Page 12 of Promise Me

I can tell by the way she swallows that she is, too, but she shifts her attention to my face and points at the bag. “What’s this?”

“My way of thanking you for coming to my rescue last night. A lot of people would have chosen not to get involved and just let whatever was going to happen, happen. Others would have called the cops. You did neither. You saved me from some really bad decisions that could have caused a fuck-ton of consequences, and I want you to know I appreciate it.”

For one unguarded moment her face just…lights. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s not just her tentative smile or the glow of pleasure in her cheeks. It’s not even the thrill of the gift. No, it’s like what I’ve said really matters to her. Then, all of a sudden the glow shuts off. She straightens and pushes the bag toward me, and I know she’s about to reject the gift. “Forget—”

“It smells really good in here.” I cut her off by blurting the first thing that springs to mind. Whatever she’s baking smells fantastic.

“Shit!” She rushes over to the counter, grabs the potholder next to the stovetop, and pulls something out of the oven. Something browned to perfection as far as I can tell, but Kendall makes a worried sound and inspects it closely.

“That looks amazing,” I say. “You like to cook?”

“Mostly I like to eat,” she replies with absolutely no shame, a rarity among the usual crowd I’m surrounded by. It’s refreshing.

I can’t stop my smile as I come up behind her and lean over to inhale the scent of steaming peppers, onions…I don’t know what all, but it’s making my mouth water. Then I get more than I bargained for, because I also inhale a sweet, earthy scent, equal parts bubble bath and sex. It clings to her skin and makes me fantasize about her soaking in a steamy tub, getting herself off. That affects me in other ways. The moment she stills, I know her focus has shifted, too. She’s staring at the pan, but her thoughts are on me.

“What’s on the menu?” I ask, shamelessly fishing for an invitation to today’s brunch.

“Back it up, mister, you’re crowding the cook.”

I guess I am, and I half anticipate an elbow to my gut, but instead she looks up and slays me with an unguarded grin. She wasn’t expecting a playful moment.

“Can we start over?” It’s an impulsive request. I know I can’t get a complete do-over, but if she’ll give me a chance, I can definitely do better. “Like, I’ll say ‘Hi Kendall, I’m Vaughn’ and you’ll say…?”

The shine of amusement fades. She slides out of my grasp and steps away. “I’ll say, ‘Hi Vaughn. It’s nice to meet you, but I think it’s best if we stay on our sides of the fence. I’m only house-sitting until August, then I’ll be gone, and our paths will never cross again. By fall I’ll be a vague memory of a crazy night you had over the summer. Take care of yourself and have a great life.’”

Her breezy tone doesn’t quite match her expression. She’s politely insisting there’s no point in us getting beyond “Hello neighbor.” I’d really like to know why she feels that way, so I settle myself on one of the barstools at the counter and prop my chin on my hand. “You honestly think you’re so easy to forget?”

“For drunks, yes.”

Seriously? I mean, seriously? Last night was me in full fuckup mode. I won’t deny it. Hell, I’m not trying to deny it. But I came here this morning for more than my stupid keys. I came to apologize for pulling her into my drama, and rather than accept it, she calls me a drunk? That’s some serious shade to throw at someone she barely knows. For several seconds we stare at each other. I wait for her to blink, look away. Give an inch. But she doesn’t. I’m not getting anything close to a do-over. Fine. I still know my manners. She’s entitled to the thank-you and apology.

I push the blue bag toward her and stand. “This is for you. I’m sorry about last night. Thanks for keeping me safe.”

Then I walk out, because there’s nothing left to say.

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