I will never live this down.
I wave them off and head for my bathroom.
“Don’t forget to wear something pretty, Mr. Alexander.”
I shut the door. No wonder he likes her. She’s just like him.
Thirty minutes later, I’m dressed and ready, wearing jeans and a Henley, my hair a little wet at the ends.
But am I truly ready?
Each session with Peyton is a new clue in an escape room, each mystery tougher than the last. Solve it and you can leave with your sanity intact. If you don’t, time runs out while you dissolve into a puddle of lust on the floor.
But it’s more than lust I feel for her.
So much more.
That’s the twist I can’t solve in this Peyton romance-novel-reenactment escape room.
How the hell am I going to handle being that close to her? What kind of superman human shield do I need to lock in place?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and remind myself that I’ve seen her in a bikini. I’ve seen pics of her in lingerie. Tonight I’m an actor, and I’m going to take home an Oscar.
On my way out, I find Barrett and Rachel huddled with his phone on the couch, taking selfies. Looks like they’re messing around with filters, something I will never understand the allure of.
“Yes. Send that one of us,” she says.
I clear my throat. “Hey. I’m going to head out. What are you two doing?”
“Just a group chat with the crew,” Rachel says. “Eli and Chloe, and Maggie and Jacob.”
“The ones you’re taking the cookie pretzels to?”
Barrett taps his nose. “You catch on fast, Einstein.”
I gesture to the door. “And on that note, I’m going to get out of here, which will sorely limit your targets for sarcasm, but I still wish you a good night.”
Barrett winks. “I wish you a good night with your homecoming date.” He nods at Rachel. “He’s taking Peyton to homecoming.”
I’m about to fire back with Well, are you taking Rachel? when I remember—I’m the parent. Or the closest thing he has to one.
Barrett points a finger at me, making a circle. “What is tonight’s test? Will she be testing how you smell? Because I can loan you my aftershave. It’s pretty sex-ay.”
Rachel grins. “Maybe you should do that thing in the movies where you run across a field of flowers and you catch her in your arms. Have you thought about that for a reenactment?”
I wave them off. “I’ll make sure to let her know the flower field was your idea.”
Barrett salutes me. “See you later. If you need cheesy pop music for that big moment, let us know.”
“We’ll make you a playlist. Maybe some Celine or Mariah,” Rachel calls out as I leave.
“I’m all good,” I say, then I get the hell out of the firing range of those two sarcasm monsters.
Their advice is good though. Not the field of flowers advice. But the bring something advice.
On the walk over, I pop into a bodega, grab a little gift, then use the cool fall air to clear my mind the rest of the way to her place.
This is an experiment.
Research.
That’s all.
But when I reach her apartment and she opens the door, all those reminders run, hop, skip, and jump away.
And it’s not because of how she looks, though she’s so damn pretty in a light-blue dress.
It’s what she says.
“Listen to this voicemail a customer left for me.” In one smooth move, she grabs my arm, tugs me inside, and hits play on her phone as the door closes.
Hi Peyton,
It’s Sandra here! Just wanted to leave a little message! I stopped by your store the other day and picked up some new pj’s. Ah, how I love my satin jammies—they’re the perfect way to end the day. You were so helpful, aiding me in selecting just the right set. You remind me of Mimi. She always had time for every customer, talking to them, getting to know them. She’d be so proud of you, carrying on her legacy. And I know she’d be proud of your blog too. I can see where you get your spirit from!
P.S. You should stock knee pads for staircase use! It makes it so much more enjoyable! Helps with rug burn too!
See you soon!
Peyton sighs happily, brings her hand to her chest, then smiles. “Is it weird that I’m happy that she thinks my Mimi would be proud of me for selling undies well?”
I smile, shaking my head, my heart warming at how radiant she is over a message like this. The simplest things make her shine. “No. You have a connection with your grandmother. And you don’t just do what you do to make a sale. You do it because it makes your customers feel better about themselves. You make them happy.”
She points at me, doing a dance with her fingers. “See? You get my love of underwear.”
Does she have any idea how much? “Yeah, I think I do.”
“Also, you look . . .” She stops, and her eyes travel up and down my frame. “You look great.”
The way she says it, it’s as if she’s stripped bare for me, like her voice holds the raw truth of her heart.
Three simple words. You look great.
They burrow into me, reminding me this is so much more than an experiment.
That’s the big problem.
I hold up the bag I picked up on the way, needing to get out of the line of lust-fire. “I stopped at a store. The first crop of clementines are in. Did you know you can sometimes peel one in a single go?” I ask, making small talk as I cross the few feet into her kitchen.
“Yes. I love it when that happens. It’s sort of like the satisfaction you get when you perfectly flip an egg or a pancake.”
“Exactly. Want to try?”
She’s right behind me in the kitchen, so close I can smell her body lotion. It’s cherry blossom, and I’m going to need another coat of armor. Maybe there’s a spare under the sink? In the hall closet?
Or possibly I can find it in the clementine trick. Yes, I’m sure my kitchen skills will solve this escape-room clue. Worth trying, at least.
“Not this second, because I have something for you,” she says, waylaying my plan, and I spin around, surprised.
She’s holding a gift bag with a silver bow tied around the handles. Because of course she is. Because that’s what she does.
My heart dares to thump harder, and I have got to get it under control. I take the bag, untie the bow, and peer inside.
I smile when I see what she’s gotten. “Forest green,” I say, running my finger over the soft fabric.
“Take it out. Hold it up.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” she says, stomping her foot.
“Fine, fine.” I tug the shirt from the bag, pretending to model it.
She nods approvingly. “Very you. Now you’re all set for homecoming. And the clementines will go perfectly with my drink choice for tonight.”
As I fold the shirt, I ask what’s on tap.
She swivels around, grabs a bottle of tequila, and waggles it. “Shots.”
Sounds like a good idea. Shots equal more armor.
She lines up two glasses, and I peel a clementine, all in one neat piece.
She whistles her appreciation as she pours the drinks, and we lift our glasses.