The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  Dammit. Even with my clothes swallowing her whole, hiding her sexy little body in ways that wet t-shirt never could, the sight of her leaves me in need of a cold shower. I take a deep breath, shake my head, and turn my back on her as she makes her way to join me in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, slipping her arms around my waist.

  I close my eyes and lift my hands up to grip either side of the pantry doorframe. “Shorty, now’s probably not a good time to touch me.” I feel her body go rigid as she freezes behind me. I don’t mean to hurt her feelings but if she doesn’t stop touching me, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself either. Right now, that’s for the best. “I just need a minute.”

  “Sorry,” she murmurs as she releases me.

  I turn to face her and see the sincerity of her apology in her big brown eyes—eyes that could convince me to do anything. Anything except break my promise to wait… I take her chin between my fingers and tilt her head back just enough for me to reach her lips and deliver a quick peck. “Don’t be sorry. You have no reason to be.”

  “But I—”

  “No buts.” A smirk pulls at my lips as I realize what I’ve just said. “Well, your butt is pretty nice, but I’m trying not to think about that right now.” She bites her lip in an attempt to hide a smile as her cheeks turn my favorite shade of red. I kiss her forehead and then turn back toward the pantry to continue my hunt for food. “To answer your question, I’m trying to figure out something to eat. I was going to make myself some dinner before my gorgeous girlfriend showed up at my doorstep and distracted me.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, do you mind if your girlfriend joins you for dinner?”

  I spot what I’m looking for and reach for it before turning to find Avery perched on top of the counter—perfect kissing height. I push the thought aside and try to remember my hunger. My other hunger. “My gorgeous girlfriend is welcome to join me for dinner any time she wants.”

  “What a lucky girl.”

  “She seems to think so. I’ve learned not to argue.”

  She giggles and I just have to kiss her. So I do. I linger for a moment, willing myself to be content with this close-lipped exchange.

  “What are we having for dinner?” she asks when I pull away.

  “Oh, no more referring to you in the third person?” I tease.

  “What are the two of you having for dinner?” she corrects herself with a grin. I hold up a couple packets of ramen noodles, lifting my eyebrows in question. When she laughs, I feign a pout. “Your girlfriend—”

  “Gorgeous girlfriend.”

  She rolls her eyes and scoffs as if she’s annoyed, but I know she loves it. “Your gorgeous girlfriend says she’ll only eat that if you let her doctor it.”

  My eyebrows go up again, this time in surprise. “She can doctor ramen noodles?”

  “Have you met her mother?” she asks, hopping from the counter and snatching the ramen from my hands. “Of course, she can doctor this classic college-student staple. When I’m—when she’s done, you’ll hardly recognize it. Watch and learn, love.”

  “This should be good.” I lift myself up onto the counter that she just vacated and fold my arms across my chest, ready to watch and learn.

  Or maybe just watch.

  As she rummages through our refrigerator, pulling out ingredients that seem to satisfy her, she starts humming. Bach. I recognize it right away. Not because I’ve suddenly become educated in classical music, but because I know the piece that she’s humming is what she’s been preparing for her grad school audition tapes. Just thinking about it fills me with a sort of happiness that I’ve only ever known with Avery. I know she’ll get into any program she applies to and I can only hope and pray that I get accepted into a school that’s in close proximity to her top choice. She keeps telling me that any of the schools she plans on applying to will suit her just fine, but I want her to have the best. I told her I never want to stand in the way of her greatness and I mean it. What she doesn’t know is that her greatness is what pushes me to strive for a higher caliber of success. She inspires me, so I will always push her to venture beyond mediocre, for she is extraordinary.

  I swear, every day I fall in love with her a little bit more. Just when I think that I finally understand what love is, she pulls me in deeper. I know that because of her, my life will never be the same. It’s not even just about her, which is the best part—what we have has helped me understand God’s love more than I did before. I didn’t know being in a relationship with a person could do that, but it has. I’m comforted by the idea of being His beloved because I know what that means, now. Avery is my beloved.

  This summer has gone by way too fast. When school starts next week and people ask me how I spent my last few months, all I’ll have to do is whip out my phone and show them my cover photo—the one of Avery that I took a couple weeks ago when we were out on a hike. She had gotten ahead of me and I pulled out my phone, called her name, and snapped the perfect picture of her looking back at me over her shoulder. She has been how I spent my summer.

  Of course, I’ve had football and work to juggle, too, but every spare moment I’ve had has been spent with my girl. We enjoyed a lot of time in the company of others—new friends and old—like we usually would; but we made sure to set aside time just for the two of us. We’ve been to concerts and movies and out on picnics. I’ve taken her out on dates, as often as possible, and she’s spoiled me with homemade dinners for two. We’ve shared lazy days and naps—God, I love napping with her—and we’ve even run errands together. I keep waiting for her to get sick of me, but it hasn’t happened yet. For that I am grateful. I can’t get enough of her.

  “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” she asks over her shoulder.

  She’s standing at the stove, doing I’m not sure what. So much for watching and learning; I haven’t learned a thing—except how sexy it is to watch her long hair fall out of place. I’m pretty sure her hair tie is just about useless at this point.

  “Sonny?”

  “Hmm?” I hum, yanking myself out of my head.

  “What are you thinking about over there? You’re being awfully quiet.”

  “I was just thinking about you,” I admit with a shrug.

  “Me?” she chirps. “What about me?”

  “Just that I love you.”

  When she turns to face me, her hair falls loose, tumbling down her back. She ignores it as she closes the distance between us, lightly tugging at the collar of my shirt when she’s within reaching distance. I don’t resist her as she pulls me down for a kiss. Instead, I bury my fingers in her damp hair and keep her close, stopping only when I feel her start to pull away. “You think you love me now? Wait until Saturday.” She pecks my lips before she steps out of reach and returns to the stove, picking up her fallen hair tie along the way.

  Saturday. My birthday. As her boyfriend, I am well aware that I now do birthdays, as she puts it. For her, I would do anything, which is the only reason I’m going along with her plans. I’m not really sure what to expect, as she has only let me in on our evening festivities. She insisted that I take the day off of work, which makes my last day at the hardware store tomorrow. I’m trying to keep an open mind about the whole thing, but shaking away thirteen years of horrible birthdays isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world. Now, I’m used to treating the day like any other and ignoring its significance all together.

  “Sonny?” she murmurs, catching my attention once more.

  “Yeah, Shorty?”

  “It’s going to be great. I promise.” I offer her a small smile, partly because I’m amused that she was able to follow my unspoken thoughts, and partly because I have no words to give. “And your gorgeous girlfriend loves you, too.”

  That, right there, is all I could ever wish for my birthday.

  “Want to taste?” she asks, coaxing me over with a slight tilt of her head.

  I chuckle and then I groan, covering my face with my hands.
Her comment doesn’t make me think of food at all! The only thing her question conjures is the memory of her standing outside my door, cold and wet, with a request to make her warm. Yes, I want to taste. Believe me, I want to taste every last—Good Lord, I need to get my mind out of the gutter.

  “What was that for?” she laughs, now oblivious to what I’m thinking. She’s so adorable. “Come ‘ere, it’s almost done. I just need you to tell me if you want more spice.”

  “Okay,” I sigh as I slide from the counter. When I’m right behind her, I lean down and snake my arms around her waist, pulling her close as I rest my chin on her shoulder. Looking into the pan in front of her, I’m amazed at what I see. Mixed in with the ramen noodles are scrambled eggs, peas, and bell peppers. I have no idea what she’s created, but it doesn’t look like soup and it smells delicious. “What is it?” I ask before opening my mouth for her to feed me a bite.

  “Ramen stir-fry.”

  “Mmm,” I hum as I chew. “This is good. You did good.”

  “Told you your girlfriend could doctor up some ramen.”

  “My gorgeous girlfriend—who is also amazing.” I plant a kiss on her cheek before I whisper, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s eat, I’m starved.”

  I know it might seem odd to most people, but I cannot wait for this summer to finally be over. The next week can’t go by fast enough. It’s not that I haven’t had a good break—it’s actually been surprisingly pleasant—but it has definitely worn me out. I’ve been so busy and so focused that I seriously think going back to a full class schedule will be somewhat of a reprieve.

  The past couple months have been all about preparing for the grind that will be the application process for medical school. I’ve clocked more volunteer hours at the hospital than I planned on. I also put in some time shadowing physicians at a primary care doctor’s office in town. After my experiences there, I think I might want to become a pediatrician. I’m not completely set on that emphasis, but I like the idea of it.

  I’ve also put in a lot of work on my applications. I’m still waiting on one more recommendation letter but, after I have that and another meeting with my a pre-health advisor, I should be all set for submission. I’m relieved that my MCAT scores from the spring were good enough that I didn’t have to worry about studying all summer to take it again. With that under my belt, pretty soon, it’ll all just be a waiting game.

  Of course, along with all of that, I’ve been working at the bookstore. Needless to say, my days are pretty full. Even still, making time to hang out with friends is also a priority. Without them, I’d probably go insane. Sundays have become my favorite day of the week; it’s usually the one day when I don’t have anything going on, outside of church, and the afternoon is habitually spent doing something with the group. Sundays are also the one day each week that I’m guaranteed to see Addison.

  Our schedules haven’t really meshed well over the past several weeks. I’m not sure if it’s because we’re not a couple anymore, and therefore not going out of our way to make time for each other, or if it would have been this way even if we were, but I know that I miss her. I miss the routine of being together. Yet, at the same time, I’m doing okay without us. At first, I felt guilty admitting that. Then one day, on a coffee date with my journal, it hit me—isn’t that a good thing, to be working on being okay by myself? I’m not going to say that being separated isn’t difficult, because it is, but I didn’t break up with her to torture myself. In the beginning, that’s exactly what it felt like, but now? Now, I don’t feel that way. I’ve let go.

  Two months ago, I gave up. While I wasn’t paying attention, peace came in and took my surrender and made it not one of defeat, but of freedom. It’s not so much that I’m free of her, but I’m free of the weight of expectation. When we were together, I felt bombarded with the future and all that was supposed to happen next. Then, when we first broke up, I felt the pressure of needing to figure everything out so that we could get back together within a timeframe that was acceptable. Both situations made me feel as if I was bound to something in a way that contradicted the freedom that is to exist in love. Now…

  I love her. I’m in love with her. We’re not together and I don’t know when that will change, but I’m okay with that. It might not make any sense—in fact, I know it doesn’t make any sense—but it feels right. I promised myself that I would stop asking why; I told God that He could do whatever He wanted and that I would be waiting. I’ve kept that promise. I won’t lie to myself and say that it hasn’t been a difficult promise to keep—especially on days when my longing for her is so strong that it actually, physically, hurts—but on those days, I just have to surrender all over again. On those days, my stubbornness be damned. I can’t control everything, even though I want to—a truth that I’m constantly being reminded of.

  My phone vibrates, alerting me to a text, and I discard my thoughts.

  Logan: On a scale of 1-10 (10 being great, 1 being total shit) how’s it going?

  A smirk pulls at my lips at the familiar text.

  Logan. She’s like a force of nature. Relentless and unpredictable, but also pleasantly unexpected and enjoyable. Just like the shift from giving up to letting go, Logan happened while I wasn’t paying attention. We’re friends. We’re so different that I’m not really sure how—but, these days, I’m not asking how. Not how, not what, not why, only when.

  What I do know is that she and I are bad-day-buddies. A week or so after we hung out at Cooper’s, she came into Little Bird while I was there, grumpy as I’ve ever seen her. Daphne was working, but she wasn’t going to be off for a while, so I got roped into hanging out with her instead. She told me that she had been there for me on my bad day and it was her turn to cash in the same favor. Ever since then, we periodically text each other, grading our days on a scale from one-to-ten. Anything lower than four, we make plans. I don’t know what it is about her, but she never minds it when I’m in a horrible mood; and, surprisingly, I like giving her the chance to cheer me up. On the flip side, I’m glad to be able to return the favor when needed.

  She’s a flirty person, which has taken some getting used to, but I know that it’s harmless. It’s just how she is. Obviously, if we’re in a group—which happens these days, as she, Daphne, and sometimes Roman, have become frequent additions to my family of friends—I try and shield Addie from Logan’s forwardness. But she’s like that with everyone, so it’s not as if her actions should be read into. Just the same, I make it a point that when Logan and I hang out, we never go to Cooper’s. That didn’t go so well the last time.

  Me: 6. You?

  Logan: -3. This day sucks balls so hard, it’s worse than total shit!!!!

  Logan: Dinner? The Tap Room?

  The Tap Room has become our alternate option in place of Cooper’s. It’s located on the edge of Old Town and has a more sophisticated atmosphere than the pub. It still has a bar setting, but it’s more of a chill spot than a game spot. The beer selection is amazing and the menu is pretty good, too. The only thing that makes me pause before agreeing to go is my level of exhaustion. I did five hours at the hospital and then five at the bookstore. Then again—I could eat. And negative three? I have to know what that’s about.

  Me: Half hour?

  Logan: See you soon!

  Since it’s eight o’clock on a Friday night, I can hardly be surprised by the crowd that fills The Tap Room. I know that Logan is already here, since she sent me a text upon arrival, but I’m not sure finding her will be too easy. The restaurant is essentially one giant room, with a long bar, a bunch of high top tables, and low booths that line the wall; it’s open seating, which appears to be more of a concept than an option, right now. My stomach growls and I’m hoping that we’ll manage to find someplace before my hunger drops my mood from a six to a four.

  “Hey, Mysterious,” Logan speaks softly into my ear. Her breath tickles and I jerk away from her, startled that she was able to sneak up o
n me, and find her grinning at me slyly.

  “Hey. Sorry, I didn’t notice you.”

  She turns her glossy lips down in an exaggerated frown. “Trying to kick me while I’m down, are you? That’s not very nice.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that,” I chuckle, throwing my arm around her shoulders to pull her in for a side-hug. “I see you now. Next, we just have to try and see our way to a table. Although, that’s looking like it’ll be quite the challenge.”

  “Please,” she scoffs. She slips from underneath my arm and stands in front of me, arching her eyebrow as she grabs a fist full of my shirt. “This girl waits for no one. Especially today. Follow me, smarty.”

  I smile at her, mostly because I find it amusing that she hardly ever uses my name—inserting whatever adjective she deems appropriate to describe me instead—and I allow her to tug me to the far end of the bar. As we maneuver our way through clumps of people, she doesn’t loosen her grip on me; it isn’t until she occupies the last available seat that she lets me go.

  “We’ll move as soon as we can.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” I say with a shrug.

  “Alright—pick your poison,” she demands, pointing up to the beer menu. It’s displayed all the way across the bar on a digital screen. Every time I come, I try and order something different, just because I can. The selections are listed from light to dark brews and tonight, I’m in the mood for something heavy that I can drink slowly. She orders a pale ale and I order a porter and when we’ve got our drinks in hand, she proposes a toast. “To a better night.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say, clinking my glass against hers. “As long as you promise to fill me in on what made your day worthy of a negative-three.”