Page 51 of Promise Me Not

“Okay.” She looks up, a little light in her gorgeous eyes. “I say we get stuffed pancakes…and the cheese pizza.”

A laugh leaves me, and something stirs in my stomach when her mouth curves even higher.

The cheese pizza here is disgusting, probably microwaved, and I don’t think this girl has ever eaten stuffed carbs in her life, but I couldn’t disagree with her if I wanted to.

So long as I have a say, she’s getting exactly what she wants. Always.

It’s not until the untouched pancakes are cold, the last piece of pizza hanging from her fingertips that she sighs and looks my way again.

“I haven’t told anyone yet, but…” She stares into my eyes. “I’m keeping the baby.”

The conviction in her tone is gripping, and I stare right back. “It means a lot that you trust me enough to tell me.”

Her lips twitch, and she nods.

“We’ll all support you in this, you know. No matter what,” I add.

She nods again. “This is what I want, and not just because?—”

Not just because Deaton died.

Reaching across the table, I put my hand out, and tentatively, she presses her palm to mine. I give her a little squeeze, trying to pretend like I’m not all tied up at the fact that she told me before she told anyone else when I am.

“The reason is yours alone, Pretty Little. You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”

Her face softens, and then a large smile blooms across her pillowed lips.

“What?”

“I was sitting here wondering what you were going to say after I told you, and the conversation we had in my head went a lot like this.”

A low chuckle leaves me, and I sit back when she reaches for her fork and stabs into the ice-cold flapjacks, cutting off and taking a giant bite. I watch her every move, a smile tipping my lips.

“Nice to know I’m predictable,” I tease, unable to find the strength to look away from the girl and not wanting to regardless.

“Not predictable.” She speaks low, her eyes coming back to mine. “Just…Mason,” she says as if it explains it all. She looks out the window then, the sun having officially risen.

I raise a dark brow, and when an airy laugh leaves her, I feel like I’m fucking flying.

She’s feeling a little better, and I had a hand in that. Me.

From there, the conversation switches to random topics, and I sit back, indulging her every question, happy to be the center of the distraction she’s after.

It’s not until we’re parked outside Nate’s that her spirit dims again. It’s in the way she hesitates in the passenger seat, staring at the porch of the beach house in heavy defeat.

“I never got to tell him,” she whispers suddenly, her chest expanded with a strangled breath. “Deaton died not knowing what I was going to do.”

“He knew.” Her eyes come to mine, and I lean closer. “He loved you, Payton.” I hold her gaze steadily, and her lips tremble through a broken smile. “He knew.”

Slowly, she nods, and her muscles ease before my eyes, as if reassurance from my lips is enough to help put her mind at ease, if only for a little while. “Thanks, Mase. You’re a good friend.”

What if I want to be more?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mason

Now,August

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