Promise

by Kristie Cook

  I looked into his eyes and froze.

  Chapter 7

  The gold sparks in Tristan's eyes had turned to flames and for just an instant—not even a second—he actually looked more than just dangerous but…murderous. Then the flames disappeared and his eyes filled with pain. In one swift motion, he closed them and turned his head away from me. There was something wrong—I hadn't imagined it—something going on in his head. But the frightening look in his eyes was gone so quickly, I didn't know exactly what I saw, except for the sadness that followed.

  I dropped my hands into my lap and leaned against him. I could hear his heart pounding hard against his ribs and I wished I could do something for him. I tried to slow my own heart and breathing, tried to regain control, and his breathing told me he was doing the same. His arms held me tightly, as if he was afraid to let go. We sat completely still until most of the sky turned dark blue. We lay back down on the blanket, his arms still around me, and we stared silently at the stars as they blinked to life one at a time.

  Then both of our stomachs growled, ruining everything. We laughed, sat up and started gathering our things. He seemed to have recovered from whatever thought or memory had hurt him so much. I wondered if he'd ever tell me about it, but I didn't dare ask now. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

  We cooked dinner together at the cottage. I taught myself to cook, with the help of Emeril and Martha, and quite enjoyed it, but it had never been so much fun as it was with Tristan. I had to stop to admire his perfectly sliced peppers and onions. Every piece was exactly the same size and he had done it so quickly. I was impressed—and intimidated. He cut the prep time in half and it wasn't long before we sat down to chicken fajitas.

  After cleaning up, we watched a movie. He laughed at the choices I offered, my favorites—Interview with the Vampire, Lost Boys, Willow and The Princess Bride.

  "You seem to have a thing for vampires and magic."

  "Yeah, actually I do," I admitted with a small smile.

  "Really? You like that fantasy stuff?" He seemed surprised.

  "The lore fascinates me. You know…how it got started, if it was ever based on any kind of truth. I like to believe there's magic in this world. And that it can be used for good."

  "Hmm…interesting," he muttered. Not in a sarcastic way, but like he found my fascination unexpected. His brows furrowed for an instant and then his face relaxed. "Let's go with Willow. It won't give me nightmares."

  I laughed. I had a hard time believing scary movies bothered him. "If you're that much of a wuss, then let's watch…" I scanned the other movies on the shelf. "…Legends of the Fall."

  "Oh, no. That would be the worst nightmare of all."

  I gave him a questioning look as I slid the movie into the player. I used to have a crush on Tristan Ludlow, Brad Pitt's character, but hated how he left his loved ones. It wasn't exactly nightmare material, though.

  "I might dream of you with that other Tristan." He pulled me onto the couch next to him and put his arms around me. "And that would be horrifying."

  He nestled his face into my hair at my neck. I smiled.

  "I prefer this one."

  "This one prefers you, too," he whispered.

  He leaned back on the couch, pulling me with him. I felt so comfortable, so relaxed in his arms. I couldn't understand now why I had panicked at the idea of being alone with him. Nothing felt more natural.

  "Lexi," Tristan murmured as he stirred on the couch. "Wake up, Lexi."

  "Huh?" I sat up, a little disoriented. "Is the movie over?"

  "I think it was over a while ago. We both fell asleep."

  The TV's menu screen silently glowed bright blue.

  "Oh." I snuggled back against him. "Can we just stay here?"

  "I think I better go," he said quietly.

  He stood up and pulled me up, too. I held his hand as we walked to the door, and then he pulled me to him. Sparks flew through me again as he leaned over and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, dug my fingers into his hair and pulled tightly as I kissed him back. Passion rose as his mouth traveled along my neck and jaw line and his hands slid down my back, pressing me against him when his lips returned to mine. A tiny sound might have escaped from me. I don't know. His touch and scent and taste all together at once overwhelmed me. Losing control again….

  He abruptly pulled back. Those flames sparked in his eyes again, glowing brighter than before. I stepped back, surprised (frightened).

  "Yes, I better go," he muttered. He was out the door before I could react.

  I stood there breathless, not able to say anything because I didn't know what would come out. Yes, go. No, stay!

  "I'll see you in the morning. We have more studying to do," he called over his shoulder. I shut the door and slid to the floor—my legs weak, my insides still throbbing and my heart racing. I stayed there while I listened to the motorcycle's engine fade into the night.

  A knock at the door startled me back to alertness. I stood up and peeked through the window.

  "Owen?" I said with shock, pulling the door open. "It's two in the morning. What are you doing here?"

  "Hey, Alexis." He seemed to be giving me a once-over. "I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you're home alone and I saw the lights on…."

  What the…?

  "Uh, I'm fine." I stared at him with bewilderment.

  "Yeah, I'm sure you are," he mumbled as he turned to leave. "Sorry to bother you."

  He started down the walkway. Oh, no. Oh, no, she didn't!

  "Hey, Owen?" I called after him.

  He stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

  "Did Sophia put you up to this?"

  He started walking again and called back, "Just doing my job, Alexis."

  Son of a witch! She had Owen checking up on me. And he'd conveniently shown up right after Tristan left, as if he'd been watching. A babysitter?! Seriously?!

  But then I wondered if it had been Owen whom I heard outside last night, checking on me. That would be a good thing. He gave good vibes and Mom trusted him, so I should, too. Right?

  ***

  Tristan showed up at the door at ten the next morning with coffee, croissants and his backpack in hand and we spent the morning studying. By one o'clock, he'd had enough. He strode over to the backdoor and gazed out the window.

  "It's a beautiful day for a ride," he hinted. When I didn't answer, he came over to my chair, dropped on his knees, clasped his hands together and stuck his lower lip out deliciously. He lowered his voice. "Please?"

  Like I could resist that. Or the offer.

  "Why not? My brain's fried, too."

  He grinned. "You'll want to put on jeans and real shoes. No flip-flops for this ride."

  We cruised the streets of Cape Heron, and then headed for I-75. Holy crap! What am I thinking? I panicked at the realization of having absolutely no control—I put my life into his hands. I squeezed my eyes shut and held onto Tristan tightly, my muscles tense as the wind rushed against my face and the sounds of cars and trucks seemed way too close. Exhaust fumes and the smell of hot rubber filled my nose. My body was welded to Tristan's back by the time we left the highway only a couple exits later. I breathed a sigh of relief that we survived.

  At the slower speed, the ride was spectacular. The sun shone brightly in the clear October sky and the smell of oily warmth rose off the pavement. After a while, we crossed the causeway to Gasparilla Island. I rested my chin on Tristan's shoulder as we cruised along the tree-lined boulevard, catching an occasional glimpse of the Gulf of Mexico on one side and the bay on the other, between the large houses. We rode through the quaint little town of Boca Grande, which reminded me a lot of Cape Heron. He stopped the bike in a parking lot at the end of the island and we gazed over the sugary sand and steel-blue water as pelicans dive-bombed for their dinner. Two dolphins jumped and twisted in the air, playing with each other.

  "Nice, huh?" Tristan asked.

  "Perfect,"
I breathed. I was still close against him, my arms wrapped around his waist. He held my hands in front of him.

  "Let's take a walk and stretch our legs, then I'll take you out to dinner."

  As we rode down my street later, sadness grew within me, knowing our perfect day was coming to a close. Night had fallen and the street was quiet except for the Harley's distinct rumble. As we pulled in front of the cottage and I saw Mom's car in the driveway and a light on inside, I was sadder still that our perfect weekend was over. We both took a deep breath and sighed heavily after he cut the engine, knowing the next few minutes, at least, wouldn't be pleasant. I leaned against the backrest, not wanting to get off yet.

  "Do you know why she doesn't like me?" Tristan asked.

  "No, not really."

  He was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'm sure she's worried about you because she loves you. And she has valid reasons for feeling the way she does, so you should probably listen to her."

  That sounded like a warning. Of what, I wasn't sure and I didn't want to know. Not now.

  I leaned my forehead against his back and whispered, "Please don't."

  "Don't what? Don't be honest?" His voice was low and heavy.

  I sighed. Why should we start now? But that's not what I'd meant.

  "Tristan, I don't know what will happen as soon as we walk in there. I've never seen her like this. But I had an amazing weekend with you and that's how I want to leave it. Let her be the one to ruin it. Not you. Please?"

  He didn't respond right away.

  "Understood," he finally said. I reached my arms around him and he took my hands in each of his and gave them a squeeze. "Just one thing, though. Just remember it's your life, Alexis. Do what you need to do for you. Not for me, not for her. Okay?"

  "Yeah, of course," I answered simply, but what he suggested was impossible. I didn't like upsetting Mom. I wanted her to be happy. And I wanted Tristan to be happy, too, because that's what he gave me. I couldn't do anything for me without some kind of consequence. I had to find a way to reconcile these differences. Mom just needs to get to know him. That was the answer. Surely she'd come around then, when she realized he was nothing like Lenny or his other relatives. If only she'd give him the chance….

  "You had an amazing weekend with me, huh?" Tristan asked, his voice light and lovely again as we walked up to the cottage hand-in-hand.

  "Very amazing." I smiled at him. "No matter what happens, it was worth it."

  "I agree." He squeezed my hand, smiling back. "And thank you for telling me how you feel."

  The door flew open before we reached the front porch. Mom stood in the doorframe, crossing her arms and glaring at us.

  "Alexis," she said curtly. "Tristan."

  "Hi, Sophia, how was your…uh…convention?" I asked, trying in vain to sound relaxed and nonchalant.

  She glared at Tristan and I saw him shake his head out of the corner of my eye, answering her silent question.

  "Not what I hoped it would be," she answered coldly, still staring at Tristan. Her eyes softened just a bit, though, as if his keeping her secrets meant something to her.

  We all stood there awkwardly in deafening silence.

  "I think I better go…" Tristan broke it first. It was almost a question, though.

  "That's a good idea." Mom leaned inside the door, picked something up, and held his backpack out to him.

  He took the bag and squeezed my hand. "See you in class tomorrow."

  Mom closed the door and followed me to the kitchen table, where my books were still spread out, waiting for my return.

  "Alexis, I need to talk to you."

  "I really need to study. Mid-terms tomorrow."

  "Please. Just listen for a minute."

  I plopped onto a chair and looked at her expectantly, waiting for the lecture or tirade or whatever was coming. But she surprised me.

  "Listen…there are apparently things I just need to work out with myself. There's obviously nothing I can do about this." She threw her hands in my direction, but I knew she meant "this" to mean Tristan and me together, as a couple. "Did you spend a lot of time with him this weekend?"

  I hesitated before answering, but I couldn't lie. "Yes."

  "And you obviously still like him?"

  "Yes."

  "Anything more?"

  "I don't know. Maybe." I sighed. "I think so."

  She pursed her lips together and stared at me for a long moment. "Just don't rush into anything too serious, okay?"

  I didn't answer and she sighed.

  "Never mind. I shouldn't have said that. You do what you feel is right and I'll just have to accept it. I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of when."

  She lost me. "Is this specifically about Tristan or just about me getting serious with anyone in general?"

  She pondered this question. "Both. But, in the end, it doesn't matter. You're going to do what you want and so is he. I know everything will go the way it's supposed to. It will be good."

  She said those last two sentences as if trying them on, feeling for their meaning, deciding if she truly believed them. Her face showed she didn't, but wanted to, kind of doubtful and hopeful at the same time. I debated whether to force an explanation and decided to let it go, for now, anyway.

  "Thanks, Mom." I threw myself at her in a grateful hug—grateful for her blessing and her return. She didn't let go and I knew she missed me, too. "There's just one other thing."

  She stepped back and studied my face, her own expression leery.

  "I feel really good with Tristan and I'm learning to trust him. So…" I hesitated, bracing myself. "There might come a time when he needs to know about things. You know…things I don't know yet."

  "Alexis—"

  "If he understands, maybe he won't get mean or run." My voice cracked on the last word.

  Mom put her hands on my shoulders. "You do really like him, don't you?"

  I nodded. She sighed.

  "Let's just see how it goes, okay? Maybe we can talk about this again later…or maybe it won't be necessary." With a kiss to my forehead and a turn on her heel, she clearly stated the discussion was over. I didn't know if I'd won just a little or not.

  She went to bed and I reviewed my notes one more time. Just as I finished, there was a tap on the kitchen door. I nearly fell out of my seat at the seemingly loud sound in the dead silence. I sat there, frozen, trying to figure out what to do. My heart had jumped at the sound and now it raced. Should I run? I glanced over at the knife block on the counter. Fight?

  Another tap on the door's window.

  Would they really knock first?

  "Alexis, it's me." Low, sexy voice muffled through the glass pane.

  I laughed internally at myself and hurried over to open the door.

  "What are you doing?" I whispered. "You scared the crap out of me."

  "Sorry." He grinned, like he really wasn't. "I just had to make sure she hadn't killed you or planned to take you away or anything."

  I smiled giddily. "No, actually, I think it's all good."

  "Okay, good." It came out as sort of a whoosh of relief.

  "Is that it?" I asked when he just stood there.

  "Well…I didn't get to say good-bye and I couldn't sleep without this." He bent over and brushed his lips across mine. Then he smiled and winked. I stared at him, dazed. "Okay, better. I can sleep now. Good night."

  "'Night," I murmured. He disappeared into the darkness.

  Our glorious weekend stretched into the following weeks. We watched sunsets and cooked dinner for Mom. She watched us carefully at first, but seemed to be coming around.

  We played Baby Steps every day. He got a question and I got a question. They often led to more questions, but they were generally superficial topics. We discovered we had similar tastes in music—a preference for alternative rock, but could enjoy anything but rap. I learned he wanted to be an engineer or an architect. He'd lived in many places throughout Europe, as well as several cit
ies in the U.S., had spent time in Japan to study Aikido and had traveled to every continent except Antarctica.

  He learned I'd never been out of the country but had a passport because Sophia thought it practical, and I took four years of Spanish in high school and could say maybe five full sentences and count to one-hundred. I told him I could name every Edgar Allan Poe story and recite by heart nine Emily Dickinson poems. I even admitted I'd tried my own hand at poetry.

  I learned he didn't like Halloween, saying it wasn't right that little kids wanted to be witches, vampires and other monsters. I admitted I'd always been a witch or a vampire, but always a good one—as a vampire, I carried around a cup of donor "blood." He guessed correctly it was Mom's idea. She preferred fairies, princesses and humorous costumes to the gory and scary ones. He asked Mom if my interest in monsters and fantastical creatures was healthy. She just laughed. I talked him into taking me to a couple haunted houses and he growled fiercely at the monster-actors, making them jump and shriek. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. He admitted it was the most fun he'd had on Halloween.

  By Thanksgiving, we knew all of each other's favorite everything…colors, bands, authors, actors and actresses, food, ice cream flavors, books…. All the top-layer stuff that really had little to do with who we were and why…the stuff that made us real. Little hints and nuggets could be gleaned from these surface subjects, but they didn't touch the deep, inner-workings of our hearts or souls and definitely had nothing to do with the secrets we kept and pain we hid. I knew, though, it was only a matter of time before those things came out.

  And when they did…well, it certainly didn't happen the way I could have ever expected.

  Chapter 8

  "Owen and I could have done that," Tristan said as Mom and I climbed step-ladders in the bookstore's expansive front window, a string of Christmas lights stretched between us.

  It was the night before Thanksgiving and Tristan and I had spent the day helping Mom and Owen prepare for the holiday rush. Mom didn't believe in selling Christmas before Halloween or even Thanksgiving, so here we were, nine o'clock at night, still decorating. Nearly finished, Mom had just sent Owen home. Not two minutes ago we had two perfectly able—and perfectly tall—men to hang the lights. But this was Mom's way of making sure everyone (well, Tristan specifically) knew we depended on no one.