Promise Me

“You think?”

“Do it. Now, before you talk yourself out of it. I’ve got to run, literally, or I’ll be late for work again, but text me later and tell me how it went, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise me you’re going right to his house after we hang up.”

“Promise.”

“Okay. Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Promise me. Growing up I was a huge Winnie the Pooh fan. I still am, actually. For our six month anniversary, Mason gave me a framed picture of Pooh and Piglet with the words:

Promise me you’ll always remember:

You’re braver than you believe,

and stronger than you seem,

and smarter than you think.

It’s my favorite quote. I lean on the kitchen counter, close my eyes, and say the words again in my head. I was already in love with Mason, but I fell even harder for him that night. A piece of my heart will always be his.

“I can do this,” I tell Snow, who is asleep under the kitchen table. Permission. Courage. A promise I can keep to my best friend.

I took off quickly last night, flustered by Vaughn’s attention and anxious to get Amber home, so this is a good way to reconnect.

Two minutes later, I walk up Vaughn’s driveway with a plate of warm muffins. The closer I get to his front door, the faster my pulse races. Chill, Kendall.

Dancing with him flashes through my mind again, the pounding of my heart as our bodies lined up. Even though the club was crowded it felt like we were the only two people in the room. For the few minutes we were pressed together I was so lost in the moment I forgot about my past. Wrapped in Vaughn’s arms, it didn’t feel like a betrayal. It felt right, like the first step toward whatever comes next.

I’m almost up the drive when I hear a car behind me. It’s a black convertible Mercedes, and an older man is driving. He parks, hops out of the car, and raises his sunglasses so they sit on top of his head. “This is private property.” He’s dressed in a suit and tie and carries a definite air of impatience.

“I know. I’m here to see Vaughn.”

“Who are you with? Do you have an appointment?”

His tone is gruff, his stance intimidating. Worse, I don’t fully understand what he’s asking. “Who am I with?” I look around the otherwise empty driveway. “Myself?”

“Who reps you, or who do you rep?” He snaps, and hands me a card. “I’m Vaughn’s manager. Any requests need to go through me.”

That explains his terse manners. His gaze sweeps over my heather gray T-shirt dress and flip-flops, assessing me like this is an audition. By the frown on his face I’d say I don’t make the cut. What a jerk. “I’m not here on business,” I say, ignoring the card. “I’m a friend.” I turn to continue toward the front door.

“Not so fast.” He falls in step beside me, but his legs are longer and he turns on me. It isn’t threatening, but protective, and I guess I understand. He doesn’t know me. I could be a stalker. “We have a busy morning,” he says. “Is Vaughn expecting you?”

Shit. “No.”

“Didn’t think so. I’ll tell him you stopped by…” He trails off, eyebrows raised.

“Kendall.”

“His friend Kendall.” He says this like he doubts I’m telling the truth. He has no intention of mentioning me at all.

“Yes.” There is no way I’m getting inside the house, so I add, “Can you please give him these?” I thrust the plate in my hands forward.

He glances at the muffins like they’re poisoned apples.