The Promise (Thunder Point #5)(39)

“Well, you have a PA now, let’s make time!” Then she turned to watch the lights on the water. In the quiet they could hear the occasional talking or laughing. There wasn’t much of a moon, but it lit a path along the water. It was so peaceful, watching the lights glide along the water accompanied by a teenager’s laugh. Peyton had turned toward the water, watching, and eventually her eyes adjusted away from the firelight, and she could vaguely make out the shapes on the paddleboards—two standing, one kneeling, one sitting. Then there was a splash—one standing, one kneeling, one sitting. And there was laughter, louder than before. She shivered at the thought of being in the water.

A jacket suddenly fell around her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Scott sitting just behind her. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He squeezed her arms. He took her cup of hot chocolate out of her hands and put it aside. Then he pulled her back so she was sitting in the V of his legs, held in his arms. She turned and looked up into his eyes, which had grown darker.

“Peyton, I’m not married and you’re not a lesbian. Think of the possibilities.”

A laugh burst out of her. “That is the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard!”

“I guess I’m not good at that sort of thing,” he said, but he held on to her.

Peyton thought he was adorable. And he was the genuine one. He didn’t have lines because he’d never needed them. He made her laugh and want to kiss him. She gave his cheek a little stroke with her fingertips. “Being slick isn’t the best thing, Scott. Or so I’ve come to learn.” She sat up again and found her cup. “Can I have a little more?”

* * *

If Peyton was tired, it was her own fault. She had stayed up talking on the beach with Scott till nearly one in the morning. Neither of them could seem to shut it off, this getting to know each other with the assistance of a little cocoa and a few more s’mores. There was something about the exchange of information in the quiet, in the dark, over the red-gold flames of a campfire, that was just irresistible. They talked about school, childhood experiences, friends, college, travels, everything. She knew he had proposed to his wife while they were stuck in a traffic jam on the Golden Gate bridge when he was only twenty. Serena had been visiting him at Stanford over spring break, and he’d begged her to finish her term at Washington State and then transfer to be with him while he finished pre-med. They were married before medical school, and Serena had worked to support them. He’d said that for all the talk about how much work marriage was supposed to be, Scott found that life was infinitely easier with a partner.

That was something Peyton had always believed must be true, or at least should be true. Even with eight kids, it seemed to have been the ideal for her parents.

When he’d finally convinced her it was time to get some sleep, he’d watched her walk across the beach to the lone vehicle parked in the marina lot. When she’d gotten to work the next morning, he was already there. After a busy morning Scott had asked, “Are you still planning to drive up to the farm today?”

“After work,” she’d said.

“You’ve got a couple of appointments after two today,” he’d said. “I’ll cover them. You get yourself some strong coffee and head out of here early, get the driving done before you start to fall asleep.”

“Don’t worry, I love to drive.”

“I’d love it, too, if I were driving your car,” he’d said with a laugh.

“It was my consolation prize to myself. A parting gift, if you will.”

And Scott, who now knew as much about her as she could comfortably share, had laughed and said, “I think I’d like to break up with Ted.”

“It came from me, a shallow and materialistic way to soothe my injured pride,” she’d corrected.

“Ah. That makes sense. Is it working?”

She’d grinned. “It helped at first,” she had replied, though the thing that was helping the most was her growing affection for her new boss. Was that a red flag she saw flapping in the breeze?

He’d told her to get going and to drive safely.

As she approached the Lacoumette farm, her spirits were rising. When she saw Adele sitting on the porch, waiting for her, her smile radiated. She jumped out of the car and raced up the porch steps to wrap her arms around her sister.

“You feel good,” Peyton said. “I think the baby kicked.”

“She won’t stop kicking for five minutes,” Adele said with a laugh. “I got us some tea. Don’t go inside yet. Mama is in the last stages of dinner. It’s crazy in the kitchen. I want to know how you’re doing.”

Peyton was happy to sit on the porch awhile. “Who’s coming to dinner tonight?”

“Not too many,” Adele said. “George, Lori and the kids, Matt’s here but he won’t stick around long after dinner, but tomorrow night—look out. There will be a bunch of Lacoumettes. How are you? Since you heard from Amy about Ted?”

“Better than when I called you. You haven’t told Mama about Ted and his nurse, have you?”

“Are you kidding me? And have her go to San Francisco and run through the Basque boarding houses in search of a proper husband for you? How catastrophic would that be?” Peyton knew that back in the old days, Basque men trolled the boarding houses where young single immigrant girls often worked. Some men traveled all the way back to their old village to pick out a bride. Arranged marriages and the use of matchmakers was not unheard of, even today. “Mama is upset about you and Ted, however,” Adele went on. “She’s happy it didn’t work out but angry at the way he treated you, the way his bratty kids treated you. She’s worried about you.”