Текст книги "Sometimes Moments"

Автор книги: Len Webster

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Marissa Reynolds: Expect my fiancé at around one.

Peyton placed her phone back on the desk and her chin in the palm of her hand. The hotel was quiet—too quiet for her liking. She wished her aunt hadn’t sent all the staff on holidays; it would have been nice to spend her days with someone to talk to. A day alone in the hotel and she realised that there wasn’t anything physical or structural that she wanted to change about The Spencer-Dayle. Last night, she’d decided that it was the services the hotel provided that she could make her own. She just needed to figure out what those services could be.

Picking up the Reynolds’ file, Peyton read over the wedding plan for the fourth time today. She’d spent last night analysing it. Making sure that she made notes on potential issues the fiancé would have, and highlighting any problems she had so they could discuss them together. This wedding would provide enough income to last through the year without any other booking. It was the big one.

The sound of the bell rang, alerted Peyton to someone’s presence in the hotel. She looked over at the gold clock to see that it had only just ticked 12:21 p.m. She heard footsteps and then it went quiet for a moment before she heard a muffled voice. Upon getting up from the worn, leather desk chair, Peyton walked towards her office door and adjusted her high-waist skirt. With a deep breath, she palmed the handle and opened the door.

Peyton stepped out of her office and closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry, but The Spencer-Dayle is closed due to owner chan—”

She stopped when she looked over at the person standing by the front desk. She felt all breath leave her and her mouth fell open. Her eyes were wide in surprise as she took him in. He stood there with a careful smile on his face and his hands in his dress pants pockets.

“Hello, Peyton,” he said.

Blinking didn’t take away the image of him standing before her. Not possible. He couldn’t.

She stayed quiet as his posture tensed. He used to be so carefree. But now, he was dressed up like he was about to seal a merger with a careful, practised smile on his face. No sincerity to it, there for the sake of it. Glances were exchanged, but Peyton refused to speak, purely due to the fact that words were failing her.

His eyes ran down her body before he looked away and took in the hotel. It was different from how he would have remembered it. Just before her parents’ deaths, they had renovated The Spencer-Dayle, adding the old with the new, balancing it out until it was perfect. Little things had stayed, but most things had changed. Peyton followed his line of gaze until it stopped at a photo of the lake. A photo he had taken. For a moment, she watched a regretful smile develop until he shook his head and looked back at her. His smile faded just as quickly as she had blinked.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

This time, he sounded like he meant it—which was a ridiculous concept for her to believe. He’d left. Not her. He could have come back but he hadn’t.

Peyton let out laugh of disbelief and shook her head, fighting the pain and heat that rose from her heart and up her throat. It was a pressure in her chest that she hadn’t felt in years. His eyebrows met and he looked offended by her reaction to him.

“I don’t know why you’re here, but if I were you, I’d leave. Right now,” Peyton warned before spinning on her heel and stalking back to her office door.

“Come on, Peyton. I’m early. I guess Marissa didn’t tell you that I’d be coming.”

Peyton stopped.

Marissa… The wedding…

The constricting pain of her heart, what it felt like, was something she had long forgotten. Her eyes prickled and she mentally cursed herself. Taking a deep breath in, she opened her office door. Once she’d closed it behind her, she leant against the door to stabilise her legs. Uncomfortable heat spread through her body. Emotions she hadn’t felt since before she’d turned eighteen. Since the moment she’d found out he was leaving.

Peyton let Marissa’s text message play through her mind.

Engaged.

For a moment, she was jealous. Marriage was a concept she could only be a stranger to. She watched weddings, but the thought of her own was something she couldn’t conjure. He was engaged, and that was her out. A line had now been drawn.

Peyton let that thought run loops around her head. This was her closure. He’d gotten what he’d wanted out of city life. Though her heart had always wanted a way back to him, it was her head that had told her to let go and move on. It had been easy to forget the pain of him when her parents had died. That pain had been worse. It had taken the life out of her. Only Graham and her aunt and uncle had brought her back to a world of living.

You’re acting unprofessional, Peyton. He means nothing in your life now.

With a firm nod, Peyton retrieved the file from her desk. She hadn’t connected the dots that it would be his wedding. But, then again, she only had Marissa Reynolds’ approved guest list, not the fiancé’s.

Peyton turned and walked to the door. She drew in another breath to calm her nerves and reminded herself that he was just a guest.

When she opened the door, she stepped out of her office to find him standing in front of the photograph of the lake. His eyes held a sad glance as he stared at it intently. It had been taken at the small hill just before the lake; the sky was purple and red and the water had sparkled. The memory of watching him take the photograph would always be burned in her memory. It was in that moment, when he’d been unaware that she was staring at him, that she had known she was in love with him.

She pushed that one good memory of them away and cleared her throat. The sad look remained in Callum’s eyes, but she ignored the way it pulled her in. The way he had always done so.

“Mr Reid, if you would like to accompany me around the hotel, I can show you how Marissa has planned out the wedding.” Peyton gestured to the door and held the file tight.

“Mr Reid? Is that how we are doing this?” he asked raising a brow at her.

The sad eyes were gone. Instead, they looked fascinated by her. She’d have to make sure that twinkle was extinguished. That same twinkle had been persuasive in her losing her virginity to him.

“Yes.”

“Well, then. If you wish, Miss Spencer.”

His voice had a warmth to it, and she didn’t like the way her name on his lips made her heart jump.

Settle down, you stupid vital organ. Remember, he broke you! Shattered you to the point where you thought you might as well be dead. Better not let me down.

Stepping out of the hotel, she guided him out the back and past the conservatory. Then she stopped just by the cleared grass and took out the detailed map of the wedding.

Placing the file under her arm, she held up the map.

“As you can see, Mr Reid, we’ll have the post in and the frames up in the next few weeks. Once stained—to the colour your fiancée has chosen—fairy lights will be wrapped around the rafters and lanterns will light the path and around the wooden slates. The dusk will provide enough light to see the lake as you have your first dance together.”

Saying it out loud, she realised just how beautiful their wedding would be. She looked out at the lake and let the sadness consume her chest.

Just this one time.

A laugh echoed behind her. She turned around to see him laughing and shaking his head.

“Is there a problem, Mr Reid?” Peyton asked, a little annoyed.

He let out another chuckle before composing himself and returning his hands in his pockets. Then he shrugged at her. “Of course not, Miss Spencer. The wedding sounds beautiful.”

That, they could both agree on.

After walking across the grass, she stopped at the end of the cliff and turned to face him. His grey eyes still held beauty to them, and she held the map tight between her fingers, crushing it.

“And the lake’s pier and bridge will be the place where the photos will be taken,” she said, pointing at both structures.

“I’m sure Marissa will like that.”

Peyton ignored the little pang of jealousy she felt and led him towards the guesthouses, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered. He’d grown up in this town. He knew it better than anyone else. But still, Peyton showed him around The Spencer-Dayle, ensuring that he wouldn’t change his mind when it came to the location of his wedding.

When she finished the tour, she led them back to the hotel lobby. She stood next to the front desk and stared at the amused grin on his face. Callum ran his hand through his hair before he sighed.

“So, Mr Reid?” Peyton said, cutting to the chase.

“Cut the ‘Mr Reid’ bullshit, Peyton. It’s Callum and you know it. I get it. I’m the last person you want to see—”

“You’re right about that,” Peyton said, interrupting him.

Callum flinched. “But you didn’t have to give me a tour of the hotel. I know it like I know your body, Peyton. And I know it very well.”

Peyton tensed. She didn’t need a reminder of the only man who had ever seen her naked and the only man who had ever explored her so intimately.

“May I remind you that you’re engaged, Mr Reid. And yes, I will continue to address you as Mr Reid, because you are still a client of mine.”

His burst of laughter had Peyton taking a step back. The anger within her flamed then coursed through her body. She wanted respect and he was not giving it to her. Peyton pushed the wedding file into Callum’s chest.

“You know what, Mr Reid. You and your fiancée can take your wedding elsewhere. I will not be laughed at. I am now the owner of The Spencer-Dayle and I will not have my hotel laughed at by you, your pretentious wife-to-be, and your friends.” Peyton took her hands off the file just as he held it from falling.

“I don’t think Marissa will like that,” he stated.

“Well, Mr Reid, I do believe that’s your problem, not mine. I will refund your deposit first thing tomorrow morning,” Peyton seethed, meeting his eyes and ensuring he understood the seriousness of the matter.

“No, Peyton, Marissa will not like that. I’m so—”

“I’d like you to leave my hotel, Mr Reid. And I would also like to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials. It is with regret that I turn away such a wedding. But I have morals and I have some self-respect. Please find another venue to host the wedding.” Peyton’s heart beat drastically against her chest. She was overreacting, but years of bottled-up emotions had broken free from the confines she’d thought were secure.

“What the fuck did you do, Callum?”

A loud voice had Peyton turning her head to see a man, just taller than Callum, at the door. His nostrils flared and his hands balled tightly.

“Oscar, I—”

“You had one job, man! Marissa is going to kill me!” Oscar stated through clenched teeth. He approached Peyton and breathed out, “I’m so sorry, Miss Spencer. Please reconsider. I need your hotel for my wedding. Please don’t let my stupid fuckhead of a friend deter you. I will pay triple. Please.”

The desperate tone in his voice had Peyton taking a step back.

“What?” She looked between them both, confused by the situation.

Oscar looked at her before he turned and glared at Callum. “Bloody hell, Callum! I asked you to just meet with her until I got here.”

“Me? Dude, she’s the one who thought I was marrying Marissa. I just thought it was funny,” Callum said. The corners of his lips tugged upwards, the cockiness radiated off him.

Oscar turned to Peyton, who was still stunned and baffled. “I’m sorry, Miss Spencer. It was my mistake to ask Callum to meet with you until I got back from my meeting. I’m Oscar Coulter and I’m Marissa’s fiancé. Please don’t let the actions of my idiot best man cancel our booking. I took one look and I love the hotel. Please let me marry the love of my life at your hotel.”

Relief flooded Peyton’s chest. Relief that confused her further. She had looked over the file plenty of times but had never come across Marissa’s fiancé’s name. She had believed it was her client’s desire for confidentiality that had prevented his name from being disclosed to her. Callum wasn’t engaged, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in a serious relationship. Peyton shook her head, clearing her thoughts. He was nothing to her.

Oscar’s head fell. “Marissa is going to kill me. Thanks a lot, Callum.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” Callum put his hand on Oscar’s shoulder, but Oscar shrugged it away.

“Forget it. I’ll just find somewhere else.” Oscar gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, Miss Spencer, for letting us see the hotel. I’m sorry Callum offended you. I assure you, I was very set on your hotel. Please keep the deposit as remuneration for the insult my friend here delivered you. Thank you for your time, Miss Spencer.”

Peyton watched as Oscar walked back to the entrance, Callum following him and apologising. “Wait!” she called after them both.

Oscar turned at her voice, the hope sparkling in his eyes. Callum, however, didn’t turn.

“I accept your apology, Mr Coulter. You may have your wedding here.”

At that, Callum spun around, apparently surprised that she reconsidered.

“Thank you so much, Miss Spencer. You have no idea how much this means to myself and my fiancée,” Oscar expressed with a grateful smile before taking Peyton’s hand and shaking it.

“Please, call me Peyton.” She smiled.

“Then call me Oscar.” He stepped back and breathed. His brown eyes flashed with relief and appreciation towards her.

“I’ll speak to your fiancée and ensure I have all the paperwork for your wedding in a month’s time. However, I do have a condition.”

Oscar nodded while Callum tensed. Peyton raised her chin and met eyes with Callum’s. Grey and beautiful. She hated his eye colour—hated everything about him. Mostly, she hated him for having broken her heart.

“Anything, Peyton. I’ll abide by anything you wish.”

The worried look on Callum’s face was one that Peyton found pleasure in. He feared her condition, and so he should.

“I’d like it if you ensure that your best man has as little interaction with me as possible. I do not want a repeat of his disrespect throughout this relationship you and Marissa have with me. Your best man is one who I cannot stand to be around. I have some pride, and if you wish to have your wedding here, then you will ensure you control him and his mouth.”

Callum raised an eyebrow and then grinned at Peyton.

“Consider it done! Move it, Callum!” Oscar said, pushing him out the door before mouthing, “Thank you,” to Peyton.

The moment the door shut, Peyton relaxed her body and rubbed her hand across her right cheek. In the space of an hour, she’d felt so many conflicting emotions that she had no idea what to think. All she knew was that she had to be careful. If he was anything like he had been when he was a teenager, she had to be on her toes. Callum Reid was a persistent bastard.

“I can’t believe you broke it,” Uncle John said.

Peyton leant against the steel bench of the kitchen and placed her palms on the cold top. Then she hung her head in shame. All the years she’d spent helping in the hotel and she had never done any of the hands-on jobs. Instead, she’d done the filing, booking, and anything that required technology. Working the industrial instruments of the kitchen was one of those things that Peyton hadn’t done.

“I was just...” Peyton sighed. “I don’t know what I was doing. I can’t even work a dishwasher!”

A laugh escaped her uncle’s lips as he started to adjust the buttons on the machine. “It’s all right, Peyton. I don’t think you broke it. I think you were just the first to discover the switch problem. Maybe there’s a faulty wire or something. How are you going to be able to run this place on your own without your aunt and me?”

Peyton let her head hang low. She had hardly had the job of owner for a week and she had already started to ruin the hotel.

“It would be right for you to break something.”

Her head snapped up at the kitchen door to see Jay shaking his head. She definitely didn’t want Jay’s help. She was meant to be independent, able to run and maintain her hotel on her own.

“What are you supposed to be, my knight in shining armour or something? Thanks, but no, thanks, Jay. I’d rather be in distress,” Peyton teased.

She was met with Jay’s amused grin.

Jay held up his toolbox and shook it. “Darling, I’m the only kind of knight you need in your life. Step aside, John. I’ll take a look.”

There was a muffle from her uncle before he stepped away. “Jayden, I think it may be just the switch and the wiring. You sure you don’t want me to call your father, see if he’s free? You run a busy pub, son.”

Peyton crossed her arms over her chest. It was always typical of her uncle to call everyone ‘son,’ and he was never one to call people by their nicknames. He said that it was because “a mother chose her child’s name for a reason. It is the name the child’s soul was blessed with.” Peyton was never one to argue with her uncle.

“I’m sure I’ve got this, John. You go back and make your missus a happy woman,” Jay charmed.

“All right. Well, then, I’m off. Call me if you need anything, Peyton,” her uncle said before he kissed her cheek and left her with Jay.

“I swear to God, if you fix this, Jay, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Peyton shook her head.

Jay let out a chuckle and placed his toolbox on the kitchen floor. “Actually, Peyton, it’s you who will never hear the end of it. Would you like to help me?”

Did he just bat his lashes at me?

“I broke the damn thing. Like you need my help. And don’t look at me like that.” Peyton uncrossed her arms and hugged her cardigan around her tighter. He made her nervous—though she had already been since Callum Reid had walked into her hotel.

“Like what?” Jay asked, taking out a screwdriver from the toolbox. He removed a screw from the front panel of the dishwasher and placed it on the steel bench. “Well?” he said over his shoulder.

Peyton watched his body movements as he pulled apart the dishwasher, fascinated by the way his shirt strained against his muscles. There would be no denying that she didn’t find Jay Preston attractive. Every girl did. But he was one of the rare ones who had stayed. The rest of the males had gotten out of Daylesford just before their last year of high school. Most of them had attended private schools in the city—made their résumés look impressive—before they’d attended university.

In such a small town, the pickings of a male companion were slim. Peyton valued Jay’s friendship and she’d never cross that line. In fact, she wouldn’t even consider dating anyone she knew from her town. Graham was also on her mental ‘do not date’ list. And Jay happened to be on the top of the list.

You tried the small-town-girl-and-small-town-boy love story. And in reality, it’s the worst kind of romance. Be a nun for the rest of your life. Your abstinence has prevented STDs and pregnancy. You just lack a little action…a little intimacy…a little pleas—

“I’m going to ignore that blush on your cheeks, Peyton,” Jay said, pulling her from her thoughts and waving the screwdriver in her direction.

She let out a cough. “What blush? I’m not blushing!” she exclaimed, fidgeting with her cardigan.

“Oh, yes, you are. I know a blush when I see one.” Jay grinned.

Peyton shot him a dirty look. “Fix my dishwasher.”

“How about, ‘Please, oh, sir knight. Fix thy dishwasher and release thy maiden’s duties from washing thy dishes’?” He dramatically held the screwdriver against his chest as he made Shakespeare roll in his grave. It was like he had sinned against literature. He didn’t even have to try.

“How about, ‘Please, oh, pub owner. Fix my dishwasher before I go to your pub and break yours with my skill of breaking appliances’?” Peyton said with a smirk.

Jay ignored her and removed the panel of the dishwasher, setting it on the floor. Peyton tried to peer over his shoulder and into the insides of the washer. Jay cranked his face, gave her a wink, and reached for the flashlight.

“Your uncle unplugged this, right?” Jay asked, his back turned to her.

“No, my uncle wanted you to get electrocuted. Of course, he unplugged it,” she sassed, untangling her arms and pushing off the bench she’d been leaning on.

He turned around and raised an eyebrow at her. “Got to love them sassy hotel owners.”

Peyton sang along to the song that played as she folded the laundry she’d taken out from the dryer. It was a song she knew very well. The artist, June Sinclair, had used the hotel as a writing retreat and would be returning to The Spencer-Dayle in the spring. She was from the city, and pressures from her recording company had had her in a funk. June was someone Peyton admired, and her upbeat music was what was favoured, but when Peyton had heard her acoustic—more country—version, she had fallen in love.

Now, June’s music was mixed, and Peyton had even received a mention in June’s thank-yous in the album’s booklet. Since she’d broken the hotel’s dishwasher earlier in the day, Peyton had made sure not to touch anything else in the hotel and opted to call it a day. She had gone home and looked at her plans—she had no plans on her ‘plans’ paper. So she’d procrastinated and ended up doing housework.

“I can’t help but blame myself for thinking we’d make it past all our mistakes,” she sang along with June’s voice on the speaker.

A loud knock on her front door had Peyton walking over to the speaker her iPod was plugged into and turning down the music.

Peyton stepped barefoot over the cool floorboards until she reached the front door. The stained-glass window panels decorated with Australian birds blocked the view of her visitor. Instead of looking through the peephole or asking who it was, she opened the door.

“Son of a bitch,” she said, annoyed by the visitor who stood on her ‘Spencer’s’ doormat.

“Such a warm welcome. Thank you, Peyton,” Callum said, sounding almost hurt.

Ignoring whether or not the way she had greeted him was the reason for his hurt tone, Peyton glanced over Callum Reid.

He was wearing dark-blue skinny jeans, and his unzipped hoodie exposed his tight, grey T-shirt. He’d always embraced a casual look. His dark brown—almost black—hair was tousled upwards. She remembered the times that she’d sat under the cherry blossom tree outside her window and run her fingers through it. She had well and truly loved him at seventeen. The heat and tightening of her chest returned from the memories.

Damn it, Peyton. Don’t feel. Do not feel anything towards him. Be numb. He broke your heart. Why do you keep forgetting that?

“What do you want?” Peyton asked roughly, wanting him off her property as quickly as possible.

She noticed him wince and felt awful. Though she sassed at Graham and Jay, she was never mean to people. But Callum was an exception. She was a bitter and angry person because of him…and other circumstances. Sometimes, she just hated the world and the cards it had given her. Stupid, unfair cards at that.

“I thought I’d let you know that I’ll be in town for a while,” he stated, his eyes never leaving hers.

That one sentence stopped her heart and breathing.

Don’t show any emotions. Don’t give him anything.

“Why?” Her hands clutched the door and she dug her fingernails into the wood.

“Wow, Peyton. Not blunt at all, I see. I deserve that,” he said, his body still tense.

If he was looking for a, “No, Callum, you don’t,” then he was kidding himself.

“Why are you here? I thought you went back to the city. And why are you on my doorstep? And get off my mat,” she said, looking down at the customised mat her mother had purchased shortly before her death. It was worn, the ‘E’ and the ‘R’ in ‘Spencer’ hardly able to be made out.

Peyton lifted her chin and scowled at him. Callum looked down at the mat before he took a step back. He wouldn’t get why his feet on her surname offended her. It was like another slap in the face for her. He hadn’t been there when she’d buried them and seen their last names on their graves. He was literally stepping all over the Spencer name.

When his face met hers, Callum drew out a sigh and placed both hands in his hoodie pockets. Peyton placed her left hand on her hip, waiting, even tempted to tap her foot.

“One, because I need to be here. Two, I did go back to the city, only to get my things. And three, I came here to talk to you,” Callum said, answering all of her questions.

Peyton tensed. Frustrated by his vague answers, she straightened her posture and removed her hand from her hip.

Then she cleared her throat. “One, you don’t need to be here. I told you to never return. Two, grab your things and go back to the city. And three, I don’t want to talk to you. Now get off my veranda and leave!”

Just as she was about to slam the door, Callum stepped forward and pushed it, squashing her attempt at ending their conversation.

“What the hell?” she shrieked.

“Listen to me, Peyton,” he panted. His nostrils flared as if he were trying to control his anger.

“Why should I?” she asked as she gave up the attempt at closing the front door. He was stronger than she was; it’d be no use.

“Because.”

“Because why, Callum? You never listened to me. You never gave me answers. So, why now?” The anger boiled in her as her throat tightened.

“I had my reasons, Peyton. I’m here now.” He pushed off the door and took a step back, ensuring that he didn’t stand on the mat.

For a moment, she appreciated where he stood. “Well, I don’t want you here or anywhere near me. I made that clear back at the hotel,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest. In her mind, it was the only way that she could protect herself from him.

“How long have you owned the hotel?” he asked with a sad tone to his voice, deflecting her previous statement.

“Why does it matter to you?”

The wind picked up, tossing his dark hair out of place. Callum’s face saddened as he placed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“It matters to me, Peyton.”

Peyton met his eyes. Grey and as beautiful as ever. She hated it. Her jaw tensed and she had to battle hard to ignore the heat that took over her chest. First loves were the worst kind—especially when they returned.

“It doesn’t matter to me, so leave me alone.”

When Callum took a step forward, Peyton raised her hand and placed it on his chest. The way her heartbeat picked up at the feel of it under her fingers made her mentally curse. His chest was far more solid than it had been when he was seventeen. Her breathing heaved as she tried to control the emotions that overtook her. Emotions that had been dormant for over four years.

He stilled under her touch, his eyes firmly staring at hers. The way her heart pained at all their memories together had her eyes stinging. She chanted to herself not to cry and pushed him back. Then she removed her hand from his chest and took a step onto the veranda.

“Fine. Legally, I’ve owned the hotel for almost four years, but my aunt and uncle have been running it until I graduated—not that you care. But I’ve officially been the owner for the last four days.”

Nope. No mention of my parents. Not a single care.

“So, it was like your first day when I showed up…”

“More or less,” she sighed. “Now, seriously, Callum. Why are you here? Why are you back in Daylesford?”

Callum sighed and pulled his hands out of his pockets. His eyes made it down to her lips, staring for a moment before he looked away. Then he turned around and glanced at the house across the street before he stared Peyton in the eyes.

“Peyton Olivia Spencer, I need your forgiveness. I’m here for redemption.”

The pain of her imploding heart seeped into her veins. “You self-righteous bastard. Get the fuck off my property!”