Page 47 of Keepsakes and Kismet

She hums, and relief flashes in her eyes. “I’m ready now.”

It takes her about thirty seconds to separate her hand from her thigh. When she does, her outstretched fingers move slowly. A wave of nerves washes over my body—not for myself, but for her. I really want this to go well. I haven’t felt so strongly about anything—anyone—in what feels like forever.

Before I can process it, Peyton’s palm is resting against my skin. My skin. She doesn’t flinch. Her hand is warm and soft, and it blankets mine in a way that’s world-changing. My heart beats rapidly, but my mind quiets. All I can think about is her touch.

After a few minutes, her fingers move. They gently clasp my wrist and turn my hand over before settling back on top, palm-to-palm. This time… this time, it feels like we’re holding hands.

And I think about how there are around ten thousand hands in Waterton, but Peyton Moore wants to hold mine.

My throat bobs, and I’m entirely focused on her. But her attention remains squarely on our hands. I feel a drop of warm water on the side of my wrist, and when Peyton lifts her chin, I realize it was a tear. Her eyes glisten, and another one slides down her cheek. Every muscle in my body wants to wipe it away, but I want her to count on my word, so I stay still.

I’m only calm on the surface, though. Underneath my skin, I’m buzzing with energy. Pride zips around my ribcage, and when it travels to my heart, it feels a lot like happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

“How are we feeling, Pey?” I ask gently.

“I’m feeling… I never thought I could feel… Thank you.” She removes her hand from mine and reaches up, maybe to swipe the tear, but it drips off her chin and onto her scarf before she has the chance to catch it.

I don’t want to overwhelm the moment, but I also don’t want to lose my courage. It sounds elementary, and I can’t name it yet, but something changed when we held hands. At least, it did for me.

“Can we do this again?” I ask.

“Hold hands?”

“Yeah. Can we do it again?”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Peyton lets out a watery laugh. “Yeah. I think we can hold hands again tomorrow.”

“Solid Grounds cafe at noon sound good to you?”

“That actually sounds great, Callum.”

I nod and get out of the truck, jogging to her side and opening her door.

She hops out. “I like that, by the way.”

“Like what?”

“Pey. When you called me Pey. I’ve never had a nickname before,” she whispers.

“I’ve never given someone a nickname before,” I muse.

When we reach the front of her building, I keep things simple. “I can’t wait to run into you again.”

“Same.” She smiles, closing the door behind her.

I know Zebra’s waiting for me back at home. There’s laundry to do, and I should really get to bed. But I’m too unfocused to start the truck.

How can I concentrate on anything else, when my skin still carries the sensation of her touch?

Chapter 11

Peyton

“Iwant to touch a man.”