Promise Me

Yes, I’m forty minutes late, but she knows I was tied up in my meeting; I sent her a text as soon as it ended, telling her I was on my way. Is she bent because I wasn’t here when the event started? That doesn’t make any sense, either. She told me the show would last two hours and I should come by whenever. I stare at her from across the room, and I can tell by how she rubs the side of her neck that she feels my regard, but she doesn’t turn.

Fuck it. I’m going in. I walk over to her. Not fast, not slow, but directly so there’s no doubt of my destination. The two people she’s speaking with look my way as I near, acknowledging my approach. Kendall? Nothing.

“Hey,” I say, not bothering to hide my confusion, even though airing my uncertainty with an audience probably isn’t the best move.

“Hello,” she replies, her tone cool and professional. “Vaughn, this is Bonnie and her son Will.”

I exchange greetings with Bonnie and get a shy nod from Will.

“Are you one of the artists?” I ask Will, while taking measure of Kendall from the corner of my eye. She keeps her focus on the teen.

Will nods again. Okay. I get it. Speech isn’t his thing.

“Do you have work on display tonight?”

He inclines his head and points, indicating the framed sketch of three girls playing with a dog that I noticed on my way in. “The charcoal drawing? That’s yours? Dude”—I offer him my fist for a bump and he gives me one—“that piece caught my eye.”

The boy blushes and shrugs. His mom squeezes his shoulder. “We’re very proud of his work.”

“I can see why,” I answer sincerely.

“Oh,” Bonnie exclaims. “There’s Josie. We want to say hello before we head out. It was nice meeting you, Kendall.” She expands her smile to include me. “Vaughn.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Kendall replies, and you’d never guess by her smile that there’s a single thing bothering her. But I know. “Will, I’ll see you Friday.”

He offers a wave before they walk away. I turn to Kendall. “What’s wrong?”

Her body language answers with a resounding everything. Her back is straight, her arms crossed, her figure a long, contained column in a midnight blue pantsuit and complicated silver heels. “Nothing I can get into right now. I’m working. If you want to wait until I’m done here, we can talk then. It’s entirely up to you.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“I know. I saw your text.”

Someone passes behind me. Kendall lifts her chin in greeting and takes another step away from me. “Excuse me. Another artist and her guests just arrived. I need to welcome them.”

Now I step back, too, because as much as I hate the brush-off, her point is valid. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize this opportunity for her. “I’ll find you later,” I say, and walk to the nearest wall to stare blindly at a group of watercolors. I won’t hover. I won’t crowd. But I will damn well wait her out. I do covertly watch her in action. Any casual onlooker would see an outgoing, radiant woman with a knack for putting those around her at ease. Only someone who’s taken a crash course in the nuances of Kendall Hewitt would detect the tension in her shoulders or the determined set of her smile. When our gazes clash from across the room, I force myself to focus on the art, not on dissecting what I might have said or done to put the wounded look in her eyes.

I take my time walking through the exhibits and end up meeting Candace, Kendall’s boss. She’s a bouncy woman with genuine enthusiasm for what she does. It’s clear she could talk about Art in Progress all night, but the event is winding down, and her sharp look says she recognizes I haven’t hung around all evening strictly for the exhibit, no matter how worthwhile the cause. She turns, catches Kendall’s attention through the thinning crowd, and waves her over. The reluctance in her strides confirms my impression she’s been stalling for the last half hour.

“Kendall, thank you so much for your help tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without you. But now”—Candace glances at her watch—“you’re officially off the clock. Take this handsome fellow and hit the road.”

“I can stay and help clean up. I don’t mind—”

“Nonsense.” Candace swats the suggestion away like a pesky fly. “You came in early to set up. The rental company will deal with most of the cleanup, and we’ll tackle the rest tomorrow. Go. Shoo. Thank you and good night.”

“Okay,” she says through a forced smile. Her eyes dart to me. “I have to get my purse from the office, and I’m parked in back.”

“I’ll walk with you,” I say, and gesture her to go ahead. We’re silent while she leads us down a narrow hall, past some workrooms, and into a small, utilitarian office. I shut the door behind me and watch her retreat to the other side of the desk.

“Sorry I was late,” I say softly, and walk around the desk to ease into the space beside her.

“I told you it’s fine.” She retrieves her purse from a lower drawer and straightens. “No explanations necessary. I mean, we’re friends enjoying a casual summer thing, right?”

Those stiff words put my back up all over again. Right or wrong, my girl, floats through my head again. “Casual? What part feels casual to you?” I lean in so our faces are only inches apart. “When you gave me your virginity? When we had breakfast this morning after spending the night in my bed?” The office is private, but even so, I speak low so my words go directly into her ear. “When you had my dick in your mouth?”

She pushes me back. “We didn’t have any rules or make any commitments. You’re free to do what you want, and I’m free to—”

“Hold on,” I interrupt, because my go-with-the-flow default setting is about to blow, even though I know it’s not fair. She was a virgin. This world is new to her. Of course she wants to travel in it. Experience more. It’s not her fault the idea makes me want to punch a hole through this wall. My winning streak is about to come to a crashing end, but I’m not letting go without a fight. “Maybe we didn’t spell out the parameters of ‘us,’ but when did we decide this is casual?”