Page 55 of Keepsakes and Kismet

Dad reaches for the glass box on the side table and carefully puts the stamp inside. Pulling off his white gloves, he smiles at Peyton. “In any event, I’m glad to have met you. And I’m a man of my word, dear. You’re welcome to inspect my Inverted Jenny any time.”

I rub my temples, wishing this was all a simple nightmare. “Can I steal her away for a minute, Dad? I’m going to show her the garden.”

I face Peyton, suppressing my urge to grab her hand and yank her outside before Dad regales her with a dissertation on stamp color variations.

We step out onto the back patio, and Peyton bursts out laughing the second the screen door closes behind us. “Why does ‘you can inspect my Inverted Jenny stamp’ sound so kinky?”

I choke on my own spit. “For the love of God, please don’t say ‘kinky.’ Especially when referring to my father. Or stamps.”

“Why? You can’t handle it, Callum? Stamps are positively lickable.”

Running a hand through my hair, I exhale an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe we’re still talking about stamps, and Dad’s not even here.”

Peyton won’t stop, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s actually hot for stamps. “He also showed me a picture of one of the rarest stamps in the world—the ‘Alexandria Blue Boy’. Speaking of blue boys…”

I attempt to keep a straight face. “Are you making fun of my mental illness?”

Her lips compress, like she’s trying to hold back laughter. “Guilty.”

I bark out a laugh. “Wow, Peyton Moore. Wow.”

Taking a few steps into the backyard, we head toward the garden, Peyton following me closely. The evening breeze soothes my hot skin, and the smell of grass and earth perfumes the air. Peyton is distractingly gorgeous in an ivory colored sweaterdress and a matching hair bow. Her blonde locks are pulled into a half ponytail, and every time she turns her head, her cinnamon scent fills my senses.

“You know, if I knew it was your birthday, I would’ve brought a present,” she says.

“Eh, I’m not huge on birthdays. Or presents. Plus, in our family, you age out of gifts after your eighteenth birthday.”

“Speaking of, your family is great. They must really love you to plan all of this.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How much?”

She glances sideways at me. “How much what?”

“How much did they bribe you to say that?”

Peyton giggles. “I really do love your family.” Reaching into her pocket, she grabs something and holds it out. “It was fifty dollars. I was gonna tell you.”

Fire dances in her big, sage eyes, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Fucking Clover…”

“It was actually Clementine.”

“Mhm. And how much did Clover tack on to say it was Clementine?”

She presses her lips together and reaches into her pocket again. “Ten dollars.”

We both laugh, and the musical quality to hers is addicting. One thing I admire about Peyton is that she always seems on the cusp of laughter at any given moment. Like all she needs is the slightest provocation. When she’s with me, her laugh seems to ring happier. And I don’t think I’d mind spending my spare time chasing that sound.

She walks closer to me, her shoulder only a few inches from my arm. “So, about your sister bringing me here…”

I wince. “Yeah. I can’t imagine what you must’ve felt like when you found out that Cait’s my sister. I’m sorry if it was uncomfortable without me here. If it helps, I can’t recall a time in my life when I’ve been more embarrassed. And I’ve done plenty of embarrassing shit.”

Her mouth twists. “We’ll get back to the ‘embarrassing shit’ another time, because I’m definitely going to need some details, but—for the record—I don’t think you should feel embarrassed about this.”

I give her a wry smile. “Peyton. Come on.”

“You’re welcome to think it’s embarrassing, but I’d disagree.” She stops walking, and the wind blows her blonde hair forward, caressing her rosy cheeks. “Callum, I don’t have a single relative who would do something like this to make me feel extra loved on my birthday. That’s embarrassing.”