Chapter Fifteen

Nash

"That should wrap us up for today." Reggie closed his laptop and smiled at me expectantly. "I'm very pleased, Nash. This project is moving along nicely. We should be able to break ground in early spring, and with some luck—which we will have, as the universe is on our side—we can cut the ribbon on phase one of the development by next autumn."

"I agree. Nice job, Reg. This is exciting." I shut my computer, too, and reached for my phone.

"Well, my friend, none of it would be possible if it wasn't for you. The Brady family selling us their land made this happen. I'm very grateful to you." He peered at me over the top of his glasses. "And also very grateful to your friend Peyton, who was so helpful in persuading Mr. Brady that he should agree to the sale."

"Hmmm." I pretended that I wasn't paying attention to Reggie's pointed observation.

"I would like to thank Peyton in person someday. Do we think that might be possible, Nash? And do we have a timeline for that possibility?"

I smirked. "You and Max, both trying to get me to spill the beans on my plans. Not going to work, brother. I know what I'm doing. When it's time for you to know, you will."

"But we helped you come up with this plan!" Reggie protested. "Max suggested the song link idea, and I have spent hours sending you lists of possible songs from the 1980s. We should know the next step—you might need our help again."

"Nope, this one is all me." I glanced at my watch. "Which reminds me that I need to get moving. I have to run home and get changed before—" I stopped talking and winked at Reggie. "Oops, almost said too much." I gave my brother-in-law a merry wave over my shoulder as I went out the door, whistling.

"You are evil, Nash Sampson!" I heard him call behind me. "Evil and secretive!"

Chuckling, I made my way to the car and climbed in to make the short drive to my house. All week, I had been putting together everything I needed for tonight, so I only needed to change my clothes and pick up my bag. Before I started the car to leave the driveway, I took out my phone and checked the screen.

The last text I had sent to Peyton was the one referencing our first dance. I had hoped like hell she'd remember that night, the magical moments when I'd held her close for the first time, breathing in her intriguing scent and touching her warm body as Billy Joel sang words that felt all too fitting. I had known that those few moments were stolen; she was still dating Ryan. She wasn't mine. But for as long as the song played, I could pretend that she belonged to me.

So when I had sent the song link the other day, it had been a risk. I'd added the note about our first dance, and a little while later, Peyton had sent a heart reaction. If she'd responded with a question mark, I would have been devastated.

Now, as I prepared for the last phase of Operation Second Chance, I sent her one last song link.

Nash: Link: Dancing in the Dark by Bruce Springsteen

I wanted her to remember the night I'd sung that song to her at karaoke, the same night we'd kissed for the first time. I wanted Peyton to remember that I'd stepped out of my comfort zone only for her.

But mostly, I wanted her to realize that all of us who trusted love and commitment and absurd concepts like love at first sight and happy endings were really just dancing in the dark. None of us knew what tomorrow would bring, or whether love would last, or what curves lay on the road ahead. But as long as I was dancing with Peyton, I didn't care if we were in the dark of midnight or the bright light of noon.

As long as it was Peyton and me. The way it always should have been.

It was a Friday night, but most of the traffic was going in the opposite direction from me, with folks leaving Savannah and heading to smaller towns in the surrounding countryside. I played our playlist as I drove, singing along, feeling lighter and happier than I had in weeks.

The closer I got to my destination, though, a small seed of worry began to grow. What if she thought this was ridiculous? What if she'd just been playing along with my texted songs . . . what if she thought it was just me being friendly? Did she understand the messages I was sending her in the lyrics? Was I about to make an utter fool of myself?

It struck me that these were the same type of concerns that Peyton had struggled with when we were together in Burton. That day, I'd asked her to be brave and take a leap with me. Now, tonight, I had to summon up the same brand of courage and prove to the girl I'd loved forever that I could be the man she loved—the man she trusted. The man who would ride to hell and back for her.

Or, the man who would risk humiliation just to demonstrate his love.

It was twilight when I pulled my car to the curb across the street from Peyton's house. It was a lovely, cozy home—from the outside, at least—in the middle of a quiet and sedate neighborhood. It was entirely possible that Peyton would kill me for making her the laughingstock of the street. But it was too late to turn back now.

Hoping no one in the neighborhood watch was peering out their window at me, I reached into the backseat to retrieve my long beige trench coat—a real find at the local thrift store—and the old-style boombox that I'd had to special order and pay extra to have it arrive quickly. I checked the cassette tape—something else that wasn't exactly easy to locate nowadays, and then, with one last deep breath, I climbed out of the car and trudged to the small side yard between Peyton's house and her next-door neighbor.

There was no other noise but evening birdsong when I pressed the PLAY button on the boombox, pumped up the volume, and lifted it high over my head.

It had occurred to me more than once how many ways this could end badly. It was possible that Peyton wasn't at home, that she was still at the store or that she had an evening engagement. Or she might be at her daughter's house, or with Peg. Even if she was home, she might have all the windows shut and the air conditioning running. Or one of her neighbors might call the cops and report a lunatic fifty-three-year old man dressed in a trench coat, blasting out an old song from the eighties.

But as I stood there, staring up at her house, begging the universe to have my back, I noticed lace curtains moving in the open upstairs windows. That was one problem I could cross off my list. And if her windows were open, there was a good chance that she was at home.

I didn't see anyone racing to tackle me to the ground yet; so far, so good.

Peter Gabriel's haunting voice rose on the gentle wind blowing around me. He was a full minute into the song, I figured, and my arms were starting to ache a little from holding up the heavy music player.

John Cusack had been a hell of a lot younger than me when he pulled this stunt back in 1989.

And then, I saw movement in the same window where the curtains were fluttering. At first, I thought I might be hallucinating, but no—it was definitely a woman with long, dark hair leaning out to look at me.

She stayed there for a long moment, and then abruptly, she vanished.

My heart began to pound, and my arms started to shake. Peter was moving toward the end of the song, and since this was 1989 tech I was holding, I'd have to stop and rewind the tape if I wanted to play it again. That felt like it would be awkward.

I heard the sound of a screen door slamming, and seconds later, Peyton came running out her back door. She sprinted toward me, stopping just a few feet away.

"Nash." Her voice reached my ears despite the fact that the song was still playing at full volume. "What are you doing?"

Peter wrapped up the song, and at last, I could set down the boombox, thanking all of the deities for that small favor. I wasn't altogether certain I could feel my hands anymore.

"What am I doing?" I took one step toward Peyton, spreading out my hands. "I'm doing anything I can to show you how much I love you. I'm doing whatever it takes to show you that I'm sorry for pushing you a few weeks ago, and for getting pissy when you needed to take a breath and catch up with me. I'm sending you song links to say what I can't, and I'm recreating an iconic scene from a movie we talked about thirty-five years ago, just to prove that no matter how long it takes, no matter how much compromise is required, I love you and am never going to stop." I held out one hand. "I've been in love with you for almost forty years now, sweetheart, when you figure that I fell for you on our first day in freshman year. Why would I ever stop loving you now?"

Peyton didn't move as I spoke. When I finished, she took a step closer, echoing my own move from moments before. She took my hand, and in unison, at the same time, without having to think about it at all, we took the last step that brought us together.

"Nash," she whispered, looking up at me. "You know, I finally saw this movie on television a few years ago. Crazy that it took me that long. But when I watched it, I thought of you and remembered you telling me how romantic that scene with the boombox was." Her lips curved into a smile. "But did you forget today that poor Lloyd failed miserably when he pulled this stunt with Diane?"

I frowned, thinking back on the movie, and then began to chuckle. "Dammit, you're right. He did strike out." I wrapped my arms around her, snugging her body to mine. "Please tell me you're not trying to say that I failed, too?"

"No." She shook her head, laughing. "Not at all. Nash—" She smoothed her palm over my face. "The songs you sent me—I loved them all. I listened to them over and over. Thank you."

"They spoke the words I needed to say more eloquently than I ever could," I admitted. "Each one of those songs was one I would have dedicated to you back in the day."

"And tonight . . ." Her eyes were bright. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before." She rested her forehead against mine, blinking back the tears that were already spilling down her cheeks. "I'm blown away by you, Nash. I'm captivated." She brushed a kiss over my lips. "But most of all, I'm yours. All yours, for as long as you'll have me."

My heart sang. I always thought that was a crazy metaphor, but damn if my heart wasn't singing in my chest along with the rest of my body and soul.

Peyton was mine, at last.

I kissed her then, praying that she could feel all the years I'd waited and hoped and despaired and loved. I kissed her with the utter abandon of the eighteen-year-old boy who'd offered his future to her and with the deep and abiding faithfulness of the man I was now, who knew the price of love and wouldn't hesitate to pay it over and over again.

When we could speak again, Peyton held on to my shoulders and looked up at me.

"I don't know if I'm a good bet, Nash." She smiled, running her hands down my arms over the trench coat that I still wore in homage to Lloyd. "I'm stubborn and headstrong, and I'm set in my ways. I'll probably drive you insane more than half the time. But if you'll have me, I'm yours. I can promise that I love you now, and if it's up to me, I'll love you for as long as I breathe."

"Peyton Rivers, I've loved you forever. I'm going to keep on loving you—" I grinned, thinking of the REO Speedwagon song I'd just accidentally quoted. "—with my body and soul, for all of eternity."

"Even if we're just dancing in the dark?" Peyton quipped, laughing. "I think that's when I began to fall the rest of the way in love with you—when you sang that song at karaoke down in the Cove."

I pulled her close again and whispered in her ear.

"We'll dance in the dark together all the way to our happily ever after, sweetheart. But no more karaoke for me. That was a one-time, special offer deal."

Peyton blinked up at me, and I could see mischief dancing in her beautiful green eyes.

"I guess we'll see about that, won't we?"

"No, we'll see that I'm not doing it again. Ever." I raised one eyebrow. "End of story."

"Even if I promised you a very special reward?" Peyton traced her fingertip down my jaw. She ran her tongue over her lips, and just like that, I was putty in her hands.

"Well," I began weakly. "I guess it might depend on exactly what that reward entailed, and?—"

With a burst of laughter, Peyton grabbed my head and tugged me down, kissing me with such heat and promise that every thought fled my brain except for one joy-filled declaration.

Mine.

Finally.