Don't Promise (Don't 3)

“Oh.”

“Look, about last night.” I ran my hand over my neck. The hangover stemmed from somewhere in the lower part of my skull.

“It shouldn’t have gone like that. I think we need a do-over.”

“A what?” she squeaked.

I couldn’t believe I was saying this shit. “A do-over. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

“For what?” she questioned.

That was the question. Was I trying to prove to myself I was over her? Or that I could take her? Use her like she had used me? Prove that I could fuck her over and no longer needed her? Could I drive off this island like she had and not give a fuck about her?

“Come on, Sierra. It’s a date. I’ll pick you up and we’ll just pretend last night never happened.”

“I don’t understand. Last night wasn’t the best reunion. We haven’t talked in years and now it’s a date?”

“We’re older now, aren’t we?” Did she still know me so well that she could read through my bullshit reasons?

She paused. “I guess so.”

“Then just go with it, darlin’. See you tonight.”

I hung up before she could poke more holes in my sudden interest to see her.

9

Sierra

Promptly at seven thirty, the screen door to the kitchen screeched a little as Blake knocked and pulled the weathered door open to enter Aunt Lindy’s house. He had left his truck rumbling in the gravel drive.

“You ready?” he called into the house.

“I’m ready.” I had to stop myself from beaming at him.

Unlike the last time I’d seen him, he wasn’t wearing a scowl. This was different. Very different.

When he’d called this morning I’d been hesitant. Skeptical really, but here he was. Maybe he actually did want to forget the past.

His cologne wafted toward me and I tried not to let it intoxicate me. Everything about the man did. It always had.

I grabbed my bag and followed Blake to his truck.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He looked over at me. “Thought we could take our own cruise. Just the two of us. Live music and drinks.”

“Ok.”

He helped me climb into the passenger side of his truck. It was a newer version of the one he’d had in high school. I noticed it was like driving a supped up computer system. I guessed AFA salaries could pay for things like that. On the flip side, my anchor salary wasn’t much. I was happy with what I made, but it was a far cry from luxury.

We headed to the creek where he kept his boat.

I felt as if I needed to say something to break the ice. To bridge the divide that had been between us, but I waited for his cues. The fact that we were on a date had to be enough for now.

Once we pushed off from the rickety pier, we cruised under the bridge and Blake pointed the vessel toward Oakton. Patches of marsh and abandoned crab pots littered the channel to downtown. I hadn’t been there in years. It was the closest town to Gull Island, but the quickest way to get there was by boat.

The sun was setting on Pelican Creek, and I was happy to get off the island for the night. I had been going stir crazy at Aunt Lindy’s.