“Maybe it’s Uncle Reg’s influence, but yeah, I totally believe you can. I think the universe wants you to be together. So we just have to grab some positive vibes.”
I spread my hands. “I’m all ears. Lay your wisdom on me.”
Max looked thoughtful. “If Peyton hadn’t been dating the dickhead back in high school, what would you have done to win her over? To let her know that you loved her?”
I considered his question. “I had all kinds of plans and schemes, actually. I spent way too much time thinking about Peyton and how things could be different if it wasn’t for Ryan.”
“Do you remember any of them?”
“A few,” I answered slowly. “Most of them wouldn’t apply now—they were all high school-style gestures that went out of style after 1989.” I smiled a little, remembering. “I thought about calling in to her favorite radio station, the one I knew she listened to after school every day, and dedicating a different song that expressed how I felt about her every day for as long as it took. I even had a list of the songs I’d use.”
“Pops, that’s an awesome idea.” Max rubbed his hands together. “It’s perfect.”
“I don’t think so.” I shook my head. “I don’t even know what radio station Peyton listens to in Savannah, and when she listens.”
“Stop thinking like it’s 1989,” he returned, his grin huge. “You don’t need a radio station. You just need your music streaming app and the ability to text.”
Realization dawned on me. “Oh . . .” My old plan was rapidly reformulating in my brain. “Max, that’s genius.”
“Yeah, I know. I get it from my dad.” His eyes sparkled. “Do you still have that list from the old days, Pops?”
“No, I threw that away when I started college,” I admitted. “But that’s okay. I can make an even better one now.”
“That’s the spirit,” Max approved. He reached for his phone and opened a notes app. “Let’s get it started.”
“Max. Son.” I gripped his arm and gazed at him gratefully. “Thank you. Thanks for listening and understanding. It means a lot to me. I can’t imagine my world without you.”
He smiled, patting my hand. “I know, Pops. I know. Ditto for me.” He shot me a quick wink. “Now let’s get to work. You have a woman to woo.”
Damn right I did.
Chapter Fourteen
Peyton
“Peyton, do we have any more of theBe A Beachbody butter in the storeroom?”
I looked over at Peg, my forehead knit together. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Peg blinked at me. “We have an online order that includes two small tubs ofBe A Beachbody butter. There’s none on the shelf in the store, so I wanted to know if we have more in the back, or if you’re planning to work on making another batch soon.”
“Oh.” My brain fog was real, and I knew it was annoying to Peg and everyone else around me. “Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure there should be at least two more in the storeroom. I’ll check the inventory, though.” I tapped a few keys on the laptop in front of me. “Since we’re getting to the end of the season, I wasn’t planning to do another batch.”
“Okay, that sounds good.” Peg looked at me expectantly.
“What?” I said, bewildered.
“You were going to check inventory for me,” Peg reminded me, her voice patient.
“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I just got . . . distracted.” I clicked on the mouse. “Yes, actually, there are three small tubs and one medium one. Need me to grab them?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Peg skirted around a few displays, pausing as she passed by me, the open cardboard box in her arms. “Peyton, I know I’ve asked you this over and over in the past couple of weeks, but are you all right? Is there something going on that I should know about?”
I held Peg’s worried gaze, forcing myself to smile and widen my eyes. “I’m fine, Peg. Seriously. Everything’s . . . fine. I’ve been a little preoccupied with the season change, just like I am twice every other year.”
“No.” Peg shook her head slowly. “It’s more than that, and I’m not going to lie—I’m worried about you. So is Charlie.”
I scowled. “You and Charlie have been talking about me?”
