Page 23 of For the Promise

Jaxon lifts his glasses and pinches his nose. I refuse to think the gesture is adorable. Re-fuse! “I’m not a liar.”

“Seriously? You pretended to be invisible to avoid me.”

Paisley glances back and forth between us. “I’m confused. I thought you were hooking up in the distillery.”

Why would she think we’re hooking up? She saw us kiss once. And she hasn’t mentioned it since. We work together every day. And we’re friends. There’s no way if our situation was reversed, I wouldn’t have fired five hundred questions at her.

A blush covers Jaxon’s face. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” I screech. “I’m a mistake?”

I’ll put up with a lot of shit from a man. As evidenced by my asshole ex who I should have left long before he cheated on me. But saying I’m a mistake? No way. Nuh huh. I have more pride than to be referred to as a mistake.

I spin around and march out of the restaurant. I do not want to breathe the same air as Jaxon right now. He can fall off of a cliff for all I care. Would it be wrong if I pushed him? Probably. Stupid morals.

“Blossom!” Jaxon shouts.

I glance behind me to discover him chasing me. Now, he chases me? When we’re in a crowded resort with all of his family as witnesses?

Two can play at his hide-and-seek game. I scan the hallway I’m running down. There. An open door.

I rush inside and slam the door shut behind me. Jaxon will never find me now.

“Blossom?”

Mother fluffing ducks not in a row. Speaking of exes. I close my eyes and hope I’m hallucinating due to lack of oxygen from running. I really should work out more.

“Is that you, Blossom?”

Damn. No such luck. I force a smile on my face and spin around.

“Alan. What are you doing here?”

He chuckles. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I live on Smuggler’s Hideaway.” My cheeks are beginning to ache from how hard I’m forcing this fake smile.

“I wondered where you were living.”

I bet. It’s difficult to harass someone when you don’t know where they live. Although, his lawyer manages to harass me enough.

“Welp. Here I am.” I throw my arms in the air. “What are you doing here?”

I cross my fingers behind my back.Please don’t say you’re moving here. Please don’t say you’re moving here.Talk about a disaster in the making. Or should I say homicide? My morals don’t give a flying seal about throwing Alan off a cliff.

Alan grins. “I’m getting married here.”

“Here? As in on the island of Smuggler’s Hideaway?”

“In this very resort.”

Bleeping smugglers drowning in the sea. Thanks for the reminder that things can always get worse.

“Congratulations! Where’s your future wife?” I scan the room, which I now realize is filled with all things bridal – sample bouquets, various champagnes, a plethora of cakes, etc.

“Stacey hasn’t arrived yet.”

At least he’s not marrying the tramp he cheated on me with. Why do I care? I don’t. I don’t care who the cheating asshole is marrying. I care about getting the devil out of here.

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