Page 32 of Keepsakes and Kismet

Peyton jerks her head up. “You don’t even know when it is.”

“When is it?”

“Next Saturday,” Romy answers.

“I can go,” I repeat, my eyes still locked on Peyton.

Even if I had other plans, they’d pale in comparison to spending more time with her.

Peyton fidgets with the stress ball on her desk. “You don’t know all the assignment details.”

“Do I have to do a Southern accent?” I ask.

A pale pink flush blooms in her cheeks. “No accent required. They want a younger couple to talk up their course and clubhouse, targeting the next-gen demographic. So, we’d have to, um, pretend to be together. For the job.”

I swallow. “I can go.”

Peyton’s breath catches. She looks as surprised as I feel. I don’t think either of us thought I’d agree. But all of the hesitation I normally experience when someone asks me to be somewhere that isn’t my townhouse is nowhere to be found. In its place is an underlying excitement I can’t seem to curb.

A few moments of charged silence linger between us before Romy breaks it.

“Perfect! We don’t usually do assignments where men are required. This’ll be a good first step. If you give me your number, I’ll reach out to you with more details tomorrow.”

I try not to let my investigative tendencies distract me from the conversation, though I can’t help but wonder why they don’t take on assignments like this. There isn’t a man shortage in Waterton, and I can’t imagine anyone would turn down working with Peyton. It feels like there’s more to the story there, but I’m in no hurry to figure it out. In fact, the more time it takes, the better.

Instead of giving Romy my number, I turn toward Peyton, propelled by an uncharacteristic burst of confidence. “You have your phone on you?”

“…yeah?” She opens her desk drawer.

“Do you want to add it, or me?”

Her nose scrunches. “Add…”

I fight a grin at the idea of Peyton finally being the one who’s confused.

“My number to your phone. You or me?”

I might’ve missed the small smile ghosting across her lips if I wasn’t watching so closely. And that expression of happiness, no matter how slight, ignites something inside my chest and turns my heartbeat up a notch.

She blinks. “Oh. Me, I guess.”

I rattle off my number while Romy lights a candle in the background.

My pocket buzzes just as Peyton’s sage green eyes meet mine.

“I’ll see you then, Callum.”

I nod. “See you then.”

On my way to the front, I casually glance at my screen. Sheer amusement pushes my cheeks up at the sight of Peyton’s text, which only contains a screenshot of my contact information saved in her phone:

OFFICER Callum Galvin

Toledo-Lucas County Health Department.

* * *

“Hey, Ma! Do you know where Dad’s old set of golf clubs is?”