer.”

“So not cooking, more reheating,” I teased her as she slipped her hand free.

“Why reinvent the wheel? If it’s already made and ready to eat, why make something else?” Peyton sassed back. I set the table as she retrieved dinner, and as she plated up and set a salad bowl down, I realised she had been in the vegetable garden to the side of the house.

“Found your old man’s radishes?” I said with appreciation.

Peyton laughed as she sat down. “I hardly recognised it,” she said as she lifted the bowl and passed it to me. “So much more than he had.” She frowned. “Thank you for looking after it.”

“Don’t thank me, it was all Donna.”

Her smile faded slightly. “Really? She hated that garden.”

“She didn’t hate you though,” I reminded her as I cut the quiche.

“You’ve made all the funeral arrangements,” Peyton said after a few minutes of silence.

“There wasn’t much to do,” I admitted. “You know Donna; she was organised to a fault.”

“Yeah.” Peyton nodded. “One thing we did have in common.”

“You had more than one thing,” I chided gently.

“Our OCD, our dislike of social interaction, and”—Peyton looked up at me—“you, I guess.”

“Gee, thanks.”

My dry tone made her laugh, and the tension eased in the kitchen. We ate our meal and kept to safe topics like the weather, the farmer’s market, the rising cost of fuel. When we were finished, neither of us moved from our place.

“So,” I started.

“You were never not good enough for me,” Peyton blurted. “I was never too good for here,” she added. “I don’t know what you thought was happening with me, and I really wished you had spoken to me about it, before or after, because I don’t know where it came from that night. And I still don’t. But it hurt, it hurt a lot, and I thought it was what you wanted, so I stayed away.”

“I was an idiot. I saw your future, and I didn’t know where I fit in it.”

“With me.” Peyton looked at me and reached across the table, taking my hand. “It was always supposed to be with me.”

“This is my life,” I reminded her as I let her fingers slip from mine. “This ranch, this house, whether I own it or not, this mountain. I belong here.”

“I know.” Peyton nodded as she pushed her chair back. “I always knew that.” She gathered the plates as she cleared the table. I sat in silence waiting for her to speak. She hadn’t reacted when I mentioned the house. I wasn’t sure if I should push it or not. Deciding that it wouldn’t do any more damage, I stood.

“If you won’t sell it to me, will you let me rent it?”

“No.” Peyton rinsed the plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

Grinding my molars, ready for an argument, I braced myself. “Can I ask why?” She was silent for too long, and patience had never been one of my virtues. “Peyton?”

Drying her hands, she avoided looking at me. From her back pocket, she took a folded letter and handed it to me. “Read it.”

Reaching for it, I unfolded it uncertainly as she made coffee. “Peyton?” I asked as I read. “This is from the elementary school in town.”

“I know,” she said easily.

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