Chapter Eleven

Nash

"So tell me about this place."

I looked up from the menu, gazing across the table at Peyton. She was watching me, wearing that same half-smile that had intrigued me since the first day I'd seen her back in freshman year. She was especially beautiful tonight, with her hair caught back away from her face, showing off those luminous green eyes. She'd dressed down tonight at my suggestion, wearing a simple light green scoop-necked tee with a pair of jeans that fit her in a way that made my mouth water.

"Ah . . . the Road Block." Sitting back in my chair, I tossed the menu onto the table. Not like I needed it, anyway; I knew Mason's offerings by heart. "Mason Wallace is a local boy with a real gift for music. After high school, he moved to Nashville, but as he tells it, he realized he was more suited to finding talent than to being a star. He started working for a production company, discovered some of the stars who are household names today. He married one of them, they had a baby, and then she died. She was killed in an accident."

"Oh, my God. That's so tragic." Peyton covered her mouth. "That poor man."

"Yeah, and right around the same time, his mom, who still lived here, got a cancer diagnosis. So Mason moved home to help her, and he decided to open up his own place where some of the musical acts he knew were rising stars could come play. He started up the Road Block as a bar and a dance club, a musical venue, and then later, he added a lunch menu on weekdays."

"Did his mother recover?"

"Oh, yeah, she's doing really well. Total remission. And Mason met someone a little while after he moved back—they got married and have a bunch of kids." I spread out my hands. "Everything turned out well for him."

"This place is pretty great, too. Do you come here a lot?" Peyton tilted her head.

I shrugged. "Now and then, especially if Mason has someone playing who I want to hear. But I don't go out that much. Reggie and I meet for dinner a couple of times a month. When Max has time, he'll come down and cook for me, or we grab lunch since he works most nights. Other than that, I keep busy at work or, you know, puttering around the house." I closed my eyes and steepled my fingers. "God, I sound like a total bore, don't I? I sound like I'm eighty instead of fifty."

Peyton laughed, tossing back her head. "Nope. I was just thinking that I'm relieved because I feel like I lead a very staid life. If I'm not at the store or with Peg or Charlie—or both of them—then I'm at home with a book or in the garden. Everything is quiet and predictable—just the way I always wanted it to be."

I stretched one hand across and knit my fingers with hers. "Am I disrupting your quiet, predictable life, Peyton?"

She grinned. "Not yet, but I have a feeling you would. And without meaning to do it, I'd probably do the same to yours. Are we crazy, Nash?"

"If we are, I don't want to be sane." I nudged Peyton's menu closer to her. "Anything on here look good to you? The burgers are great. Maybe not Rip Tide great, but dang close."

"That's what I like to hear." A deep voice came from next to us as Mason himself appeared with the drinks we'd ordered earlier. "Genuine word-of-mouth promotion. Thanks, Nash."

"I only speak the truth." I inclined my head toward Peyton. "Peyton, this is Mason Wallace, the owner and proprietor of this fine establishment. Mason, I'd like you to meet Peyton Rivers, a long-time friend of mine from high school down in Florida."

"Nice to meet you, Peyton." Mason smirked at me. "So you've known this guy since high school, huh? Did you two, ah, reconnect at your reunion?"

Peyton blushed as I shot Mason a withering glare. "How did you hear about my high school reunion?"

"Small towns, dude. Lucie mentioned it to my wife who mentioned it to me. Rilla said you weren't looking forward to it, but I'm guessing it turned out to be a good time after all."

"No comment," I replied emphatically. "I know you, and like you said—small towns. I'm not going to give you anything to share with the gossip mill."

"Fine, fine." Mason lifted both hands. "You two enjoy yourselves, hear? And if you need anything, just shout."

After Mason had wandered away, Peyton regarded me with one raised brow. "This is why I live in Savannah. Sounds like Burton isn't that different from the Cove, the way everyone knows everyone else's business."

"It's not that bad," I answered. "Folks here have good hearts, and they care about each other. I like that."

She nodded. "That's a good point. I'm acquainted with my neighbors in Savannah enough to wave to them or to say good morning, but I wouldn't know to bring them a casserole if there was a loss in the family or to watch their pets if they were taking a trip. After being back in the Cove for the weekend, I realized I might miss that a little."

One side of my mouth curled upwards. "Sounds like you're ready to move to another small town, sweetheart."

Peyton shook her head. "Don't push it, mister. It's too early to start talking like that."

I chuckled, but I noticed that she didn't entirely rule it out, which I decided to take as good news.

We decided to order burgers, and since Peyton couldn't decide between two variations, we each ordered one and split them along with a plate of cheese fries. Our conversation flowed easily, just as it had at the reunion. Peyton told me stories about the customers at her store, making me laugh when she mimicked some of the women who came in to buy her creams and bath salts.

"How did you end up selling lotions and potions, anyway?" I asked her. "I know you told me it started out as a side hustle, but I don't think you said how you actually got started."

"Oh, well, it was a fluke, really." She picked up a fry and nibbled on it. "When Charlie was little, I couldn't afford any of the girly stuff that I had when I was a teenager living at home. I didn't have a lot of time or energy, but I went to the library and looked up how to make my own bath oils and creams. I had a part-time job at a gift shop downtown at the time, and some of the girls who worked with me liked the scents I wore and asked me about them. I started making them as gifts, and then I sold a few to my co-workers. One of them had a sister-in-law who ran a local farmers' market, and she offered me a booth. I started selling my stuff there, ended up with a pretty substantial customer base . . . and then eventually, like I told you, I bought a space in town."

"What's your store called?" I knew Max had told me when he'd cyber-stalked Peyton, but I wanted to hear it from her.

She laughed. "I brainstormed that for a long time with Charlie and Peg. When I first had my booth at the farmers' market, I just called it Peyton's Potions. But we decided that the store had to have a more universally appealing name. Charlie was the one who came up with Savannah's Scents of Serenity."

"That's a cool name. I like it."

"Thanks, I do, too. It's worked out well for us." Peyton stopped as the server returned to clear our table, leaving the dessert menu for us to consider.

Peyton glanced at the menu and then looked up at me. "I don't think I could eat another bite."

I held her gaze. "We could always enjoy dessert at my house."

A smile ghosted across Peyton's face. "Let's get the check."

Since we'd met at the Road Block tonight, Peyton and I drove separately to my house. I spent most of the drive home alternating between stressing over how the evening would go and dying to get there so we could be together alone. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning who wasn't altogether positive he was going to get the one gift he'd been wanting for years.

I made it up the driveway first, so I was already out of the car and waiting on the front porch when Peyton eased her silver sedan to a halt and climbed out. She stood for one long moment, looking up at the house, the car door still open. Ducking back into the car, she emerged again, this time with a small black overnight bag.

She locked her car—a total city girl move that wasn't necessary here in Burton—and walked slowly toward the porch steps.

"Nash, this is—your house. It's gorgeous."

"Thanks." My hands in the pockets of my jeans, I rocked back on my heels. "I took my time to make it happen—lots of years of planning, finding the right architect and the perfect artisans, too. Reggie and I wanted this to be a sort of show piece to demonstrate what green development can look like when it's done right."

"I can't wait to see the inside." She climbed the steps toward me.

Taking her overnight bag, I held out one hand. "Come on, then. I can't wait to show you."

I'd already unlocked the front door, so now I nudged it open, stepping back so that Peyton could enter first. She stood in the expansive foyer, looking around, turning in a slow circle.

From this vantage point, we could see almost the entire first level. The open concept kitchen, breakfast nook, and dining room flowed easily into the great room with its massive fireplace taking up one wall.

"You have a fireplace?" Peyton glanced at me, one brow raised. "Is that a green option?"

"Bio-ethanol," I responded. "It's the best eco-friendly choice. The rest of the house is run on solar, with some wind-turbine input as well. You can't see it tonight—too dark—but I have a field behind the house with my solar receiving cells and another with windmills beyond that."

"This is a total dream house." Peyton wandered into the kitchen, exclaiming over the appliances, the counter space, the extra sink in the island. She peered out the window in the breakfast nook, but the sun had set, and it was hard to see anything.

"There's a deck out that door," I told her, gesturing to the far wall of the nook. "It's perfect for coffee in the spring and fall. It can be a little too warm this time of year, but I can still sit out there and enjoy a beer in the evenings."

She eyed me speculatively over her shoulder. "Maybe I can get a better look tomorrow morning."

"You most definitely can."

I led her around the rest of the first level, pointing out the powder room and my office, before we moved upstairs.

"I actually went a little overboard here with the guest bedrooms," I confessed. "I built this place while Max was in high school, so he only lived here for a few years, and then off and on during college breaks. But I still keep a room for him, all the same."

"I don't blame you for that." Peyton smiled. "We like the idea that our chicks can always come back to the nest, even it's only for a visit."

"True," I agreed. "I have three other bedrooms up here—they're furnished, but just barely. Each one has an ensuite bathroom. Reggie had the idea that if we were able to design our super green community, we could invite some investors or other interested visitors to see what we'd done, and they could stay here with me." I chuckled, shaking my head. "Reggie's always scheming."

"It's a good plan." Peyton peeked into the bedrooms, pausing the longest in the doorway of Max's room. "Oh, look, you still have his trophies and pictures from school in here! Does he love it?"

"He tolerates it," I replied. "Since I've been back from our reunion, I've been thinking of rechristening it the Glory Days suite."

Peyton laughed. "Great idea." She pulled Max's door shut and turned to face me. "Now I want to see your room."

I took her hand, knitting our fingers together. "Hmm, I don't know. I've never had an overnight guest sleep there. You'll be the first."

She reached up to touch my cheek. "We can't be each other's firsts in many ways, so if you don't mind, I'll take what I can get. I'd love to be the one to take your bedroom guest virginity." She giggled. "Okay, I think that metaphor went a little off course."

"I understand, and I am honored that you're my first." Still holding her hand, I led her down the hall to a door separated from the rest of the upstairs. I touched a panel just inside the doorway so that lights rose to a soft glow.

"Oh, my God, Nash." Peyton brought her fingertips to her mouth. "This room is a dream. It's got space without being cavernous . . . whoever your decorator was, their talent is insane. I'd stay here forever."

I dropped her bag onto the carpeted floor and pulled her against me. "Well, that's the plan, sweetheart."

She cocked her head, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Are you planning to hold me here?"

"No, I'd never take your freedom, Peyton." I cupped her cheek in my hand. "If you were bound in anyway, it would be of your own free will. I want to make you so happy that you want to stay."

"Nash." She whispered my name and rose up to kiss me, her lips igniting a blaze when they touched mine. I held her close, wrapping my arms around her so that our bodies meshed, not a fraction of space between us.

"I want to tell you something, but I've been thinking about it a long time, and I'm afraid it could come off . . . creepy. Or weird." I looked down at her speculatively. "Will you promise not to turn around and speed back to Savannah if I trust you with a truth?"

A faint line creased Peyton's brow. "Ummm, that lead-in is a little concerning, but I trust you. Lay it on me."

"Okay." I linked my hands behind her back, my eyes never leaving her face. "I did work with a very talented designer on the interior of the house. The first time we met, I had a hard time answering her questions about my style, my taste in furnishings. I'd been living in rentals with cast-offs from my mom and dad since I'd left college, and after Lena and I got married, we only bought the bare essentials, you know? We focused on what Max needed, or what he really wanted."

"That makes sense."

"Right." I exhaled. "So I'm talking to the designer, and she's getting so frustrated with me because I just keep shrugging and saying I don't know."

Peyton smiled. "I can only imagine."

"Yeah." I smirked. "I wasn't her favorite client at that moment. But then she asked me to imagine who I saw living in the space with me—not Max, who was about to take off for college, not Reggie, who saw this only as a business investment—but the person I hoped would actually love living here with me at some point in the future. I think she expected me to come up with some impossible dream woman, one who didn't really exist. But someone real, someone I knew, immediately sprang to mind . . . and that's who I was thinking of when we made all of the design decisions for my house."

"Nash." Peyton breathed my name.

"Yeah, so . . . I mean, of course, it had been a long time since I'd seen you, spoken with you, and I'm not delusional; I knew I couldn't predict who you had become or pretend to know what your dream house would have been even when I'd known you back in high school. But I made some guesses, and I imagined you twenty-some years older, and I remembered things you had liked back when I knew you. I guessed a lot." I spread out one hand to encompass the whole room. The entire house. "So . . . I really hope you love this place as much as I do, because in the end, I made it for you. Or at least, my vision of you."

She stepped away from me, and for one terrifying moment, I thought that I'd pushed too hard, said something I shouldn't have, or legitimately creeped her out. But then I saw the expression on her face, and everything within me fell into a place of peace.

"Nash, I don't know if this house is what I would have chosen at the time you designed it, but I can tell you that right now, the Peyton who is here today, now, loves all of it. I wouldn't change a thing. If I could dream up my perfect home, this would be it." She gave a quick huff of laughter, still looking around. "As a matter of fact, it's kind of crazy how much this room reminds me of my own, in Savannah. Mine isn't as large, and there are some differences, but the color scheme—these warm blue-greens alongside the cooler greys—this is identical to how I painted my room. My whole upstairs, actually." She turned back toward me, her smile broadening. "I love it. I adore the whole room."

"I'm glad." I swooped her into my arms. "But you know, all along, this place has been missing something, some crucial, undefinable but essential detail."

Peyton hooked her hands together behind my neck. "Oh, really? And what's that?"

"It's not a what, it's a who. And it's you." I kissed the tip of her nose. "My house finally feels complete. How crazy is that?"

"So very crazy," she agreed. "But keep talking. I like what you're saying."

"Well, then, I hope you're going to love this." Bending my knees, I caught her behind the knees, grinning at her shriek of surprise as I held her in my arms, close to my chest. I carried her to my bed and tumbled both of us onto the mattress, rolling until she lay under me, her bright eyes watching me.

"What are doing to me, Nash?" she murmured, bringing her hands up to run them over my chest. "What are we doing?"

I shifted until my lower body was between her legs, bracing myself over her. As if we'd laid like this forever, her legs circled my hips, pulling me closer.

"We're finding each other again, sweetheart," I replied, and then I kissed her until the rest of the world disappeared.