Junk Mail(45)

Gram raises a brow at me. “So you admit that you were falling for him, huh?”

My shoulders drop as I stare down at my syrupy plate. “Yeah. I really was.”

She cocks her head. “Was? Or still are?”

The question weighs on my heart heavier than I’d like to admit. “I don’t know.”

Gram chuckles, shaking her head. “It sounds like there’s a lot of things you don’t know. I think it might help if you talked to him, sweetie. Maybe you’d find out a thing or two.”

Duncan nods in agreement, then reaches over the table and grabs Gram’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Trust me. Talking things out is always the best way. When your Gram told me she spent that whole work thingamajig at the hotel dancing with that other fella, I was so jealous, I swear I turned green. But that’s because she didn’t have a chance to tell me why.”

Gram’s eyes crinkle as a soft smile spreads across her face. “Because if I didn’t stop hanging around Josh and Peyton, they never would’ve had any alone time that night. Plus, they were playing mine and Duncan’s song. I couldn’t miss that.”

“The point is,” Duncan says, “if you really care about a person, you need to let them tell their whole story. Because if you don’t, you may be losing them somewhere in the details.”

“And if you love somebody,” Gram adds, “there’s nothing in this world worth losing them for.”





Chapter Twenty-Four


Josh



It’s been a full week since I strolled into Speakeasy, expecting to join in on a legendary celebration. The Wish Upon a Gift launch was a total success, meaning I was finally free from that stupid deal I made with Brody.

My plan for the evening was foolproof: surprise Peyton at her favorite bar, meet her best friends, and then take her home with me for some much-deserved celebrating one-on-one. Instead, I was greeted with the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. So, yeah, just about the opposite of what I had in mind.

Even with a week to recover, my ego is still a little bruised from being rejected so completely by a woman I miss on the daily. Unfortunately, that’s the least of my worries. I’m torn the fuck apart over the thought that I obviously hurt her. But I had no choice, and I need to make her understand that.

I thought I was doing the right thing by backing away from the project. Brody would have evidence of how much I believed in Peyton’s product, Peyton would have the professional work environment that I couldn’t give her, and once the launch was over with, I thought we would pick things up where we left off. Boom. Perfect. Everyone wins.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy—hell, I missed her like crazy during those two weeks of silence. Not to mention my dick had to be reintroduced to my hand in a big, bad way. But it was worth it to see Peyton and her business succeed, and I was so sure she’d understand.

And maybe she will, if she ever answers my calls and gives me a chance to explain.

After putting in a few good hours of tossing and turning, I give the finger to the sheep I’ve been counting. I’m wide awake. I swear to God, I’ve been running on nothing but energy drinks and a fucking prayer since things with Peyton fell apart. And it’s starting to look like I won’t know what a REM cycle feels like again until I sort my shit out. It’s un-fucking-pleasant, to say the least.

Unplugging my phone from its place charging on my bedside table, I opt to endure tonight’s episode of insomnia by scrolling through my contacts, looking for anyone I can go to for advice. Brody sure as hell isn’t the one to ask about this situation. Even if he weren’t so involved, I need womanly advice, not bro advice.

When I get to the Cs in my contact list, one name sticks out to me. It’s so obvious. There’s only one person who saw Peyton and me together as a couple, not as business partners. My cousin Claire.

My thumb hovers over her name as I weigh my options. Claire is all the way upstate. Not exactly a quick trip to discuss my woman problems. But there’s no harm in shooting her a text to see if she’s free. Maybe she’ll get back to me in the morning.

My phone buzzes immediately. Looks like I won’t have to wait that long.

Claire is up with the baby, and although she agrees that I’m insane for wanting to drive all the way up there, she promises to be home and ready to listen if I have an emergency to talk out. That’s all I need to hear to hop in my car and head north.

Yeah, driving six hours for relationship advice seems a little insane. But then again, so does continuing to lose sleep over Peyton. And if anyone can help me make sense of this mess, it’s Claire.

Six and a half hours of hugging the left lane later, I’m back where I was a few weeks ago—standing on Claire’s doorstep, the doorbell chiming its usual tune. It makes me wish Peyton were standing here with me again.

To my surprise, there’s no herd of excited kiddos sprinting up to the door this time, though. Just Claire, gripping a mug of coffee and shaking her head, the slightest smile on her lips.

“You really did it. You drove all the way up here.” She sounds equal parts shocked and delighted. “Come on in. Whatever you need to talk about that was worth that drive, I think I need to be sitting down to hear it.”

Inside the house, it doesn’t take long for me to see why I didn’t get my usual stampede greeting at the door. Claire’s husband is home for the day, and he and the kids are lounging in front of the TV, watching some movie with talking animated cars. He gives me a wave from where he’s planted on the floor with little Connor in his lap, who is running a toy car along his dad’s thigh.