Junk Mail(49)

I nod in understanding before it registers that Gram can’t see me through the phone. “I appreciate your discretion, Gram. Are you free to meet up tomorrow to talk more?”

Her tone perks up. “I know just the place. I’ll send over the address. Wanna meet there first thing in the morning, sweetie?”

We finalize our plans, and once we’ve said our good-byes, I end the call and am instantly hit with the world’s biggest wave of relief.

Gram could have hung up on me. She could have lied and told me that they moved clear across the country. But instead, she told me what I’ve been desperate to hear since Claire planted the idea in my head earlier today.

Peyton isn’t seeing anyone else.

And it might be a long shot, but I just might still have a chance.

? ? ?

After the month I’ve had, I think I just about forgot what it feels like to get a good night’s sleep. But this morning, when my alarm buzzed me awake, I didn’t want to immediately suffocate myself with my pillow. And I have Gram to thank for that.

For the first time since Peyton and I stopped talking, I didn’t have to spend the whole night fighting off nightmares about losing her. Because last night, the glimmer of hope I got from talking with Gram was enough to push my anxiety aside and let me get some rest. I should bring that woman flowers for that alone.

After a quick shower, I snag a bagel for breakfast and head for my car to meet up with Gram. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I copy and paste the address she sent over last night into my GPS and hit GO, expecting a coffee shop or a diner to pop up on my screen.

Nope. Not even close.

The Painted Palette Nail Salon? That has to be a mistake. I must have only copied part of the address or something.

But after triple-checking Gram’s text, calling the store to make sure the maps app is up-to-date, and clarifying with Gram that she didn’t have a senior moment and sent me to the wrong spot, it’s clear that I didn’t make a typo. Nope. Instead, I made a date to get pampered with Peyton’s grandma.

With a sigh, I buckle up, both literally and emotionally. No time to change plans now. I have a nail appointment to make and a girl to win back.

It’s a quick drive to the salon, which turns out to be right down the street from Peyton and Gram’s house. When I walk in, a bell on the door rings, announcing my entrance. Like I needed any more introduction as a thirty-four-year-old man walking into a nail salon. Everyone’s eyes are immediately on me, so I roll back my shoulders, trying to look like this isn’t my first time setting foot in one of these places.

Gram is already here, standing in front of a wall of tiny, colorful bottles of polish, running one finger along the line of different shades of purple. She’s still got her walker, but I’m impressed by how little she’s relying on it. No wonder Peyton is so damn unstoppable. She learned from the best.

“Oh, good, you made it!” Gram gestures for me to come hug her, so I do. She has a mischievous gleam in her eye as she nods toward the nail-polish wall. “I hope your feet are ready for a pedi. What are you thinking? Maybe pink or light blue?”

I chuckle, noting the devilish smile on her lips. Joke’s on her, though. I may be a rookie in the pedicure department, but between the stress of the launch and the drama between Peyton and me, I’m due for a little R&R.

“I’m going to forgo the polish,” I say. “But if pedicures are on the agenda, I’ll try anything once.”

At Gram’s go-ahead, a pair of nail ladies from behind the counter head back to prepare what looks to be two very elaborate massage chairs with built-in tubs. Man, I must really be in for a treat.

Gram scoots her walker along the shiny white tile and toward the black leather lounge chairs in the waiting area. “Let’s sit and chat. They won’t be ready for us for a few more minutes.”

I offer an arm to help her sit down, but she makes a point of not taking it. Like I said, the woman is unstoppable.

As I snag the seat next to her, Gram’s eyes scan mine, taking in my expression of equal parts hope and anxiety.

“You miss her, don’t you.” A statement, not a question. She already knows the answer.

“Like crazy,” I mutter under my breath. “Can you please tell me how she’s doing?”

Gram sighs, rotating her wrist back and forth in the universal sign for so-so. “She was bad for a while. I think she’s a bit better now, but it’s hard to tell with how busy she’s been. I couldn’t tell you the last time that girl pulled her nose out of her work since you up and left.” Playfully, she elbows me in the ribs. “I guess she needs you around to balance out that work with a little play. Just like you promised me, right?”

A sad smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. I had almost forgotten about the bargain we struck back in that hotel lobby.

“I tried to keep up my end of our deal, Gram. I swear. But I guess it just complicated things. But now that I’m without her . . .” I trail off, scratching at my stubble as I try to choose my words.

Oh, to hell with it. We’ve made it this far. I gulp down the lump in my throat and speak my mind.

“I love your granddaughter. And I would do anything to win her back.”

Gram’s first response is shock, but her wide eyes and dropped jaw slowly shift into a warm smile. “Well then,” she says, fisting her hands and pressing them into her hips. “I guess we have some serious planning to do, don’t we?”