Page 30 of Tempt (Peachwood Falls #1)

M egan

The house is so quiet without anyone home.

I pitter-patter around the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee I have no business drinking in the afternoon. My sleep is interrupted enough by Chase or thoughts of Chase. I don’t need another element to get in the way of rest.

I grin. Not that I mind the recent disruptions .

My email pings. I sit at the table and pull up the message.

Dear Megan,

I’m circling back to our conversation from the end of last week. I sincerely hope you’ve given my offer consideration. The marketing department knows I’ve contacted you, and they’re just as excited about the prospect of having you back as I am.

Please feel free to ask questions and inquire about any hesitations. I’m here to assure you that Iyala is your home. We believe that, and we believe in you.

Best,

Dorothy Kaziwell

President

I sip my coffee and stare at her words. “If you believed in me, you wouldn’t have let me go.”

Instantly, I feel bad for thinking that way. They didn’t treat me poorly. They made a business decision. But why is the situation so different now ? If it was so easy to lose me, how could I be that important to them?

My mind drifts to California and what life would look like if I went back. The people. The noise. Sitting in traffic for hours to go five miles.

But it is money—good money. And with the position comes so many opportunities that most people would kill for.

I try to make myself excited about it. I remember the disappointment of being let go.

Even though I was ready to go back to Texas or to do something different wherever that was, it still felt like a loss.

They didn’t need me . And if they had changed their mind before I left, I probably would’ve stayed.

But now that I’m not there, now that I’m here , none of that is tempting.

Except I’m not here either. Not for much longer.

“Why does life have to be so damn hard?” I ask as rain begins to pelt the windows again.

I set my mug down and pick up my phone. I scroll through my texts from Chase. All week, he’s habitually sent me selfies throughout the day. In his truck. Next to a power pole. Beside a swiftly flowing creek. I return the gesture with pictures of myself on his bed, doing laundry, and making dinner.

The pictures might get more provocative when he leaves town tomorrow morning for a couple of days. I hope so, anyway.

I stare at the last picture he sent me and zoom in on his face. He’s exhausted and filthy, but a twinkle in his eye makes my heart squeeze. Beneath the picture is a text that he’ll be home late.

Home .

I awaken my computer and re-read Dorothy’s email. I’m here to assure you that Iyala is your home.

Out of all the words in Chase’s message and that email, those stick out.

It’s such a simple word—just four letters. Home . But there aren’t enough letters in the alphabet in the world to capture the meaning of it.

I stand, picking up my coffee and wrapping my hands around the mug.

“Where is my home?” I ask aloud.

I wander around the room as I wander around life, looking for an answer. Looking for a place where I belong.

Looking for my home .

I’ve always imagined that I would live in a place full of love. My life would be bursting at the seams with people, PTA conferences, and neighbors dropping by for no reason. It would be somewhere I didn’t wake up and feel like an impostor living in someone else’s life.

There wouldn’t be a fear that it all might end abruptly—that the rug might be pulled out from under me when I least expect it.

Like every time one of my mom’s marriages ended.

And when things at school seemed to be settling down, I thought I was making friends, only to wake up to our front yard with a million forks stuck in the ground.

Or when we moved to Dallas, I left behind everything I’d ever known.

When I lost my job.

I pick up my phone and call my mom. She answers on the third ring.

“Hey, honey. How are you? Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Hi, Mom. I’m good. Everyone is gone, and it’s nice and quiet, so I thought I would check in.” And I needed to hear your voice .

“Well, I don’t have a lot to report. The pain in my leg is getting better, thank goodness. I’ve watched every movie on the Hallmark Channel. I’m tired of ordering takeout, and I think I’ve gained twenty pounds just sitting here.”

I smile. “You’re tired of takeout?”

She laughs, and the sound soothes my soul.

“How are you liking Peachwood Falls?” she asks.

“Oh, it’s … fine.”

She hums. “How is Chase? Are you two getting along?”

“Yeah. We’re getting along swimmingly.”

“Okay, that sounds suspicious.”

I take a sip of my coffee. “I don’t know what to tell you. We’re managing just fine.”

“That’s good. Maggie called last night and said they’re having a ball at Kate’s. Apparently, Kate’s roommate moved out, so they’ve been patching, painting, and getting ready in case someone else moves in. You know how much they love a project.”

“I didn’t know they were project people, but I can see that.”

“Maggie bought the house they live in now because it needed so much work,” Mom says, chuckling.

“Lonnie wanted another place closer to town, but Maggie was desperate to get her hands dirty in that old farmhouse. She thinks you can’t make a house a home without putting in elbow grease. I don’t know that I agree.”

I mosey down the hallway, past the stairs, and into the living room. The wind picks up outside, and sheets of rain pour past the windows. I pick up a blanket off the couch and put it over the back where it belongs.

“I can see what she’s saying,” I say.

“You can?”

Shrugging, I sit on the ottoman—and grin. “Yeah. Think about it. Think about my apartment in LA. It was a box that I came to after work. I slept there. Ate there. But it was essentially the same box someone else occupied before I arrived. It wasn’t mine . It never felt like mine.”

She hums in agreement.

I take a deep breath. “Iyala called and offered me my job back.”

My statement is met with silence.

“I told them I wasn’t sure,” I say. “They asked me to email them my response, but I haven’t.”

“ Oh .”

“They called on Friday.”

“And it’s Wednesday, and you’re just telling me?”

I stand, prickled by her defensiveness.

“Are you going to go?” she asks.

Sighing, I close my eyes. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want to go back to California?”

“No,” I say cautiously. “I don’t. I mean, it’s a job, and I need a job . I can’t live with you forever.”

“Well, you could.”

Her response makes me grin. “I know I could, but I can’t. I don’t want to.”

“I’ll try not to take offense to that.” She laughs. “I understand what you’re saying, and you’re right. You shouldn’t want to live with your mom.”

My hand slides along the mantel over the fireplace as I view the framed pictures on the ledge. All the Marshalls are present, and most are with Kennedy. But my favorite one of all is Chase with his brothers.

I pick up the silver frame and inspect it closer.

Gavin and Luke flank Chase. A taller, darker, tattooed version of them stands on the other side of Gavin.

Someone must have told a joke seconds before the picture was snapped because all four are laughing.

Gavin points at Luke, Luke’s head is thrown back, and his eyes are squeezed shut.

Mallet is smirking as if he’s fighting his amusement.

And Chase? He’s smiling from ear to ear, displaying a pure happiness I’ve rarely seen since I met him.

And I love it. I love that look on his handsome face.

I set the picture down.

“Mom?”

“What, honey?”

“Is Dallas your home?”

“Well, I live here.”

I perch on the arm of the sofa. “But living there doesn’t mean it’s your home. Do you know what I mean?”

She hesitates, pulling in a breath as she considers my question.

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately,” I say. “How can I be thirty years old and still feel like a vagabond? Shouldn’t I be settled by now instead of avoiding serious relationships and only dating emotionally unavailable men?”

“That’s probably my fault.”

“I’m not bringing this up to make it your fault, Mom.”

“Oh, Megan, I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t set a very good example for you over the years.”

My insides still.

We don’t talk about this much, and we talk about it in depth even less.

I don’t want to make her feel bad for anything she’s done.

I’m sure she doesn’t spark a conversation about this because she doesn’t want me to feel inadequate about my choices.

So we tiptoe around the topic like we’re walking on ice, afraid it’ll crack and we’ll fall through.

Neither of us wants to freeze to death.

But maybe now is the time we address things.

“For what it’s worth,” I say softly, “I think you’ve set a great example. You’re strong and smart, and don’t let anything bring you down. Look at the life you made for us. Think about all the memories we have together.”

“I appreciate that more than you know. But I … I’m responsible for the way you feel about relationships.

You don’t want to let anyone in because you don’t want to wind up like me—old and alone with a string of men behind you.

So instead of settling down and having a family—beautiful babies that I know would be the sweetest thing for you, honey—you stay on this island where you feel safe.

” She sighs. “I can’t blame you for that. But I hate it.”

I stand, my chest shaking with trepidation. “Well, maybe … you know …” I glance around the room again. “If I could find the right person someday who would treat me well—someone I could trust not to take a sledgehammer to my life—maybe I could consider settling down with someone.”

“That’s my hope for you.”

That’s my hope for me too .

It scares me to admit it. My heart pounds, and my underarms sweat. Considering letting someone in my life in a way that matters is terrifying.

What if it starts a chain of men in and out of my life? What if they get close enough to hurt me like I’ve seen many men do to my mother in the past? What if I end up feeling like an impostor in my personal life?

I’ve never met anyone I implicitly trusted.

There’s never been a man who I looked at and believed wholeheartedly was a good man.

I haven’t met the country song version of a man who drives a truck and holds open doors.

Someone who takes me to Applebees on a date night and is just as happy with a beer on the back porch as anything after supper.

My throat burns.

I’ve never met anyone like that until recently.

Adrenaline trickles through my veins, and I have to move. I walk into the kitchen and pace the room as my head spins.

Am I losing my mind? Am I losing touch with reality?

What am I thinking?

I’ve known Chase for almost two weeks. Two. Weeks. How do I rationalize this?

The longer I think about it, the more confusing it gets. Yes, he’s a great guy. The sex is phenomenal. He’s fun to be around, which is a surprise.

But I’m leaving here in two weeks. His teenage daughter is his top priority—as she should be. I’m not even certain I want to be involved with a teenager full-time.

I cringe. What are you thinking, Megan? You aren’t staying here. You don’t have a role or the opportunity to have a role in Kennedy’s life long-term. Get yourself together.

“Dallas is my home because this is where I raised you,” Mom says. “I’m happy here. My friends are here. My life is here.” She pauses. “I’m safe here.”

I exhale harshly.

“You’ll find your home, Megan.”

“I’m starting to wonder if that’s true.”

“One day, you’ll wake up and realize that a piece of your heart resides outside your body.

You’ll feel a draw to that place no matter where you are in the world.

You’ll only feel whole and content when you’re there—and that will be your home.

That’s where things make sense. That’s where you’re meant to be. ”

I lean against the counter and glance around the kitchen. I can hear Kennedy’s laughter and Chase’s sighs as she prods him for a reaction. The smell of dinner wafts through the air.

And I smile. This place is a home.

“My doctor’s office is calling,” Mom says. “Call me later, okay?”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, Megan. Goodbye.”

The call ends. I’m holding the phone in the middle of the kitchen as a myriad of emotions rolls through me. The biggest feelings scare me because here, in this room—in this house, my life makes more sense than ever.

I look at my screen.

Chase: What are you doing?

Me: Figuring out dinner. You?

Chase: Trying not to punch my supervisor.

Me: Sounds like a solid plan.

Chase: I have another solid plan.

Me: Do you?

Chase: I want you to sleep with me tonight.

Me: What about Kennedy?

Chase: Once she’s in her room, she doesn’t come out. I’ll be gone from tomorrow morning until Friday night. I need to get enough of you to hold me over.

Me: You’re insatiable.

Chase: Are you complaining?

Me: Not even a little.

Chase: I should be home around seven.

Me: I’ll be here.

Chase: See you then.

Me: See you then.

I set the phone down and stare out the window. The rain continues to come down in buckets.

“You’ll only feel whole and content when you’re there—and that will be your home. That’s where things make sense. That’s where you’re meant to be.”

I march to the table and open my email. My fingers go to the keyboard.

Hi, Dorothy,

Thank you for your email.

While I appreciate you reaching out, I don’t believe Iyala is a good fit for me at this time. I didn’t take this decision lightly. There have been a few opportunities available to me recently that I would like to explore.

I wish you the very best.

Sincerely,

Megan Kramer

I hit send.

And hope I don’t regret it.