Page 18 of Tempt (Peachwood Falls #1)

M egan

I’ve never seen the sky this dark.

Water droplets fall to my shoulders, and I dab them quickly with my towel.

Whiffs of roses, peonies, and other intense florals dance through the air every time I move.

Kennedy showed me where she keeps her shampoos and soaps, kindly offering to let me use them.

The flower bomb body wash was her favorite, so she thought I’d love it too.

It felt like a peace treaty, an extended hand drowning in freesia. I couldn’t say no.

But by my budding headache, I wish I had.

The house is quiet—strangely, it’s too silent to be comfortable. The absence of sound gives my brain too much leeway to think. Unfortunately, thinking isn’t always good.

I toss the towel onto the chair and grab my phone off the bed.

“Hey, Meg,” Mom says after two rings. “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing up so late?”

“At the moment, I’m answering your call.”

I snort. “Don’t get an attitude with me, young lady. You’re still indebted to me over this whole thing.”

Mom stills. “Is everything going all right?”

“Yeah, it’s going just fine.” I mosey around the room, stopping again in front of the window. “It’s so quiet here.”

“The first time I visited Maggie, I could barely sleep. I kept waiting for a siren or a car alarm. How do people function if an emergency isn’t happening in the distance?”

I grin. “Same.”

“Besides being unable to sleep, how are you, sweetie?”

I turn away from the window and shuffle around, eventually sitting on the edge of the bed.

How are you, sweetie ? It’s such a loaded, complicated question from my mother.

My feet swing back and forth as I consider how to answer her.

On paper—and what she wants to hear—is that I’m fine.

She wants to know that Chase and I are getting along and that I’m safe.

She’d be thrilled to find out that Kennedy isn’t the foregone conclusion she made her out to be.

I think she and I can find a middle ground between a rebellious teenager and a pseudo-adult.

And while all that is true, it’s not all that’s true.

I’m also lost. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with my life or what my goals even are. How can I be thirty years old and unsettled? Is it normal to look in the mirror in the morning and recognize the face but not identify with the person looking back at you?

I stand, blowing out a breath. “I’m great. Chase has been very kind, and Kennedy is probably a handful, but I think we’ll figure it out.”

“That’s so great, Meg. I’ve been worrying about it all day, and you didn’t answer my text.”

“I know. I saw it come in, but …” My cheeks split into a wide smile.

“Kennedy got home from her friend’s and demanded that Chase show me the lake.

There’s this huge lake behind their house, and they have this paddle boat you can take out.

It’s propelled by your feet. So anyway, Kennedy wanted me to see it, so she and her dad took me down there. ”

“ Oh . A lake? That sounds fun.”

I laugh. “Well, it’s rained on and off all day, so it was chilly. And muddy . Oh, my gosh, Mom—you’ve never seen this much mud in your life.”

Mom laughs too.

“We mud-skated all the way home, which basically means we ice-skated on mud in boots,” I say, giggling at the memory. “I had mud in my eyebrows.”

“And here I was feeling lonely. But I’d take lonely all day over mud.”

Her comment catches me off guard. Usually , I’d take lonely over mud, too .

I hate that Mom’s relationships weren’t healthy. She deserves love and happiness. Not that she received those things from any of the men she’s entertained in the past, but every time she met another, I hoped he would be the one for her.

“It was fun,” I say, still thinking about my revelation. “I don’t know why because I just had to shower again to get the rest of the mud out of my scalp. But, yeah, it wasn’t terrible.”

“Sounds like it was more than not terrible .”

I stand and head to the dresser. Rifling through it, I find a pair of socks. “Have you heard from Maggie? Did she make it to Kate’s okay?”

“They’ll be there tomorrow. Lonnie insisted on driving, and he stops a lot to look at every touristy thing, which drives Maggie nuts.”

I chuckle.

“Well, honey, if all is good with you, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Mom says. “My sleeping meds are about to kick in, and I’ll be on the line snoring in ten minutes if we don’t hang up.”

“That’s fine. I was checking in with you.”

“I’m glad you did. I love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you, Mom. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

I end the call and set the phone on the bed. As I put on my socks, my stomach starts to rumble.

“There are leftovers in the fridge if you’re a leftover kind of person,” Chase says. “Help yourself.”

My mind whips to the image of Chase peeling off his muddy shirt this evening. It was a striptease—his abs were revealed like a slowly opened present … inch by delicious inch.

Or it would’ve been if Kennedy wasn’t a few feet away taking her boots off, and I wasn’t trying desperately to appear oblivious to the porn beside me.

I shiver at the reminder of the heat in Chase’s eyes—a lascivious glimmer peeking through his otherwise unaffected demeanor. The slight licking of his lips. The way his fingers drifted along my lower back as he walked around me leaving a flurry of goose bumps in their wake.

And then the smirk over his shoulder as he walked away.

My stomach growls again. It wants food this time too, I think.

My socked feet hit the hardwood, and I grab my phone. With a few quick taps, Calista’s name appears on the screen.

“What’s up, buttercup?” she asks. “How are things in Mayberry?”

I laugh. “Peachwood Falls, but they’re fine.”

“Peachwood Falls is such a pretty name. I imagine antique shops and waterfalls. Old men sitting on benches, chatting about the good ole days.”

“Well, that’s a lovely little vision you’ve dreamed up, but that’s not quite reality.”

“Right. You always downplay your adventures. You describe things like they’re average and then send me pictures of paradise. Every. Freaking. Time.”

Grinning, I remember the dollars on the ceiling of The Wet Whistle. “I’ll send you some pictures tonight. You’ll see what I mean. This place is your typical Midwestern small town, but it is kinda quirky.”

“I love me some quirk.”

“Quirk can be fun.”

“So,” she says, sighing. “What’s it like? Are you okay? I haven’t checked in every hour like you probably expected, but my flight from Albuquerque got delayed, and I just got home.”

I open my bedroom door and peer down the hallway. The night-light next to the bathroom glows a soft orange hue. Otherwise, there’s no sign of life.

“Hang on,” I whisper, tiptoeing to the stairs. I descend them as fast as I can in socks on wood and turn toward the kitchen. “Okay. I can talk now.”

“Where are you?”

“I was coming downstairs for food.”

“Imagine that.”

I laugh, flipping on the kitchen light. The brightness makes me wince, and I cover my eyes until my pupils adjust.

“Why were you whispering?” she asks, chewing something with gusto. “Can’t you talk in the house, or is that, like, a rule? You’re there to be seen, not heard?”

“Hardly. I’ve talked and laughed a lot today, as a matter of fact.”

My cheeks ache from the smile etched on my face.

Talking about Chase to Calista is a whole hell of a lot different than it was talking about him with my mother.

First of all, my mom would be thrilled if I told her that Chase and I fell madly in love and were getting married and having seventy babies.

Second, she’s too invested because Chase is Maggie’s son.

But third—that’s the part that keeps me from opening up too much.

Down deep, I know Mom blames herself for my singleness. Everything in her life reminds her of one of her various relationship disasters. Even me .

Whether she thinks I’ve learned to avoid similar situations by proxy or have been burned enough through her failed relationships, I don’t know. But the disappointment and regret in her eyes when she looks at me are always there.

I can’t share my dating life—or my life when it involves any man, for that matter—with her. It gets her hopes up that maybe she hasn’t screwed me up. And when that relationship, friendship, or situation ends, she’s devastated all over again.

“I like the sound of that,” Calista says. “Continue with details. Lots of them.”

“FaceTime me real quick. I’m going to heat chicken and rice from dinner.”

The screen buzzes. I grab the food from the refrigerator and accept the video. Calista’s freckled face smiles at me.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she says, making a kissing face at the phone. “You look radiant. Did you exfoliate?”

I burst out laughing. “Stop it.”

“Fine. I’ll keep my compliments to myself. Talk.”

“I’m going to set you here.” I prop the phone up against the toaster. “Can you see me?”

“Yup. Talk.”

I glance over my shoulder. “I need to keep my voice down because Chase and Kennedy are upstairs in bed. So don’t shriek or yell at your cat or anything, okay?”

“Take the fun out of it, but okay.”

I laugh, taking a plate out of the cabinet. “Things are going good. Chase and I have managed to find common ground. We haven’t argued today, so that’s a plus. And Kennedy sort of flew a white flag, so I think we’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t envy you, my friend. Teenage girls can be wicked.”

“Oh, I remember.” I spoon some food on the plate and pop it in the microwave. “But she’s not like that. She’s not mean. Or petty. She’s just …” A lot like me .

Calista rattles on about a story from high school that I’ve heard a thousand times. I nod and comment on the necessary parts, but my mind is elsewhere.

As the microwave goes around and around, my brain swirls with how much I fear Kennedy and I are the same. It’s a feeling I’ve never shared with anyone, mostly because I don’t think anyone will understand. And if anyone tries, I’m afraid they’ll dismiss me as dramatic.

“She died when Kennedy was four.”

My heart squeezes. I’m sorry, Kennedy .

The microwave beeps. I remove my plate and set it in front of the camera.

“I’m going to eat in front of you, okay?” I say, finding a fork.

“Won’t be the first time.”

I take my spot facing the phone and mix the food up to help cool it off.

“What are you wearing?” she asks, squinting at the screen. “Is that new?”

I step back and model my tank top. “No, it’s not new. I found it in the back of my closet while packing my shit up in California before moving to Mom’s. Cute, huh?”

“Adorable.”

“I’m not showing you the shorts, but they’re cute too,” I say, then blow on my food. “They’re red and silky. You know, like that expensive crap you wear to bed.”

She huffs. “You look like a sweet little nanny. I, however, go to bed looking like I’m ready to fuck your brains out in case the opportunity arises.”

“ Shh ,” I say, laughing.

“Oops. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I scoop up a bite and shove it in my mouth. “Let’s just keep things PG-13 while I’m here.”

She whines. “Fine. So tell me about Chase. He’s not weird? Creepy? He’s not an Odd Bob, is he? Lock your door while you sleep, just in case. You’re too hot for your own good.”

You think I’m hot ? I snort.

It occurs to me that I’ve never discussed what Chase looks like with Calista, aside from the grainy picture she saw of him online.

Initially, avoiding his looks in conversations was intentional.

My head was spinning. But since I’ve known who he was—Diesel Man—I haven’t brought it up.

Sure, it helped that she was in New Mexico for the weekend and busy with work, but I’ve managed to avoid the question every time we’ve interacted.

I won’t get away with that for the next month.

“Chase?” I ask, taking another bite. How do I downplay this but get the point across ? “He’s cute.”

“ Cute ?” Her voice is thick with curiosity. “Define cute.”

“You know what cute means. He’s … cute. Good bone structure.” Amazing body . “He has a great smile.” The hottest hands . “Nice … teeth.” Lips that I can imagine ravaging me.

Calista grins. “Nice teeth, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking at my food and avoiding her stare. “Nice teeth are important.”

She stifles a laugh. “ Megan .”

“What?”

“If you look at that and all you see is nice teeth, we have a problem.”

What ?

I stand up straight, my fork falling to the countertop. My heart bursts into production.

Noooooo . This can’t be happening …

Behind me is a shirtless and smirking Chase Marshall.