Chapter Two

Nash

"Reggie, you are out of your fucking mind. Seriously. What were you smoking this morning when you had this brainstorm?"

I glared at the man sitting across the table from me, while he in turn gazed at me with a placid smile.

"Nash, my friend, this was not my doing. It's all the work of the universe. It's serendipity." He steepled his fingers. "How long have we been working on this deal, trying to buy this piece of land?"

One side of my mouth curled, remembering. "A long time."

"Fifteen months, to be exact." Reggie nodded. "And this has enormous potential. We've discussed that, haven't we?"

I rolled my eyes. I'd known Reggie for a long time, been in business with him for nearly as long, and most of the time, I appreciated that he treated me like the younger brother he'd never had. But there were moments when his big brother attitude grated on my nerves. And this was one of them.

"Yes," I replied through gritted teeth. "I know. I know that the Penderfields will not sell their parcel of land unless we can also purchase the adjacent property that belongs to Jared Brady. Because of some stupid ancient agreement between the two families."

"Nash, you and I are in this business together because we both wish to honor not only the land we develop, but also the families who have lived and worked on that land for generations. If we did not respect the wishes of the Penderfields, we would be doing a disservice to ourselves and our principles."

I wanted to mutter Screw our principles, but I couldn't say the words even in anger. Despite my current frustration with my business partner, I really did believe in what he was saying. It was the cornerstone of our work together.

"All right, fine. I get that. But maybe if you talked to Jared or his sister one more time?—"

But Reggie was already shaking his head. "They won't speak with me anymore, Nash. They said they have made up their minds." He sighed and swiveled his chair to face the windows. "Normally, I would accept that this was how it was meant to be and suggest that we move on to another opportunity, but then I saw the email?—"

"My private email," I ground out. "That you had no business looking at, partner or no."

"It came to our main email address," Reggie countered. "Why wouldn't I look at it, and see that the universe had an answer for us?"

"Fucking universe," I muttered, unable to stop myself this time. "But you know what, Reggie? I don't care. I'm still not going. If you think it's such a great idea, you should do it. Go with my blessing."

"I can't go, and you know it." He wagged his head. "It has to be you, Nash, and you have to do this. There is no other option."

Before I could formulate another response, the office door opened, and a tall young man with jet black hair sauntered in, his usual smile brightening the room.

"Hey, Pops!" He made his way over to me, greeting me with a bear hug when I stood up. "Hey, Uncle Reg!" He turned to Reggie and repeated the gesture, then glanced from one of us to the other, his grin fading. "What's going on, guys?"

In the fifty-three years of my life, I'd made more than my share of crappy decisions and suffered a good many disappointments. But having this kid in my life—having him call me Pops—more than made up for everything else.

"Max." I slapped him on the back. "What're you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Had a little time to kill. Figured I'd stop by to say hello to my favorite male role models."

"Always good to see you, my favorite nephew." Reggie beamed. "Also, you can help me convince this stubborn father of yours to see things my way."

Max chuckled. "I make it a rule never to get involved in family disputes. Or business disputes. So I'm staying out of whatever you two are arguing about."

"But this is important," Reggie insisted. "Let me tell you what's going on, and then I am positive that you'll be on my side."

I opened my mouth to argue and then shut it just as quickly. "Go ahead. Tell him."

Reggie sat down again, leaning forward as he looked up at his nephew. "Do you remember the Penderfield deal?"

Max frowned. "Penderfield . . . oh, yeah, I do. The family with the land east of town. You guys want to develop it for sustainable housing, specifically for people who work in the Pooler or Savannah area, right?"

"Exactly!" Reggie rubbed his hands. "But the one obstacle is that the Penderfield family owns land that they never cultivated, land that is separate from the family farm—but that abuts property held by the Brady family. As far as I can tell, some ancestor of the Penderfields sold a parcel of that land to a Brady ancestor, with the understanding that in the future, neither one would sell any part of it without explicit permission from the other. You see, the Brady owned land has access to the road—a road that we need for our development. So if they don't sell us a small part and agree to the Penderfield sale, our project is sunk."

"Huh. That's a little weird, but yeah, whatever." Max shrugged. "So the Penderfields want to sell to you, right?"

"This is true," Reggie agreed. "And the Brady land—it has not been farmed in some years. The last Bradys who farmed had a son who moved south, didn't have the love for the land. His two children own the property, but they live out of state."

"Oh, right. And you reached out to them?—"

"And they said no," I finished. "We wrote a letter, and Jared Brady and his sister Alyssa said no, thanks, they'd rather not sell. End of story."

"So I thought." Reggie raised one finger. "But then this morning, I am looking at email, and there is something very interesting. My partner Nash has been invited to his high school class reunion down in Florida, in a place called the Cove, and who do I see is part of the reunion committee, the people in charge of the reunion? It is none other than Jared Brady."

"Holy shit, Pops." Max swung around to stare at me. "Seriously? You went to school with the dude who won't sell you the land?"

I sighed heavily. "I didn't realize it was the same guy. I mean, Jared Brady—who would think someone I graduated with owns land up here?"

"Oh, man." Max chortled, his eyes wide. "So what are you going to do, Pops?"

I glowered at him but said nothing.

"I told him this morning that this is the universe, giving us our chance. He must go to the reunion, talk to Jared, and convince him to change his mind about selling the land."

"Pops." Max dropped onto a chair near mine. "You gotta go."

I groaned. "Not you, too."

"No, no, not just because of the deal. I mean, that's definitely important, and you should talk to this Brady guy, but you should go to your reunion and see all your friends from back in the day."

I shook my head. "Nope. Not going to do that. I don't have anything to say to anyone back in the Cove. No one back there who I need to see."

Just like that, an image flashed before my mind's eye. I saw Peyton Rivers sitting next to me in English class, laughing at something I'd said. I saw her listening to me, her eyes warm and friendly. I saw her hunched over on the beach, weeping as I spoke earnestly to her, offering my heart, my future, my life.

"C'mon, Pops." Max leaned back, propping his sneaker-clad feet on another chair. "You haven't done anything fun in—well, hell, I can't remember when. Not since I was a kid, and you used to take me around to battlefields and parks and all." He held my gaze. "You've been working non-stop for a long time. Maybe it's time to take a little break. Go back to your roots and all that. Catch up with old friends."

I thought about high school and the Cove, my mouth twisting. "I don't have any old friends in Crystal Cove. I hated high school. I got through it, but barely. If it hadn't been for—" I broke off. "Anyway, I've never had any desire to go back. I don't have a nostalgic bone in my body."

"Wait a minute." Max cocked his head. "If it hadn't been for what? Or who?"

"Nothing. Nobody." I waved my hand. "Anyway, I'm not going."

"Yes, you are." Reggie's voice took on an unusual firmness. "Our business needs you to do this, Nash. You must go." He paused. "And perhaps your . . . Peyton, was it? She might be there, too. And you could find out what really happened all those years ago."

"Who's Peyton?" Max asked as I growled at my business partner.

"She is the girl your father loved from afar all through high school," Reggie replied, ignoring me. "At the last minute, he had a chance with her, or so he thought, but then she vanished before graduation, and he never saw her again."

"How did I never know this?" Max spread his hands. "Why didn't you tell me about her?"

"Don't feel bad," Reggie said, smirking at me. "Nash only told me one night when he was a little inebriated. We'd both had quite a few, and we shared about our lost loves. Our regrets."

"What I'd like to know is how you can remember all the details I spilled that night, and I can't recall anything you told me?"

"Because you were a little drunker than me." He shrugged. "And as an Austrian, I am a little better at holding my liquor."

Max grinned. "Well, being only half Austrian, I'm probably only half as good as Uncle Reg. But I still can't believe you never mentioned this girl, Pops. All the times I came to you with a broken heart, and you never shared your own experience. That's not like you."

"It was a long time ago, and to be honest, it's not a happy memory." I rubbed my forehead. "And it's a really good reason for me not to go to this reunion. The last thing I need to see is Peyton there with the dickhead she ended up marrying."

"Do you know she's married?" Max inquired.

I shrugged. "Not for sure, but it's a pretty high likelihood, given our last conversation and what happened right after that."

"That was thirty-five years ago. Even if she did end up with the dickhead, they probably didn't stay together. You should go. This could be your second chance with her."

I clenched my jaw. That same treasonous thought had been rolling around in my head since I'd seen the original email invitation for the reunion a month ago. I hadn't mentioned the reunion to anyone—certainly not to my son or Reggie—because I had no intention of going. Even thirty-five years later, the idea of seeing Peyton again was intriguing, but the prospect of seeing her married to Ryan Harvey was repugnant. I wasn't sure I could handle it.

Max was still talking, and I roused myself to pay attention. My son was the most optimistic, positive guy I'd ever met, despite the challenges he'd faced throughout his childhood. I loved his resiliency, but right now, I wasn't ready to jump on board the happiness train he was driving.

"Have you checked on social media, Pops? You could get your answers there pretty quick." He produced his phone, bending his head over the screen as he scrolled. "What's her full name? Peyton what?"

"Max, I appreciate it, but I really don't want to know if she's with—the dickhead. That's why I haven't looked. It's better to let myself believe than to find out otherwise."

"That's a shitty way of looking at things." Max frowned. "How about this? Just tell me her last name. I'll check on the socials—but I won't say anything unless it's good news."

I heaved a sigh. "I think I'll figure out that it's bad news when you don't tell me anything."

"C'mon, Pops. I really want to know now. Let me do this for you."

"You might as well tell the boy, Nash," interjected Reggie. "You know he is like a dog with a bone. He'll never stop pestering you."

"Fine." I stood up abruptly. "Her name was—is—Peyton Rivers. And now I'm getting back to work before we lose the whole morning to this ridiculous situation."

I stalked over to my standing desk, fired up my laptop, and began scrolling through emails and checking on today's to-do list from our project management software. My concentration was in shambles, though; I could barely hear myself think over the pounding of my heart as I waited to hear what Max might say—or not say.

And that pissed me the hell off. Because it had been thirty-five years. Thirty-five years. What was wrong with me that I wasn't over that woman yet? Was it the lingering effect of Peyton being, quite literally, the one who got away? Or was it that I was still hurt and angry about the way she'd left me in Crystal Cove? I wasn't quite sure. Maybe it didn't matter.

"Okay, I found her." Max's announcement interrupted my brooding, my fingers twitching on the keyboard. "And she's . . . huh. Well, she still goes by Peyton Rivers, so that means she didn't get married, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe she kept her name." That was unlikely, though. If she'd married Ryan back in 1989, I couldn't imagine that she wouldn't have changed her name. A tiny spark of hope ignited deep inside me.

"Huh. Look at this." Max tapped the screen of his phone. "She lives in Savannah, Pops. She owns a business there. It's called Scents of Serenity—and the first word is spelled, like, smells, you know? I guess it's some fancy bath stuff shop."

"Are you kidding me?" Peyton lived in Savannah, not even an hour away from where I lived and worked? What were the odds?

"Nope. Hold on, let me see . . . she's owned the business for close to fifteen years, but she only opened the storefront about ten years ago, it looks like." He was silent for a moment, his eyes moving as he read. "Oh, her business partner is a woman, in case you're wondering. Someone named Marguerite Harvey."

That little flame of hope suddenly sputtered and began to wane. "Harvey? That's her partner's last name?" I shook my head. "Harvey was also the dickhead's last name. She must be with him still. Maybe she does business under her maiden name, for whatever reason."

"She doesn't have any personal profiles anywhere, so I can't check her marital status. It's just her business pages, and a few mentions of her shop here and there." He glanced at me. "There's a contact email on her shop's website, if you're interested."

"No." I wasn't going to send Peyton a fucking email, not after all these years. I didn't want to know that she was married to Ryan, that they had gotten some screwed up version of happily ever after, while I was alone. I didn't need to get a reply that might be dripping with pity for the dude who'd been pining for her on and off over the course of three and half decades.

"I think your father is right," Reggie agreed, shocking the hell out of me. "He should not email this woman." He paused for a beat. "He should see her at the reunion, where they can talk in person and straighten out whatever happened thirty-five years ago. And then while he is there, he can also leverage his connection with Jared Brady into an agreement to sell us at least part of his land."

I wanted to protest. I wanted to declare firmly to my partner and my son that I was not going to the reunion, and this was the end of it. But at the same time, I knew that Reggie was right. This idea for building sustainable housing had the potential to be a turning point for our business, giving us the opportunity to go from successful to wildly profitable. Not only that, but it would help our reputation in the larger world of green development; we hoped to turn the Penderfield project into an example of what could be, a showcase for other developers to learn how to do the same.

If I was somehow able to convince Jared Brady to sell, I'd be remiss in ignoring that chance. And if in doing so, I also had the chance to find out once and for all what had happened to make Peyton forget my offer to her on that long-ago day, what had made her leave me without a word of explanation? Well, maybe it was finally time to put that particular ghost to rest. Maybe I could finally find some closure there.

So even though I couldn't believe I was hearing myself say it, I swallowed hard and gripped the edge of my desk.

"Fine. I'll go to the reunion."