Prologue
Three years ago
Free air felt different than prison air. Lighter with all sorts of competing aromas. Tree bark, car exhaust, baked goods, rain. They mingled together in an overpowering jumble. Not unwelcome, just all consuming. There also seemed to be lots more of it, air, hovering in the wide expanse of freedom. Peyton Lane couldn’t imagine ever taking free air for granted again. She’d been released from prison exactly eight days prior, and in that time, only the air had been hospitable.
She’d put in applications at twelve different businesses, only to have four of them inform her it was against their policy to hire her after they perused her application. The other eight had yet to call. That was an ominous sign. She’d need money soon and had to make something happen for herself. A nonprofit program for recent parolees set her up with a studio apartment located above a pretty hopping burger joint, which left her place smelling like freshly cooked burgers she couldn’t afford. Didn’t mean she didn’t long for one, imagining the melted cheese curling to the edge of the burger in a torturous daydream. Even her clothes carried the smoky smell of the grill, which likely didn’t help her job search. She had four outfits in total, also courtesy of the do-gooder program, and a hundred and ten dollars left to her name. Next month’s rent was all on her, and the slightest bit of panic eased in as she walked the sidewalk in front of a strip mall. She often selected those because she could hit half a dozen businesses on foot, increasing her chances of someone taking a chance on her. She’d practiced smiling in the mirror, because there hadn’t been much of that where she’d been the last four years. Remembering the basics took a lot more effort than she’d anticipated. The world was so much bigger, so much louder, and full of complications she’d forgotten how to juggle.
Peyton paused her search on the sidewalk, depressed because the cosmetics store two doors down had seemed so promising. The dashed hope hurt more than no hope at all. But she hadn’t cried. She’d been numb to true emotion for years, moving through each day like an automaton. The practice had made the time she had to serve easier. The owner had chatted away with Peyton, who still struggled with conversations with strangers after having been absent from the larger world for so long. She’d withdrawn into herself, and now it took work to pull herself back out one piece at a time. Surely, others could immediately tell something was wrong with her, which only made Peyton all the more self-conscious. She used to be good at connecting with other people, and dammit, she would be again. She’d make sure of it. If only someone out there would give her a chance, even a small one.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said after five minutes of what
seemed like a great interview. But then she’d scanned the application, understanding registering on her face. “We just don’t seem to have what you’re looking for right now. But I’ll hold on to this.” She held up the sheet of paper with Peyton’s handwriting all over it. A lie.
After a short pep talk, and a gathering of her socials kills, she’d headed into the juice bar next door. Peppy, bright, and fun. She could imagine enjoying her days in a cheerful place like this one.
She tossed the owner her best smile, hoping to show that she could match the place’s vibe. “I’m looking for full-time, but part-time would be fine. Anything, really. I’m happy to pay my dues.” A pause. “And I love juice. I learn fast, too.”
The woman in the lime-green Juice or Die T-shirt studied her like a bug. “You’re eager.”
“Yes.” A smile that she prayed sold her confidence. “I need a job.”
“Bless your heart,” the woman said as she scanned the application, sympathy all over her face. That had to be a good sign. “How long have you been out?”
“A little over a week.”
She placed the application facedown on the counter. “I wish I could help you, but I just don’t have the need for extra help. That’s not a line, either. I’d hire you on the spot if I could.”
“Oh.” Her hopeful heart hit the pavement. “I understand.” So close.
“I could use a hand.”
Peyton turned to the woman in line behind her who’d been studying the menu but also, perhaps, overheard their conversation. “You would?”
“I’m two doors down at the sassiest little underwear boutique you’ll ever walk into.”
“Hi, Candy,” the juice woman said. “Your usual?”
“Yes, with an extra splash of raspberry because this might just be my lucky day.” She smiled at Peyton, and in that very moment hope appeared in the form of a woman in her sixties with big white hair and perfectly applied makeup. “Oh, whatever my new employee is having, too. You just toss that on my bill.”
“Oh,” Peyton said, unaccustomed to kindness. It fit like a shirt that was too big and made for someone else. She embraced it anyway, grateful. “Thank you.” She smiled. A real one this time. She’d already caught a glimpse of the menu and, even though she was desperately thirsty, had decided she couldn’t afford the inflated prices.
“What’ll it be?” the woman behind the counter asked.
She pointed at the Strawberry Banana Explosion featured on the large photo next to the menu. “I guess I’ll take one of those.” Her taste buds tingled at the thought of the cool, refreshing drink.
“Good choice,” her new employer said. “Cheerful and fruity with a stripy paper straw. If you had ordered one of those veggie blends, I would have tolerated it but been sad. We’ll grab those, head back to the store, and I’ll get you some paperwork. We can start orientation if you have the time.”
“I have the time,” Peyton said without a blip of hesitation. With fresh juice in hand, she was whisked down the sidewalk to Cotton Candy, which could best be described as a wonderful site for a sexy sleepover. Lingerie of every size, color, and flavor of spice filled the racks and wall displays. Silky sleep masks, garter belts, thigh-length robes, bra and panty combos, and even a section for boxers. It was the softest, most decadent environment Peyton had experienced in her entire life. The nearly loud, upbeat rock music the woman played only made it feel more fun. If there was an opposite to prison, Cotton Candy would be it. Peyton was in heaven.
“First thing’s first, I’m Candy, and there’s nothing more important than how a woman’s boobs feel.” Peyton blinked and ran that sentence back. “It’s our job to make sure they’re living their best life. You get me?”
For a moment, Peyton couldn’t speak. “Yes, I do. Very important.” It’s not that she disagreed—it was just that in the midst of figuring out her life, her next meal, her moral compass, how her breasts felt hadn’t entered the picture. About now, she felt like perhaps that had been a mistake, because this store was wonderful. Peyton felt pampered just standing between its walls. She now wanted her breasts to look and feel good, and it had only been three minutes.
From that moment on, a small crack of light crept into Peyton’s life.
She reported to work every single day and devoted every ounce of brain power she had to learning the business. She was determined to make Candy proud and never once regret her choice in hiring Peyton. When she wasn’t doing that, she worked on redeveloping her interpersonal sk
ills, that lo and behold, still existed somewhere deep down in her. With a little workout here and there, she managed to dazzle the customers almost as much as Candy did. In fact, she found she liked talking to people, watching a face light up when she matched them with their perfect piece of lingerie.
“You’re good,” Candy told her over dumplings and rice at The Golden Panda, three doors down from the store.
“Well, I learned from the best,” Peyton told her with a raised shoulder.
“You’re also real bright, Peyton. Have you thought about what you want to do long term? You’ve been with me nearly two years.”
“I guess I hadn’t gotten that far. My head’s above water for the first time since I can remember. I make my rent easily and have food in my pantry. I’m thrilled with both of those things. I’ve even made a few friends through the shop and have a little bar I like to go to on weekends.” She shrugged. “Life is good and manageable. I’m not sure I need more.”
“Well, I think you’re capable. I have customers who ask for you by name. I’m proud of you, girl.”
“That makes me really happy to hear.” Most everything good that had happened to her was thanks to Candy and her friendship and faith in Peyton from day one. But in the midst of it all, there was something that pulled at her, kept her flipping from one side of her pillow to the other each night. She had a family out there that she hadn’t seen in years. That hurt a lot. And as the days turned to years, it tugged at her, calling her to do something about it. She missed her brother and his kids, who she’d never even met, more than she could process. But for the first time, she was proud of what was happening in her life. Maybe he would be, too.
Candy set down her fork and sat back. “I wonder about you taking it over.”
“Taking what over? Do you have another commitment tomorrow?” Candy was scheduled to open, and Peyton would come in about midmorning, but she could always come in earlier. She liked to grab a beer at the bar down the street from her place, but she never stayed out too late. Not on a work night.
“You’re my bright star, Peyton. But it’s time for me to move my time to where it’s needed most and take care of my mom. I got a call last week. The news isn’t good.” Her mouth turned down. Saying the words must have hurt because she reached for her napkin as a distraction.
Peyton went still, her heart clenching uncomfortably. “Candy. Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too. But it would break my heart to close down.” Peyton hadn’t considered that the store could close someday. She’d have to find another job, start from scratch again. “I think you should buy the business.”
For a long moment, she simply stared. Her brain stuttered. “I couldn’t do that. How could I do that? I’m just me. I don’t know anything.”
“Are you kidding me?” Candy leaned forward. “You know everything. I’ve never seen someone so bright and quick to expertise. You know your brands, you know what people like, you have relationships with customers who adore you, and you have the best eye for decor
ating of anyone who’s ever worked for me.” She held out a hand. “You’re a panty prodigy, and I mean that.”
The compliments landed and took root. None of it changed the fact that she didn’t have the money. “I appreciate that, and I love my job. The store. You. But I’m not really at a place in my life where I’m financially equipped to—”
“Shut up about money. Now listen to me.” Peyton paused because she’d learned that when Candy demanded attention, it was in her best interest to give it. “I’ve done a little research, and there are special programs for business loans for people with your very particular background.”
“Is that code for criminal?”
Candy ignored her and plowed forward, handing over a couple of brochures from her bag. “Whatever a loan won’t cover, I’ll finance for you myself, provided you’re interested.”
While she felt like a kid invited to the grown-ups’ table and wildly intimidated, opportunities like this one were rare. How in the world could she turn Candy down? She ordered herself to nod and figure the rest out later. “Yes. Of course. If you really think I can do this.”
“Honey, if this was the Triple Crown, all my money is on you.”
Peyton had never worked as hard as she did in that next year of her life. She was hustle personified, perseverance in live form. If there was a YouTube video about running a small business, she’d watched it and taken notes probably three different times. If there was a seminar she could enroll in or speaker she could buy a ticket to see, she most certainly did. Not only that, she used her resources, the program for parolees, the bank’s small business arm, and Candy, who was only a phone call away and forty-five miles up the road if she needed guidance with anything related to the business or even how to fix a sink. Peyton didn’t remember much about her own mother, but Candy had become a bright spot in her life, and someone she would consider family until the end of time. She’d saved Peyton. Picked her up and put her back together until she was quite nearly a whole person again.
“How were this week’s numbers?” Candy asked on one of their weekly calls. Peyton was perched on the side of her white and green couch, balancing a carton of yogurt with fruit on the arm before work.
“Much better now that I scaled back on purchases in advance of inventory dip. I’ll see a profitable month and then some. That was good advice.”
“The early bird does not always get the worm.”
“Lesson learned.”
“Now let’s get serious. Did you hear anything from your brother after the letter you sent?” Peyton deflated and set the carton on the table. The letter had been Peyton’s attempt to reconnect, make amends for the stress she’d put on him. The heartbreak. She’d tried multiple times to set up a visit to get to know her niece and nephew more. Each day that passed felt like she’d missed the chance forever. But Caleb continued to brush her off, polite but elusive, probably because he was leery of her. It was hard to blame him. He’d been burned by the younger version of his kid sister too many times and had no idea how far she’d come. If only he’d give her the chance to show him how
much she’d grown up in the three years since she’d been out, how much she’d learned and changed.
“He thanked me for sending it, told me Joshua’s T-ball score, ...
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