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“Can we talk? What time do you get off?”
After playing pool with Tash last night, she’d given me a piece of unsolicited advice. She’d grabbed my face in her hands and told me to fix whatever was broken.
It sounded so simple.
I knew it wasn’t.
But I also knew that I didn’t want to go through life like this. Alone. Bitter and brooding.
What Peyton and I shared was rare. It was ours. And I didn’t want to give it up. But I was so fucking scared of the fallout. Not for me. I didn’t give a shit about me. But for Peyton.
“I’m working a double. I don’t get off ’til late.” She shut down that line of conversation, barely looking at me. “Can I take your drink order?”
“I’ll take a thick chocolate shake please.”
“One thick chocolate shake coming right up.” She went to walk away, but my hand shot out, snagging her wrist. “Please,” I pleaded.
Peyton’s eyes dropped to where I was holding her, cold and detached. The message was clear, and I released her arm.
She was pissed. It was nothing more than I deserved, but I needed her to give me a chance to fix things. To explain.
Before I could get another word out though, she headed for the service counter. My leg bounced beneath the table as I tracked her around the diner. But she didn’t look at me. Not until she came back with my drink.
“Are you ready to order?”
“Peyton, come on. I know I—”
“Stop, just stop,” she seethed under her breath. “This is my job, Xander. The place where I work. You can’t just come in here and do this. It’s not fair.”
Guilt snaked down my spine. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll take the Cindy’s special with fries, please.” I handed her my menu, unable to resist brushing my fingers over hers again.
Peyton’s eyes fluttered closed as she sucked in a sharp breath.
“I just want to talk…”
She cut me with a scathing look. “I think you said enough last night.”
Peyton avoided me after that, letting the other server bring my food. I tried to get her attention… and failed miserably.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
But I had no other way of seeing her and I didn’t want the first time we saw each other to be Christmas Day at Jase’s.
After barely touching my food, I settled my check and left. She didn’t want to talk to me, fine. But I refused to give up that easily.
So I sat in my truck and waited.
Two hours later, I watched as Peyton slipped out of the diner and glanced up and down the street. I held my breath, half-wondering if she was waiting for someone to pick her up. But no one came. Without thinking, I turned off the engine that had been keeping me warm and climbed out of my truck.
“Peyton,” I called, aware of the risk, but it was late, the streets quiet.
She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing with disbelief. “Stalking isn’t a good look on you,” she snapped.
I held up my hands. “I just want to talk. Please?”
Just like before, a crack of thunder rumbled overhead as the sky lit up with forks of lightning.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
“It’s your call.” I inched back, tapping the side of my truck.
“Fine… fine. But you can take me straight back to the Ford’s.”
Even now, Peyton hesitated to call it home. And I hated that, hated that she felt unable to let herself put down roots there.
But I got it.
I fought a smirk at the way she stomped toward my truck and yanked open the door, slipping inside. I could deal with her attitude if it meant having a chance to at least talk to her.
But I couldn’t deal with the thought that I’d lost her, not when I’d only just found her.
