Chapter Fourteen

Peyton

"Peyton, do we have any more of the Be A Beach body butter in the storeroom?"

I looked over at Peg, my forehead knit together. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Peg blinked at me. "We have an online order that includes two small tubs of Be A Beach body butter. There's none on the shelf in the store, so I wanted to know if we have more in the back, or if you're planning to work on making another batch soon."

"Oh." My brain fog was real, and I knew it was annoying to Peg and everyone else around me. "Um, yeah, I'm pretty sure there should be at least two more in the storeroom. I'll check the inventory, though." I tapped a few keys on the laptop in front of me. "Since we're getting to the end of the season, I wasn't planning to do another batch."

"Okay, that sounds good." Peg looked at me expectantly.

"What?" I said, bewildered.

"You were going to check inventory for me," Peg reminded me, her voice patient.

"Oh. Yeah, sorry. I just got . . . distracted." I clicked on the mouse. "Yes, actually, there are three small tubs and one medium one. Need me to grab them?"

"No, it's fine. I've got it." Peg skirted around a few displays, pausing as she passed by me, the open cardboard box in her arms. "Peyton, I know I've asked you this over and over in the past couple of weeks, but are you all right? Is there something going on that I should know about?"

I held Peg's worried gaze, forcing myself to smile and widen my eyes. "I'm fine, Peg. Seriously. Everything's . . . fine. I've been a little preoccupied with the season change, just like I am twice every other year."

"No." Peg shook her head slowly. "It's more than that, and I'm not going to lie—I'm worried about you. So is Charlie."

I scowled. "You and Charlie have been talking about me?"

Peg lifted one shoulder. "Well, you won't talk to us, so what other choice do we have?"

"You're both making too much of this," I argued. "I told you, nothing is wrong."

"Is it your health?" she persisted. "Are you sick, Peyton? Because you can talk to me. We can figure it out."

"No, I'm the absolute picture of health. I had my annual check-up last week."

"I know, I saw it on the calendar. That's why I thought you might have gotten . . . worrying news."

"Nope, healthy as a horse." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Probably going to live to see a hundred."

"Well, shouldn't we all be so lucky." Peg shook her head. "All right. You know you can talk to me about anything, Peyton, don't you? After all this time we've been together, I've never known you to keep a secret. And I've never kept one from you, either."

My lip twitched, but I said nothing.

Peg sighed and continued past me into the back. Once she was out of sight, I wilted, slumping back onto my stool. She wasn't wrong; the last few weeks had been . . . difficult. I'd driven back to Savannah from my overnight in Burton in a rush of righteous indignation and near outrage.

Where in the hell did Nash get off, expecting me to just agree to give up everything in my life on the strength of a weekend high school reunion hook-up and one night together in Burton? What kind of fool would I be if I dropped my work, my family, and my home for a man I hardly knew? I thought of customers I'd known over the years, co-workers from back before I had my own business: there were always certain women who had totally bought into the belief that love made everything perfect, and that sacrificing their own dreams and goals on the altar of their lover's ambitions was as it should be.

Even back when I was a struggling young single mother, I had vowed that I would never be like them. I knew my priorities, and I was going to do whatever I could to make my dreams a reality.

And I had. Charlie had grown up knowing nothing but love and support. She had everything she could need, materially speaking, and she had excelled in school, thrived in college, and been the top of her class in law school. She was my shining star.

More than that, I'd managed to find a way to be my own boss and work for myself instead of making money for someone else. I loved both the freedom and responsibility of owning my store, and I wasn't going to drop that just because I had a second chance for real and abiding love.

Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden, and I rested my forehead on my hand, covering my eyes. At some point between leaving Burton—and Nash—and a few days ago, the air had leaked out of my anger, and I'd been weepy, sad, and forlorn. A small part of me that I kept trying to ignore was second-guessing what I'd done, and God help me, I'd come close to texting Nash too many times to count.

But each time, I resisted, reminding myself that I had taken care of myself just fine before, and I would do it again. I forced the memory of our night in his bedroom out of my mind, and I ignored the flashbacks of our long conversations and laughter. A long time ago, I'd made a choice for my daughter. I'd made a choice for myself. It was too late to change my mind.

My phone pinged, and I glanced at the screen, expecting a scolding text from Charlie as I imagined that Peg had messaged her about my continued assurance that everything was just fine. It wasn't the first time that my daughter and her grandmother had formed a united front against me, but it still annoyed me whenever it happened.

But the name on the screen didn't belong to my daughter. There was only a name and a link to a song on a music app.

Nash: LINK:An Innocent Man by Billy Joel

There wasn't anything else—no message, no explanation, and even after I'd waited for a few minutes, there was no follow-up text. Frowning, I hit the link and listened to the song.

"Oh, I love Billy Joel." Peg emerged from the back, smiling as she carried the order box to a table, adding a couple of small sample-sized products before she sealed it. "Music is a great idea. It always makes me feel better."

But I couldn't speak; my throat was tight, and my eyes were swimming with tears. I'd listened to this song countless times over the past forty years; like Peg, I loved Billy Joel, and since this particular album had come out when I was in middle school, right smack in the middle of a very angsty phase of life, I'd sung along loudly for the better part of my life.

The words had particular meaning now, especially since this was the first communication I'd had from Nash in almost two weeks. Listening to the lyrics both convicted and worried me: was he thinking that I was as defensive and stuck as the woman in the song? Was this Nash's way of telling me that I'd allowed my fear of being a fool—again—deprive me of a second chance at love?

But when I played the song again (much to Peg's consternation), I paid more attention to the words. It was sung from the point of view of the man—the innocent man—who was willing to wait for the scared and skittish woman to believe that he was different. In the song, he promised to do anything to restore her faith, to help keep her alive in the wake of her pain.

Once the last note had died away for a second time, I picked up my phone to respond to him, only to realize that I didn't know what to say. Should I just respond with a simple thank you, or should I tell him that I was sorry, or . . .?

My phone buzzed again before I could decide. It was another text from Nash, with another song link.

Nash: Link: Can't Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon

This time, my smile couldn't be contained. I tapped the link and closed my eyes, listening closely to the lyrics sung by the impossibly smooth voices of the Speedwagon. This song was easier to understand as the singer crooned about friendship that had grown stronger. I wondered if Nash had listened to this song back in high school, and even as I knew that I wouldn't change the way life had unfurled for either of us, I wished that he'd told me back then how he felt. Would I have been brave enough to accept him then? I wasn't sure, but a girl could hope.

"On a little bit of an eighties kick today, huh?" Peg finished smoothing on the address label of the last online order. "I like it. And I like even more that it's put a smile on your face."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "You worry too much."

"I don't like to see either of my girls unhappy." She picked up her packages. "I'm running these to the post office. Is there anything I can do for you while I'm out?"

"I think I'm good, thanks." I smiled. "I appreciate you taking care of the orders, Peg. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I don't know, either." She winked at me. "I've got my phone. Text if you need anything."

I nodded, but really, I was too busy listening to the song to pay much attention to Peg. After the door had closed behind her, I began to tidy the shelves and displays, using my feather duster on the wares. I realized that I was almost dancing between the tables, humming as I worked.

I didn't know what Nash was up to, but at least I knew that he hadn't given up on me. Not yet.

And I'd realized that I wasn't ready to give up on either of us.

Over the next week, Nash sent me song links at regular intervals. I began compiling the titles in a playlist on my music app so that I could listen to them while I drove or when I was alone in the store.

It didn't take long for me to discover the theme of his list. All of the lyrics spoke of the promise of love, the steadfast vows of a man to a woman who wasn't sure that she was ready to dive into a new relationship, and the assurance that love could beat any odds.

Nash: Link: Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

Nash: Link: (I'm Gonna Be) 500 Miles by The Proclaimers

Nash: Link: A Matter of Trust by Billy Joel

Five song links and three days in, I finally answered him, mostly so that he'd know I was receiving his messages and loving each one.

Peyton: Every song you send is making me cry in the best way. The words are beautiful. I keep listening to all of them on a loop. Thank you. 3 I was afraid you were going to give up on me. I'm still not sure about anything, Nash, but I know I don't want to lose you again.

Nash: Link: Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House

Peyton: Message received.

It was right after that interchange that I had the inspiration to reply to Nash with my own musical messages.

Peyton: Link: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds

Nash: Link: Against All Odds by Phil Collins

Peyton: Link: You're the Inspiration by Chicago 3

Nash: Link: This Night by Billy Joel

That last song link made my breath catch. An old memory that I hadn't thought of for decades sprang to mind: it was the fall of our junior year, and I was on the homecoming committee, helping to construct the floats that would drive down Beach Street before the big football game. It was late, and I was a little punchy and maybe just a little tipsy from the wine Emmy had snuck in, giggling with my girlfriends as we stuffed tiny bits of tissue paper into chicken wire formed in the shape of a shark.

I'd turned my head, and there in the doorway of the gym, Nash was standing, leaning on the doorjamb, watching us. Emboldened by either the hour or the wine, I'd gone over to talk with him.

I remembered suddenly being hyperaware of Nash as more than just a casual friend. He hadn't moved as I had approached, but the way his eyes had followed me, the heat and the thinly veiled desire, had sent a shiver down my spine.

I had kept moving until I was inches from him, forced to look up into his face.

"Did you come to help with the float?" I'd asked, my voice low and somehow intimate.

Nash shook his head. "I'm working with Mr. Evans on a physics project—something that will look good on my college applications. We went late tonight, and I heard voices as I was leaving . . ." He trailed off.

"You should come over. Twisting up tissue paper is so much fun." I was almost to the point of brushing my body across his. Almost, but not quite.

"I don't think so." He shook his head. "I don't want to hang out with any of them."

"Okay." I paused, and just then, the music that had been blaring from the boombox someone had brought changed from Van Halen to Billy Joel, singing This Night.

I had smiled up at Nash. "I love this one. It's my favorite Billy Joel song."

Nash's gaze had dipped to my mouth, and in reaction, my tongue darted out to swipe over my lips. His eyes flared.

"Want to dance with me?" I asked softly. "Like I said, it's my favorite."

I fully expected Nash to tell me no, to say that he needed to leave, but he didn't. Instead, he straightened up and opened his arms to me.

Easing closer to him, I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against his chest, both of us swaying gently to the music.

We didn't move out of the shadows. Our dance was more of an undulating embrace; Nash's hands stayed still on my back, and I focused only on the tripping beat of his heart under my ear.

When the song ended, I pulled back, gazing up into his face. He was watching me, but his eyes had shuttered, and I could no longer see the longing there.

"You need to get back to work. Everyone will be missing you. I should go." He'd released me and stepped away. "See you tomorrow."

We never mentioned that night again. The next day in class, Nash had been his typical friendly self, and I had tucked away the memory, knowing that examining it too closely would force me to make a difficult choice.

Nash hadn't said anything about our dance at the reunion or in Burton. I wondered if he had forgotten that night, and that the inclusion of the song in his text to me was a fluke, until my phone buzzed again.

Nash: Our first dance.

I was sitting in my living room, curled up in my favorite cozy chair, when that last text came through. I blinked back tears, one hand covering my mouth, as I looked at the words.

He remembered.

I was trying to come up with a suitable response—either a song or something else—when I heard the back door open and close and the sound of heels on my tile. Seconds later, Charlie sauntered into the sitting room.

"Hey, Momma, I hope you don't mind that I—" She stopped, staring down at me with a troubled expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I hurriedly dashed away the tears. "I'm fine. Everything's good."

"No, it isn't." She kicked off her heels—like mother, like daughter—and sank down to sit at my feet. "Seriously, Mom. What is going on? Gram and I have been worried about you. I know you say your health is fine, and nothing else is wrong, but this isn't you. You're not the person who goes around moping and distracted . . . and then I find you sitting alone, crying. I've been patient long enough. I want to know what the hell is going on, and I want to know now."

"Charlie." I laid my phone face-down on my lap. "I said I'm fine. I said it's nothing."

"But that is clearly not true." She was wearing her cross-examination face. "Why don't you want to be honest with me?"

"Charlotte Marguerite Rivers." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Do I respect your privacy? If I ask you a question, and you give me an answer, do I ever hound you to tell me more?"

She had the good grace to look uncomfortable. "No. You don't."

"Then don't you think you could have the courtesy to do the same for me?"

Charlie opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, I heard a quick knock at the front door followed by Peg's voice calling hello.

"We're in the sitting room, Gram!" Charlie called. "I found Mom crying here when I stopped by."

I rolled my eyes. "I was not crying. I had tears in my eyes because—well, it was for reasons that matter only to me, but I wasn't sobbing into my pillow." I glared at Charlie.

"Oh." Peg sat down on the end of the love seat. "Well, Charlie, if your mother says that she's all right, and she says that she doesn't want to talk about anything, we have to trust her, and respect her privacy."

Charlie glanced from her grandmother to me, her brow furrowed. "But she's acting all weird, and we don't know why, and what if she needs us?"

"Charlotte, she's a grown woman. You need to lay off."

Charlie scowled, reminding me of the face she used to make when she was a toddler. I knew it was frustrating that something in her world wasn't adding up; she hated anything that didn't make sense or that she couldn't understand. With a sigh, I sank back in my chair and stretched out my legs.

"All right." I tossed up my hands. "I'll tell you what's going on. But I want to lay a few ground rules before I do. I don't want either of you to push me to tell you more than I want. I don't want your opinions or your judgement. Am I clear?"

Peg smiled at me. "Of course, dear."

Charlie wasn't so sure. "But what if I have questions?"

I patted her shoulder. "Do you understand the meaning of ground rules, darling girl?"

"Fine." She sighed. "Go ahead."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "When I was at the reunion last month, I . . . met someone. Or rather, I renewed my acquaintance with someone I knew back in high school. He's a wonderful guy, and it turns out that he lives in Burton?—"

"That little town where your cousin's daughter lives?"

"Yes," I nodded. "Anyway, a couple of weekends ago, I drove to Burton to see—him."

"Wait." Charlie held up a hand. "You're not going to tell us his name."

"Well . . ." I hesitated. "I guess it doesn't matter. His name is Nash."

"Nash Sampson? That nice boy in your class who won the physics award?" Peg smiled. "I remember him. He was a cutie."

I was more than a little surprised that Peg remembered him. Nash and Ryan hadn't exactly run in the same crowds.

"So Mom, what happened with this—Nash? Did you—" She broke off. "I mean, did you have a good time?"

I quirked an eyebrow. "Nice save, sweetie. And yes, we had a very nice time. We had dinner at a cool spot outside town, and Nash's house is absolutely the most incredible one I've ever seen."

Both women were quiet, watching me expectantly. I shrugged.

"So there you go."

"No, that's not a there you go, Mom. You told us a tiny bit about the guy you met, about seeing him again—which I can't believe you didn't tell either of us that you were going away overnight—but none of that explains why you've been so . . . moody."

"I think I told you that I'm not going to say more than I want," I reminded my daughter. "Maybe that's all I want to share."

"I hope not, because now I'm crazy curious. I want to know more." Charlie bounced a little. "C'mon, Momma. Answer just a few questions."

I skewered her with a mock stern glare. "Maybe. I'll take your questions under consideration."

"Okay. How did you know this guy in high school? Were you friends?"

I paused. "Yes, we were friends. Nash was—we had a lot in common. Not many of the people I hung out with cared about academics, but Nash and I were in honor classes together. He was—he was always very nice to me, especially at a very difficult time."

Peg met my eyes, and I knew she had a pretty good idea what I meant. I remembered one weepy night late in my pregnancy when I'd sobbed out the story of Nash's sweet proposal, though I'd never used his name.

"Oh." Charlie studied me. "And what happened during your weekend in Burton that upset you so much?"

"Oh . . . it was nothing." I smoothed out the material of my jeans over my legs. "Nash didn't do anything. It was all me."

Peg tilted her head. "Do you want to tell us about it, Peyton?"

"Maybe." I clasped my hands. "I wouldn't have wanted to talk about it a week ago but . . . now it's different."

"Oooooh, different." Charlie hugged her legs to her chest. "Do tell, Momma."

"Well, we did have a great time in Burton. But then right before I left to come home, Nash talked about the future, and I . . . I kind of freaked out. I told him that I couldn't change my life just because he's in love with me."

Both women gaped at me. "He's in love with you?" squealed Charlie in a very un-Charlie-like way. "Why didn't you say that before? And why did you freak out?"

"Because I was scared," I confessed. "Because I don't know what will happen if I let myself believe that I can have a second chance."

"What did Nash say to that?" Peg asked.

"He was hurt. And probably a little mad at me. So then I just took off to come home, and I realized that I'd made a giant mistake. I thought I'd ruined everything with him."

"Which explains why you were so sad." Charlie reached up to take my hand. "I'm so sorry, Mom."

"I don't think we've heard the end of the story yet, Charlie." Peg rested her chin in her hands. "Because the last few days, your mother has been playing music, and smiling more, and paying a lot of attention to her phone."

"She was looking at her phone when I came in. When she was crying." Charlie glanced at me inquiringly. "What's that all about?"

I wasn't sure I wanted to share my text exchanges yet, but both Peg and Charlie were watching me eagerly. Usually, I would have kept it all to myself, but this time, I took a deep breath.

"I didn't hear anything from Nash, and then I got a text from him. It didn't say anything . . . it was just a link to song." I picked up my phone and scrolled back. "And then he sent another one. Each song was from when we were kids, and each one has special . . . meaning." I held the phone to my heart as though it was Nash himself. "Y'all, I know it's crazy, but I am so smitten."

"Oh, my gosh, that's romantic." Peg fanned herself. "I love it. It's like he's dedicating a whole bunch of songs to you on the radio. Just like we used to do in the old days."

"That's sweet, Momma." Charlie leaned back. "So when are you going to see him? And have you told him that you're ready to talk about what comes next for you two?"

"I don't know when I'll see him. We've only exchanged song links." I was not going to share Nash's message about our first dance. That was just for the two of us. "I guess I'm just waiting for him to make the next move."

"Well, I can't wait to see what that move is." Peg stood up and came over to hug me. "And Peyton, I'm so happy for you. No one deserves a chance at happiness more than you do."

I looked down at my daughter, still sitting by my feet, her expression thoughtful. "How about you, sweetie?" I nudged her leg with my foot. "Does the idea of your mother dating at her advanced age alarm you?"

Charlie didn't answer right away. She pursed her lips and cast her eyes upward. When she finally spoke, her voice was husky.

"When I was little, I used to wish you'd find someone to marry so I could have a dad. And then when I got older, like when I was in high school, I prayed you wouldn't meet anyone. The idea of you having someone you might love more than me terrified me."

I shook my head. "I had no idea."

"It didn't matter. You never dated, so eventually I stopped worrying. I know Gram and I were bugging you about making friends earlier this summer, but I was thinking, like, other women."

"Uh huh." I nodded. "I understand."

"But when I do think about you having someone to love—someone who will take care of you, who will make your life richer and brighter and fuller?" She smiled brightly. "I'm happy for you, Momma. Gram is right. No one deserves happiness more than you. I know our lives would change, but we're all strong women. We can adjust."

"Thank you. Both of you." I huffed out a laugh. "I can't believe I'm actually considering taking a chance with Nash, but . . . I am. I want my happily-ever-after."

"You're going to find it, Peyton. I'm sure of it." Peg picked up her purse. "Now how about we run down to the corner and grab some dinner? I don't know about you two, but getting good news gives me an appetite."

"That sounds good. I was actually coming over to see if Mom wanted to eat with me when I found her mooning over one of her text messages." Charlie smirked. "It's such a nice evening. We should eat outside."

"All right—just give me a minute to change my shoes."

There was an extra lightness in my step as I dashed upstairs to grab my sandals and brush my hair. Every text from Nash—every song he shared—gave me another fissure of excitement and certainty that this was what I wanted. I hadn't realized how empty my life had been until I'd found Nash again, and now the idea that I might have the chance to love him—to live the rest of my life with him—sparked more anticipation and joy than I would have ever thought possible.

I knew what I wanted now—who I needed. Who I loved.

All Nash had to do was say the word.

I was ready and waiting.