Page 97 of The Promise Of You

“Yes. No.” Someone’s playing me. My family? My chef? A little bit of both.

The knot I feel in my gut feels oddly familiar.

He smirks. “Yes or no? What was the problem?” His gaze on me is like a light blanket, shielding me from the world out there. He stops what he’s doing, waiting for an answer.

“Um.” I blink several times. What was the problem again? “Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”

“Great,” he says, his warm gaze all over me. “We’ll break this down tomorrow,” he continues, gesturing at the tent and all its contents. “But I need to bring the generator and a couple things back to the dude who lent them to me.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. He needs it for tomorrow.”

“How far is it?

“Couple hours away, over the mountain. Couple hours to get back.”

“I’ll come with you.” Fours hours on the road. Lots of talking time. Lots of being together.

He blinks at me, and I brace for his pushback.

It doesn’t come. He just shrugs and mumbles. I take it as a yes.

This time I pluck my phone out of my handbag and text the group chat I have with the restaurant.

Me: Something came up. See you tomorrow.

Samuel: We got you.

His answer sits uncomfortably with me, and I decide to forget the restaurant for tonight.

I don’t feel supported. I thought I was leaving that life behind, the double standards, the betrayals.

But no.

The only place I feel safe right now is with Justin.

thirty

Justin

Idon’t care that my truck makes a funny noise or that Moose is drooling over my shoulder.

Chloe is sitting right next to me, and nothing could be more perfect. I peel my eyes off her pretty little dress creeping up her tanned thighs and adjust my jeans, then downshift as we approach Dewey’s Hollow.

A shadow catches my peripheral vision in the quickly darkening landscape, and I hit the brakes, my arm coming across to hold Chloe and Moose. “What’s wrong?” Chloe asks in near panic. Her question is answered when a black cow jumps onto the road. “What’s that?” is her next question.

I curse under my breath. “That’s Daisy.”

“Ohmygod, I heard of her. She’s real? I thought it was some kind of urban legend. Rural legend.”

I chuckle, relieved that I didn’t hit Daisy. How that has never happened to her yet, I don’t know. “Oh she’s real, and she’s a real pain in the neck.” As if to prove my point, Daisy ambles in front of us, then kicks her hind legs in mock provocation before jumping over the ditch and running across the field toward the Chandlers’ farm.

“My parents got her a couple of years ago, and they can’t seem to keep her at the farm. She always finds a way to escape, and then either someone ropes her back in or she just shows up when it’s raining too hard or the cold is too much for her.”

“That’s too funny,” Chloe says, her gaze following Daisy up a hill.

“Not for my parents it’s not. And not for Declan. He gets all the complaints. It turns out, Daisy loves to snack on flowers.”

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