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.”
Chapter Three
Peyton
Thirty-five years is a long time to be away from home.
As I drove slowly on the familiar roads leading into Crystal Cove, I mused that as much as I’d tried to forget my hometown, in the deep recesses of my head, the Cove never stopped beinghome. No matter how often I’d made the decision not to return, and despite my determination not to enjoy being here, I felt a rusty sort of thrill in my heart when I saw the sign at the edge of town:
