Page 109 of The Promise Of You

A group of people are assembled under the sign, ready for a ribbon-cutting ceremony. I recognize Chris, and Lynn and Craig, and Grace and Haley, Logan and Hunter, and Colton.

What breaks my heart is in the center. Justin, holding giant scissors, smiling tentatively at the camera. He’s nothing like the man I know now. He looks frail and almost stooped. A shadow of himself. Like he’s struggling to stand, struggling to hold the scissors, struggling and failing to really smile. But it’s him alright. Those locks framing his face, wilder than now. That piercing gaze, with that sadness that usually only comes in hints, captured entirely on paper.

I can’t take my eyes off the picture, even when he hands me my drink. “You okay?” he says.

I peel my eyes off the wall and look at him now, grinning, full of life, full of joy. What am I missing? How do I ask him?

He clinks his glass to mine. “Cheers.” We take a sip, his eyes boring into mine, mine into his, with a lot of questions. “You look good in my place,” he says, a glimmer of mischief in his eye.

“Your place is great.” I turn away from the photo wall, try to make small talk. “Very manly.” I smile. “Like a giant man cave.”

“At least you didn’t say it looks like a bachelor pad.”

The word makes me shiver. Does he bring a lot of girls here? I didn’t think he did, but what do I know?

He claims my waist in his free hand and brings me to him. “Hey, where’d your mind go, Clover.”

I need to grow up and get rid of my insecurities. Of course he’s had girls here. I mean, look at this place. Look at this man.

“Cave is the word,” he says softly. “I never have anyone here. No friends. No family. Mom came here a couple of times when I moved in, but not anymore, thank god. Been a while since I’ve needed help.”

I turn a questioning gaze at him.

He points to the photos with his drink. “When I opened the pub, I was still in rehab. Still had motion issues. She was worried for me.”

My gaze stops on his forearm, where the intricate tattoo designs artfully cover his scars. “You never really told me how bad your accident was.” I instinctively mold my body closer to his, but he shrugs, and his hold around my waist loosens. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

Yeah, I kind of got that. “Then why the photos?”

“I don’t want to forget it either.”

Here we are. “So you’d rather keep it to yourself?”

His lips tighten in a forced smile. “I have some appetizers. Don’t like to drink on an empty stomach.” He lets go of me, goes to the fridge, pulls out a board, and sets it on the coffee table.

“So this place was a forge?” I ask once we’re seated on the couch, me at an angle, my bare feet on his lap. I pretend to forget he didn’t answer my question. I’ll get back to it.

He finger-feeds me a piece of prosciutto and nods. “Sal’s forge. When renovations were almost done and it was time to find a name for the pub, I played with incorporating his name. At the time I used to sit in the back a lot, get some sun, and there was this salamander that kept showing up that I thought was super friendly and weirdly slow. I thought The Lazy Salamander was a cool name for a pub.”

Right. So, after our cooking session, I did some research. Turns out, for the most part, salamanders are not a protected species, but, also for the most part, they’re poisonous to eat.

Also turns out, they have a strong symbolic meaning.

Not saying there wasn’t a friendly salamander keeping him company on his breaks. That could happen. But come on. I drain my mojito and play with the ice cubes, twirling them in the glass, wondering what will get him to open up to me. “Isn’t it cool the salamander also symbolizes rebirth and… the ability to survive fire?” I narrow my eyes on him.

“Very cool,” he says, unfazed.

“So, why lazy?”

“Even cooler,” he answers without missing a beat, his killer smile again freezing me in place while he goes for a slow kiss.

My center is mush and my throat tight. How can I get upset at him after he kisses me like that? Wanting to know more about him, wanting to someday know everything about him, for now I go to a safe topic. “You did a lot of renovations?”

He sets his empty glass on the floor and starts rubbing the soles of my feet. “Place was a dump. After the forge closed down, some dude bought the building with the idea of converting it, not sure to what. He added this apartment, then ran out of money. The whole King block and another property he had, the cottage you’re living in, were foreclosed on just at the right time for me.”

“The right time?”

His lips tighten again, but he answers this time. “After the accident, I got some money.” He looks bitter about it. “There’s things money can’t buy. But then there’s things money can actually get you.”

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