Junk Mail(21)

He smiles coyly, leaning into the table. “Was that the best chocolate-dipped cone you’ve ever had, or what?”





Chapter Thirteen


Peyton



There are many words I would use to describe my grandmother. She’s nurturing, funny, and smart. She’s a long-standing bingo champion and the life of the party at the senior center. She’s my best friend. But if there’s one thing that Gram definitely is not, it’s subtle.

Since the moment Josh shook Gram’s hand at the hotel event, she’s been a woman obsessed. We can’t get through a meal or a commercial break without her bringing him up, every conversation revolving around him as though he were my own personal Prince Charming.

Tonight’s dinner conversation is no exception. Leave it to Gram to be talking about today’s episode of Wheel of Fortune and somehow manage to remind me how handsome Josh looks in a tux. As if I could forget.

“Speaking of Josh, you never told me about that meeting you and he had the other day.” Her voice is light and airy, but her innocent tone isn’t fooling me for a second.

“I’ve already told you about it twice, Gram.” I lift my bowl to my lips and drink the last of the broth. Soup again. Tonight, it’s alphabet. Nothing but gourmet cooking from Chef Peyton.

“Silly me, the old memory must be fading.” Gram knocks on her head with her knuckles and clucks her tongue, making a hollow sound. “Won’t you tell me one more time?”

I give Gram the most dramatic eye roll I can manage. “I’m not telling this story again,” I say, feigning an annoyed pout.

Truthfully, I don’t mind that she wants to talk about him so much. He’s kind of my favorite subject to think about right now too. I’m just worried I’ll slip up and mention a detail that I’d prefer my grandmother not know. Example A: the sexy selfie that started this mess in the first place. Or Exhibit B: the hottest make-out session of my life at the hotel.

But the woman has been starved for any sort of romantic gossip from me for years, so who could blame her for hanging on to the little bit she’s finally getting? If she knew what happened in the coat closet, I’d never hear the end of it. Gasoline, meet fire.

“All done with that?” I ask, pivoting the conversation with a nod toward Gram’s nearly empty soup bowl. She smiles and gently pushes it across the table to me, a shit-eating grin on her face as she glances down at the almost-empty bowl.

There are four tiny noodle letters left: J-O-S-H.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I give her a pointed stare, and she merely grins wider. The little rat.

After rinsing out the bowls and loading them into the dishwasher, I reach for my phone and fire off a text to the group chat with the girls.

Peyton: Can you guys meet at Speakeasy in 15?

Their response is almost immediate—two thumbs-up emojis from each of them. Thank God. I need advice from someone who doesn’t qualify for a senior discount.

It’s been a while since I’ve been the one calling for an emergency happy hour. Ever since Libby and Sabrina got engaged, last-minute Speakeasy trips have been nearly a weekly occurrence. There’s no better way to discuss the minutiae of wedding planning than over a round of martinis. Although I’m perpetually single, my bridesmaid résumé is impressive enough that I’ve become somewhat of a guru of rational, levelheaded wedding advice.

But tonight, I’m the one who needs guidance. And lots of it. So when I take my usual seat at our table across from Sabrina and Libby, I’m ready to spill. All I have to do is mention Josh’s name, and they’re all ears.

“I don’t know what to do, guys.” I sigh, propping my chin in my hands. “He’s so sweet. Beyond sweet. And funny. And smart. But maybe he’s just that way with all of his potential business partners, you know?”

Sabrina gives me a doubtful look. “Do you think he’s making out with all of his potential business partners? Not likely, girl. I think you should go for it. You’re single. He’s hot. Why not ask him out on an actual date?”

I let out a frustrated groan. “You sound like Gram. I swear, if she had things her way, Josh and I would be halfway down the aisle by now.”

“Yay! Then we could all plan our weddings together!” Libby squeals and claps her hands, which Sabrina puts a stop to before I even have a chance to roll my eyes.

“Slow your roll, Libby. They’re not even dating. They’re just working together, remember?”

“Pretty tough to get much work done from inside a coat closet,” Libby mutters under her breath before she takes a sip of wine. Tonight, we’ve opted to split a bottle, but by the end of the evening, I won’t be surprised if we finish off a second one.

“Once,” I remind Libby. “We’ve only kissed once.”

Although I’m not sure it’s fair to even call that a kiss. If it is, every other man on the planet is doing it wrong. It was hot and passionate, and oh my God, sexy. The little growly sound he made in his throat when I sucked on his tongue? The funny way he teased me when I begged him to stop being such a good kisser? And don’t even get me started on that orgasm. It’s just so easy to be with him. He’s fun and sexy.

“You’ve only kissed once so far,” she says, wagging a finger at me. “And from what I remember of your text synopsis, it was more than a kiss. It sounded like it was pretty damn earth-shattering, Peyton. Maybe he’s actually serious about you.”