Page 9 of The Promise Of You

I glance at Brendan, and see him nod, visibly relaxed.

“When do you want me to start?”

two

Justin

“What else d’you need, son?” my father asks, and I feel like a kid again. He interrupted the work he was doing on the fence with my younger brothers in order to select his best cheddar and ice cream himself and hand me twice the amount I need.

“That’s it. I could have gotten it, Dad. You didn’t need to stop workin—”

“’Course I did.” He slaps me on the back, a big grin on his face. “Proud of everything you do for the community, son.” He turns his side to me, looking to the pastures in the distance, the woods bordering them, the outbuildings he added over the years. “Can’t say I don’t miss you working on the farm. Hell, can’t say I understand the appeal of owning a pub, but I’m proud of you no matter what.”

I stay quiet, not knowing how to answer that. No matter what probably means despite what you do. Every time he tries to say something nice, doesn’t matter how he phrases it, it always ends up stinging.

He finally breaks the charged silence. “How’d you think our boy is doing? He gonna win?”

By our boy, he means Christopher Wright, my best friend and Emerald Creek’s baker. He’s currently competing for New England’s Best Baker, a TV show being shot in Boston. I drove him there a few days ago, and he sent me back for the last day of the show to get a bunch of stuff locally made in Emerald Creek. His cousin, Colton, and I split the work and are doing the rounds as fast as we can so we can get back to him this afternoon with all he needs for the last leg of the competition. Ice cream and cheddar from King Knoll’s farm being two of the items he needs.

We’re all proud of him and rooting for him. Dad is no exception. Emerald Creek takes care of its own. We’re a small community in Northern Vermont, we attract a lot of tourists, and we need it to stay that way in order to survive and make a comfortable living in the most beautiful, secluded place on Earth.

Christopher’s fame will help us do that.

“He’s gonna win,” I confirm, not knowing how but knowing it in my bones.

“Proud of that kid.”

We’re no longer kids, but in a sense, we’ll always be to him. I just wish I could make Dad proud the way Chris does.

My next stop is Cassandra’s store in town to pick up the garlic scapes she grows in her garden, and I asked her to bring for me. I knock on the door of her lingerie shop, feeling awkward about going in.

But she pulls me inside. “No customers yet,” she says. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Before leaving the room, she turns around and adds, “Feel free to browse.”

My feet stay firmly stuck to where she left me. I check out the sexy apparel displayed in frames against the exposed brick walls like works of art, and my dick approves. I chastise it back into dormancy, but fuck. Me. She has some real nice shit.

No way am I roaming through her hangers, though.

But tonight? Action. Tonight, back in Boston, I’m hitting the hotel bar and having a good time. Don’t care if Colton is there, or if Christopher gets out early. I’m a proud one-night-stand guy, everyone knows that, and they better not give me shit for getting my rocks off tonight. Not after everything I’m doing for Christopher right now, including standing in a place full of frilly lingerie.

“See anything you like?” Cassandra’s amused gaze meets mine. She’s in her forties, attractive, single, and she has a reputation of being a little witchy. I see it now in the way she’s looking at me.

“Nothing not to like,” I answer.

“Mmm. Still no one special in your life?”

“Lots of special ladies in my life.” I grin back.

“You’ll eventually find out, less is more.”

“I sure hope not,” I say, chuckling and meaning it.

“We’ll talk again when you meet the one,” she replies, handing me a small cardboard box. “For now, here are your garlic scapes. More than enough, the freshest—gathered them right when you called, so two hours ago. Keep this upright, they’re in a glass of water, and the whole thing is wrapped in a plastic bag.”

“Thanks.”

She sets her hand lightly on my forearm. “No. Thank you, Justin. Thank you for being such a good friend to Chris, the best.”

I shuffle my feet. The hell is she getting all emotional about? “It’s alright, pub is in good hands, I can—”

---