Promise Me

And I did want to keep him safe. Did I let my mind go to worst-case scenarios and the possibility of others getting hurt if he’d decided to drive somewhere? Yes.

But this isn’t just about him. It’s about me.

For the first time in over four years, I’m curious. About a guy. One I barely know but somehow manages to stir up emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel in a long time.

With a shaky hand I slide the blue bag closer, but before I peek inside, I’m hit with doubt—and annoyance. Vaughn’s apology and gift make me mad at both of us. Yes, it was sweet, but it’s also excessive. A simple “sorry” followed by a “thank you” is all I needed. All I can afford, given the last thing I want is to have something that reminds me of him. I can’t, in good conscience, accept a gift like this. I pick up the bag and hurry toward the kitchen door to return it to him.

I also owe him an apology for calling him a drunk. I shouldn’t have done that. He flustered me and I lashed out because I didn’t know how to handle his playfulness.

I run outside, hoping to catch him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I take a deep breath, take a minute to gather myself. The sky is the kind of summer blue and white that makes you wish you could fly from one puffy cloud to the next. The air smells like jasmine and roses. Vaughn smelled like an ocean breeze wafting across clean sheets. The combination made me hot under my skin, and I’d felt an uncharacteristic urge to rub my back against his front when he stood behind me at the kitchen counter. I blink away the unwelcome memory. An irresistible energy radiates from him, and it draws me in even as my past tethers me.

Vaughn is dangerously hard to resist. And he knows it. Of course he does. He earns a living by having that effect on people, right? But the simple notion doesn’t stop my stomach from fluttering when I think about the perfect angle of his clean-shaven jaw. Or the panty-dropping smile he wields without even trying. And his eyes… God, this morning they were lucid and such a brilliant shade of green that I feel even guiltier for doubting his sobriety.

If nothing else, I really need to say I’m sorry. I start down the narrow slope of the side yard toward the sidewalk. I’m almost there when the sound of an engine purrs to life. Turning, I catch Vaughn’s car maneuvering out of the driveway. I take a few tentative steps forward, not sure if I should flag him down or wait for another time to return his gift. My decision is made for me when he drives slowly by and turns his head in my direction. He’s wearing dark sunglasses. His mouth is set in a serious line. I’m not positive he sees me, or if he’s just looking at the house, but it doesn’t matter, because a second later he’s out of sight.

Not out of mind. I fear he’ll never be out of my head, our one weird night together forever stored in my long-term memory. I trudge back into the kitchen with the Tiffany’s bag dangling from my fingers.

Amber is cutting into the frittata. Dixie is sitting at the breakfast bar sipping on what I suspect is her second Bloody Mary and paging through a magazine. “Look!” She holds up the magazine open to a page with a black-and-white advertisement that features Vaughn’s face and bare shoulders. He looks beyond handsome with stubble lining his jaw and just a hint of a smile, like he knows exactly what a woman wants. Him. “He’s the Giorgio Armani fragrance guy.”

“He did smell good,” Amber says.

“I can’t believe you didn’t fuck him last night.” Dixie closes the magazine. “Or at least fool around. Jesus, Kendall, did you take a vow of celibacy after—”

“Stop.” I bang the kitchen door shut and lean against it. “Do not say another word.”

“Don’t have to.” The ice tinkles in her glass as she takes a long drink, holding the conversation hostage until she’s good and ready to continue “You just answered my question.” For a brief second I imagine compassion swims into her eyes, but she makes known my mistake when she adds, “Which means I get to play with Vaughn and any other hot guy who makes an appearance.”

“You’re that easy, huh?” I say in a weak attempt to get back at her. I’ve never been able to best her verbal sparring and don’t like myself for trying.

She crunches a piece of ice before curling her lips into a bulletproof smile. “Why yes, I am, princess.”

There’s no wounding Dixie. She doesn’t give a damn what anybody thinks of her, least of all me. “For the last time, please stop calling me that.” I clench my fists so hard my fingernails bite into my palms.

One dark blond eyebrow wings up. “Is the ‘please’ supposed to make me care?”

Tears sting my eyes. I didn’t do anything to deserve her hostility. For my whole life I’ve done nothing but try to be a sister, and when that didn’t work, I kept my distance. It’s not my fault our father behaved like he did, but the truth is, he’s a decent man who made mistakes and has tried his damndest to make up for them. If she’d stop holding his sins against him, she might discover what our dad wants more than anything is a relationship with all three of his daughters.

“The ‘please’ is because unlike some people, I have good manners.”

“Princess, you have no idea how polite I can be.”

“You’re right. I don’t know if you can be polite at all,” I throw back with as much spite as I can muster.

“You want to go there right now? Fine.” Dixie slaps a hand on the countertop, straightens her back. “Four days ago I walked into my bedroom and caught my boyfriend fucking my best friend. My best friend who I helped get the waitress job at the bar where I worked, and my boyfriend who also happened to be my boss and the guy I’d moved in with. So in the span of thirty seconds, boom.” She splays her fingers wide to mime a bomb blast. “Bye-bye boyfriend. Farewell best friend. Adios apartment.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That sucks.” I can’t imagine any guy having the balls to cheat on Dixie. She’s vicious when crossed.

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t break my trust. They did. But that’s not the point of my story. The point is, I could have screamed and thrown shit. I could have castrated him and kicked her ass. I could have done a Carrie Underwood on her car and torched his precious guitars.”

“Oh my God. You killed them, didn’t you?” Amber asks. “Now you’re on the run?”

Dixie glides a hand slowly through her hair and then shakes it out. “No. I walked away without giving them the satisfaction of knowing I’d found them, which is pretty fucking polite, so don’t ever question my behavior when you don’t know anything about my life.” With that, she picks up her drink and polishes it off.

I press away from the door and sit on the barstool beside her, for some dumb reason wanting to offer comfort.

“Don’t even, princess. You think we’re going to do some sisterly bonding over broken hearts? I don’t have a heart, which I’d think you’d have figured out by now.”

Okay, then. I dart my eyes to Amber. She’s cut the frittata into eight perfect pie slices, her focus on food rather than our screwed-up family. It’s not pity I feel. It’s care. For the first time in our lives Dixie’s opened up with something personal, and it gives me hope.