Peyton double-checked the address, then drove the few miles across town to Luke’s house, located only a few blocks away from where the Barlow boys had grown up. She parked her car, strode up the walk, then pressed the doorbell, reminding herself to try to be calm, logical. To keep emotion out of it.
Uh, yeah, considering the riot in her gut right now, she had a better chance of being hit by a snowstorm.
The bell chimed, a dog barked, and then...nothing. Peyton waited in the hot North Carolina air, while the cicadas buzzed in the deep woods to the east side of the house.
Luke lived in a modest bungalow, which surprised her. A house smacked of dependability. A mortgage or a lease. Permanence. She would have never thought he would buy a house, much less live in one.
An old wooden swing much like the one Grandma Lucy had hung for Peyton when she was a little girl drifted in the breeze on ropes hanging from an oak tree just down the hill sloping away from the driveway. The painted white mailbox hoisted a bright red mail-to-take flag, while an audience of pansies waved in the shade underneath. The whole property seemed to beckon her back in time, to the days when life had been unfettered, uncomplicated.
She rang the bell again. Waited some more. The dog kept barking, but there was no movement from inside. A restored Mustang convertible sat in the driveway, like some throwback to the ’80s. Peyton shifted her weight, then pressed the bell one more time. If there was any justice in the world, Luke would have gotten bald and fat in the years since she’d last seen him.
The dog barked again, then shushed. A clatter of footsteps, and a moment later, the door was opened.
Luke Barlow stood on the other side, looking sleep-rumpled and scruffy with a five o’clock shadow dusting his chin. Her gut tensed, her breath caught. Definitely not bald or fat. At all. If anything, he looked better than he did when he was in high school, damn him.
“What can I do for you?” he said.
There wasn’t a hint of recognition in his eyes. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed. After all, she’d grown up a lot in the past five years, ditched the nerdy glasses and khaki pants for contacts and skirts. She’d let her hair grow long, made workouts a daily item on her to-do list and developed more curves than she’d had at graduation. When she was younger, she’d been the annoying little sister, while outgoing, flamboyant Susannah had always taken center stage. Now, though, she was an adult. A woman.
Hopefully, a woman to be reckoned with.
“I take it you don’t remember me,” she said. “I’m Peyton. Susannah Reynolds’s younger sister.”
Now recognition dawned in his eyes. His gaze swept over her, lit surprise in his features as he took in her dress, low heels, long hair. “Peyton? Peyton Reynolds? Holy hell, I haven’t seen you in years. What are you doing here?”
Luke’s deep Southern voice slid through her like honey drizzled over toast. Once upon a time, she’d had a crush on him. But that was a long time in the past, and a lot had happened in the years since. Except his damned voice still made parts of her warm.
She drew herself up. Calm, cool, collected, that was her. Maybe if she thought it enough, the words would be true. “I came by to...see you.”
She’d meant to say talk to you, but her eyes lit on Luke’s tall, trim frame, and the word stuttered into see. He was wearing a bathing suit, the dark blue trunks hanging low on his hips, exposing a defined, tan chest, with a scattering of dark hair running a tempting line down the center of his belly. Her gaze followed that line, then she caught herself and jerked her attention back to his face. Damn. What was wrong with her? She was no longer a silly schoolgirl with an unrequited teenage crush on the older captain of the football team.
He quirked a lopsided grin. Busted. “See me?”
“Talk to you.”
The dog took advantage of the open door and scampered onto the porch. Luke waved a hand at the dog. “Charlie, sit.”
The terrier glanced up at Luke, as if to say, Do I really have to? When Luke didn’t relent, the dog let out a sigh and plopped onto the porch. His tail swished against the wooden floor, hopeful, anxious. It took a second, but then Peyton remembered.
“Is that...” Peyton asked, as she leaned forward, peering at the lopsided brown ears, the big chocolate eyes, “...the same dog?”
A slow smile spread across Luke’s face. “You remember that?”
Oh, she remembered a lot of things about Luke. Some memories that made her heart trip, some that tripped her common-sense alarms. “I thought you said you were going to bring him to a shelter.”
Luke shared his smile with the dog, then shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a softy.”
Peyton’s doubts about bringing Luke into Maddy’s life eased a fraction. But only a fraction. Just because the man had kept the dog they’d rescued years ago didn’t make him a suitable parent. And if he wasn’t going to be a good father figure, she was damned well going to make sure he either signed over custody or at least paid child support. He owed Maddy that much, at a minimum. Susannah might have been easy on Luke, but her younger sister had no intentions of doing the same. She needed to keep all that in mind and not get distracted by feelings half a decade old.
Luke gestured toward the wicker love seat and chair on the veranda. A ceiling fan swirled a lazy breeze over the white furniture and pale gray plank floor. Peyton’s gaze kept drifting to Luke’s bare chest. Damn, he looked good. Too good. He was distracting. Would it be rude to ask him to put on a shirt, so she could think with the rational side of her brain?
“So what brings you by?” Luke asked, settling into the love seat and draping one arm over the back.
She had thought this through on the long drive from Baltimore to Stone Gap. As much as she wanted to leap to the reason she was here, she needed to finesse the situation first. Feel Luke out. See if he had changed. Then she would decide which tactic to take. It was the way she approached her work—get a feel for the space, the dimensions, the history, the very air and let that influence the tone of her design. She perched on the opposite end of the small wicker couch. “Just wanted to catch up with some old friends while I was visiting town. I saw Cassie Bertram this morning and heard you were living on this side of town. I was in the area and thought I’d stop by. So, how have you been?”
If he thought her reasoning for coming to see him was strange, he didn’t show it. “Good. Can’t complain.”
Awkward silence. She flicked her gaze away from his chest—what did he have on there, magnets?—and at the clapboard siding. “Nice little house you have here.”
“Thanks. It’s a rental, but I like it a lot. Kinda growing on me. And it has a pool. Pretty much all I need is that and a fridge.” He grinned.
“To make it party central?”
He scoffed. “If I was eighteen, yeah, maybe. I’m still a pretty simple guy, Peyton. Though my mother keeps haunting garage sales and tries to talk me into crazy things like spice organizers, whatever the hell those are. Jack’s built me a table and chairs, so I guess you could say I’m settled in here.”
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the party-hard guy she remembered. Maybe he had matured a little. “Jack’s building furniture?”
“Building whatever he can with a hammer and nails. He likes working with his hands. I convinced him to get serious about that a few months ago, after he got home from Afghanistan and was kind of at loose ends, trying to figure out what to do next. Now he’s got business cards and orders and everything.”
“And Mac? How is he?” She hadn’t seen the oldest Barlow brother since graduation. He’d been the studious one, excelling in school, graduating at the top of the class.
Luke chuckled. “Still the rebel without a cause. Working a zillion hours a week at building