one
peyton
Tears rolled down my cheeks, happy tears. I rewound it, played the ending again. More tears. I loved Mr. Rochester. So contrary, so opinionated, so arrogant and yet under all of that was a heart of gold. I wanted a man like him. He was who he was; he didn’t put on a mask. What you saw was what you got. I’d dated enough men who only let me see the image they wanted me to see.
I’d read Jane Eyre countless times, watched the movie at least once a month. Both lost, both broken, but it wasn’t fireworks when they met, it wasn’t bluebirds and rainbows through to their happily ever after. It was life, the ups and the downs made easier because they had each other. I wanted another pair of shoes by the front door and a toothbrush sharing the holder. I wanted to bicker over picking up dirty laundry or what we’d have for dinner.
I wanted sex, the kind of sex I read about in books, a man who could take me up against the wall hard and fast or to bed where he loved me slowly and tenderly.
I wanted someone to hold my hand, for no other reason than because he wanted to feel mine against his. Someone who knew me inside and out and loved me because of it. I hadn’t met him yet. Didn’t have the best luck with men, but I liked to believe he was out there. Like me, looking for that last piece that made him whole.
Shutting off the television, I walked to the window. I loved Boston, loved the history, the nightlife, but I just had my thirty-second birthday; I wasn’t getting any younger. I didn’t want to find myself in twenty years in the same place. I needed to make a change, but that terrified me. What terrified me more, though, was always watching great love stories but never having one.
***
I placed the receiver down, instead of slamming it, and took a deep breath. I hated my job. I worked in insurance, customizing policies for small businesses. I thought I’d enjoy the interaction with my clients, but I was their insurance agent, a step up from their dentist, or in some cases, a step down.
My coworkers were okay, most kept to themselves putting in their eight hours before leaving to actually have a life, but there were a few who made a career of kissing management’s ass. One in particular was a thorn in my side. Jack Stone. He started five years after me, he was six years younger than me, but he walked around like he owned the place. For some reason, he thought I worked for him; it was annoying as hell. Made even more so when his only job was taking would-be clients to lunch to romance them, meals he dropped a small fortune of company money on because he was very particular about what he put into his body. He knew as much about insurance as I knew about brain surgery.
Turning in my chair, I stared out the window. I was growing more and more restless, needing to make a change because I wasn’t happy and hadn’t been for a long time. The phone rang pulling me from my thoughts and dragging me back to work.
On the way home from work, I stopped to pick something up for dinner. I was in the produce aisle when a couple caught my attention. She was picking out peppers; he stood at her side, so close they were touching. It was the expression on his face that caused an ache. He looked at her like she was the rising and setting of the sun. He whispered something to her, and she smiled, one so infectious I couldn’t help but feel it. He took the bag of peppers, twisted it up and put it in the cart. He grabbed her chin, drew her close and kissed her. Right there in the produce aisle, he kissed her like he’d die if he didn’t. I’d never been kissed like that. He moved to her side again and I saw the slight swell of her belly, the wedding rings. Longing slammed into me, catching a glimpse of a life I so wanted. I finished shopping, but that couple stayed in my thoughts for the rest of the night.
***
“Peyton, take care of this. I’m heading to lunch,” Jack demanded the following day as he dropped a file on my desk and started for the door without waiting for an answer. He called from over his shoulder when he added, “Oh, and there’s a meeting tomorrow. I need you there. You’re going to be heading up the Lassiter project.”
What a slimy bastard. “I don’t work for you.”
He looked back and grinned. “Soon you will.”
What the hell was he talking about? “Come again?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. In the meantime, get that done.”
My hands curled into fists even as my heart dropped. He couldn’t be serious. On the off chance he was, I went to see my boss.
Knocking on the doorjamb, tired hazel eyes lifted to me. “Hi, Peyton.”
“Hey, Tim. Jack just told me I was going to be working for him soon. Please tell me that isn’t true.”
Tim’s expression darkened. “Jack told you?” He shook his head, irritation and anger rolling over his features. “I intended to tell you myself in your one-on-one. The Lassiter project is huge. Jack is heading it up. We need you on it.”
“I work twice as hard and know four times what he does,” I was coming dangerously close to shouting.
“I know.” He studied me for a minute before he added, “You hate it here. Maybe this is the incentive you need. Peyton Morgan is better than this place. I’ve been saying that for a while. Make a change. Find something that makes you happy.”
***
That night, while eating Chinese takeout, my conversation with Tim rolled around in my head. I hated my job, would hate it even more working for Jack. If ever there was a time to move on, now was it. I stared at the picture on my computer, one that was bookmarked. The picture was my dream; a dream I kept to myself. I wanted to live in a small coastal town, wanted to set down roots in a place where everyone knew everyone. Maybe it was because I grew up in a big city, or maybe it was losing my parents, but I liked the idea of a community that was a family. I stumbled onto Ogg’s Point years ago, after graduating college. I had the funds to build my dream, but the practical side of me thought I needed a job. A year turned into another. My dream was put on hold because I was too busy working. Life was happening while I was making other plans.
Excitement rushed through me. Could I really do it? Leave my job? Move? Start over? Chase the dream?
I reached for my phone. Coda Longfellow wasn’t technically my brother, but he was where it mattered. After I lost my parents, I lived with Coda’s family. Dad and Mr. Longfellow had been friends and business partners, restaurateurs. I hadn’t been with them long; I was a teenager when my parents died, so it wasn’t like I’d found a new family, but I did get Coda. Like all siblings, it wasn’t always easy sailing, but I knew if I needed him or he needed me, we were there for one another. When Coda answered, I didn’t let him talk.
“Do you think I’m nuts if I quit my job and move to Ogg’s Point?”
“Where the hell is Ogg’s Point?” Coda asked.
“Maine, about four hours away.”
“What’s brought this on?”
“Jack is going to be my boss.”
He growled. Coda did not like Jack. “You quit yet?”
“No.”
“But you’re going to.”
“Yes.” I didn’t sound convincing.
“Peyton, he’s a dick. You’re already miserable.”
“I know.”
“Quit. Maybe I’ll move to Maine too. I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“Your life is in Boston.”
He didn’t reply because he knew that too, but it meant a lot that he even offered.
“I can’t talk; I have a seminar in a few, but I like where your thoughts are. Do it. Quit. You should have long before this.”
It’s why I called him. I needed the pep talk. “Thank you.”
“Burn the fucking bridge too,” he added before he hung up.
Laughing, I dropped my phone on the counter and finished eating my chicken and broccoli while pondering if I really had the guts to quit my job.
***
In the morning, I was still seriously thinking about quitting. Working out the logistics if I were to quit, I saved mostly everything I made and had a substantial inheritance from my parents. I could be without a job for a while and not hurt financially. I was only renting my condo, breaking the lease would be easy. Moving to Ogg’s Point, finding a cottage, one on the cliffs or maybe the beach was doable. I didn’t know what I’d do for a job, but I’d figure it out. My heart started to pound, not with fear but excitement. The idea was so very appealing.
It was lunchtime, so I searched Ogg’s Point for real estate. There were several places on the market, but as soon as I saw the one, I fell in love. It was falling apart, neglected, the pictures were kind of fuzzy and out of focus, but looking past the neglect, the bones of the house were amazing; cedar shakes, sprawling acreage on the water, cliffs no less. I could see it so easily. Home.
I was yanked from my thoughts when a shadow fell over my desk. “Surfing the internet on company time?”
Jack.
“I’m on my lunch hour.”
He leaned over my desk. “Is it done?”
He was referring to the folder that I put back on his desk as soon as he walked away yesterday. “I do have my own work.”
His expression hardened before he whispered, “Come tomorrow, my work is your work.”
Nothing like getting yanked from the dream and slammed back into reality, one that just so happened to suck. He was sitting on the edge of my desk now, playing with my things. As if he had a right to be there. Staring at his sleazy face, he wasn’t kidding. Come tomorrow, my workload would double, but my pay wouldn’t change. Worse still, this man would hold my career in his hands.
I looked at the house on the screen, the promise of a future that was so much sweeter than what was ahead for me here. Uncharted territory, certainly, but nothing good ever happened if you were too afraid to take a chance.
I stood and looked Jack right in the eyes. “I quit. I’m not even giving notice. You can take that file and shove it.”
His jaw dropped then he sputtered. It was my turn to grin. “Good luck with the Lassiter project. You’re going to need it.” I glanced over at Tim’s office; he was leaning against the doorjamb grinning.
“I’m outta here,” I called.
“Thatta girl,” he called back.
I had nothing personal on my desk, even after ten years. I walked out on that part of my life carrying only my purse and a shit-eating grin.
***
In the morning, I woke with a headache courtesy of the large quantities of wine I’d consumed. I dragged my ass to the bathroom, and then headed to the kitchen for coffee. I checked my email to see if Coda sent his itinerary for his flight home. The email from the realtor in Ogg’s Point caught my attention. Clicking the message, I dropped onto the stool behind me at the same time my jaw dropped. They say one shouldn’t shop online while intoxicated.
Wise words.
I bought the house. Holy shit, I bought a dilapidated building off the internet without having it inspected, hell, without even seeing it. I felt slightly sick; the hangover didn’t help. I started to pace, wondering if I could get out of it. It was only an agreement of sale, so I probably could. I reached for my phone, but there was something about the house that had my fingers refusing to dial. The possibilities under the broken surface. I dropped my phone on the table as I dropped back down onto my chair. It was impulsive, but maybe impulsive was exactly what I needed.