The Marriage Pledge

by Jean Oram

  With her arms wrapped tightly across her chest, Amy nodded, even though her gut still told her something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t anything big and scary with alarm bells, just something that wasn’t lining up properly.

  Scott lifted an eyebrow at Moe, who gave a small shrug.

  “You know what? I know who can make you feel safer tonight,” Scott said. He had his phone to his ear in seconds, calling in Logan, the local security expert, and making everything feel all too real.

  Moe felt as though he had failed Amy—failed at keeping her feeling safe in their home. She was scared, trembling against his side, and it made him want to lash out at the world. Yes, the front door had been open when they’d gotten home, but there had been no signs of entry, forced or otherwise. Yes, there had been a car whizzing around the corner of their quiet street when they’d come home a bit earlier than normal. But it was also late at night, when the most unruly teenagers had the run of the town.

  He didn’t know what to think, say or do. Had there been a break-in? He only knew that Amy was upset, and that had him seeing red, and revved up to slay anything that tried to harm her.

  Logan and his associate, Zach, were crouched like boulders in the front doorway, barely uttering a sound as they swiftly installed a new lock set. Just in case.

  That middle-of-the-night service was going to set Moe and Amy back a few bucks.

  But if it helped settle her nerves, then it was worth it.

  Moe continued to hold her against him, wondering if she felt as exhausted and as wired as he did.

  By the time the two men had replaced the locks on both the front and back doors, as well as installed a makeshift security system, dawn was lighting the eastern sky.

  “You’re all set,” Logan said. “We can come by and tweak things later. But you’re safe enough for tonight.” He glanced outside. “Or for this morning.”

  Zach appeared from the basement, munching on a bag of candy.

  “Anything?”

  “It’s clean.” He held out the bag. “Want some?”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “What does that mean—clean?” Amy asked, sidling deeper into Moe’s arms.

  “He did a sweep for…” Logan paused, choosing his words. “…for anything amiss.”

  “Like someone adding a spy camera?” she asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Who would do that? This is Blueberry Springs!”

  “Things happen everywhere.” The two men shared a look Moe didn’t like. He had a feeling they knew a lot more about the underbelly of the world than the general population could ever begin to believe. No wonder Zach was having a tough time finding a woman—he lived in an alternate reality where nothing was rose-tinted.

  Moe shivered, thinking what that reality might involve, and causing Amy to shrink into his embrace even further.

  Zach had picked up the tools, moving outside to wait for Logan.

  “I really appreciate you coming in the middle of the night like this,” Moe told Logan, after he’d done a quick run-through on how to use the new system.

  Logan shook his hand, and said with a grin, “I’ll send you a bill, mate.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Eventually. He’d heard through the grapevine that sending timely invoices wasn’t a strong suit for the two men. He’d heard about it long and hard from Mary Alice who despised owing people money. “Thanks again.”

  Scott had gone home to catch some more sleep before his shift officially started in a few hours, and soon Amy and Moe were alone again. The house felt large and vulnerable despite the new security system. Amy’s paranoia was starting to wear off on him.

  “You okay?” he asked her. The alarm’s light was glowing, showing it was engaged. He had made her a cup of chamomile tea earlier, but she’d left it untouched. He was starting to think maybe she needed a shot of something stronger.

  “I feel so…”

  Violated.

  “Want to stay in my room tonight?”

  “Are you putting the moves on me?” she teased, her voice flat, telling him that the incident had hit her more deeply than she was letting on. “Taking advantage of the situation?”

  He hooked his fingers in hers, leading her toward his room. “Come on. We’ll snuggle with my baseball bat.”

  “Is that what you’re calling it? Rather conceited, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled at the innuendo. “I was actually referring to the bat I take with me when I coach for the Bears since I don’t like the brand the school uses for practices.”

  Not bothering to undress, Moe pulled back the covers, kicked off his shoes and tugged Amy onto the bed beside him, wrapping them in the comforter. He cradled her in his arms and stroked her hair.

  “You’re safe,” he said. “The security system is set.”

  “And you’re here.”

  Something swelled in his chest, blocking his ability to speak for a moment.

  “Yes, and I’m here.” Her body fitted against his, her grip on him slackening as fatigue pulled at her.

  Unable to sleep himself, still on hyper alert, he took solace in knowing that she felt protected in his arms and could rest—right where she belonged, in his embrace.

  Sunshine was streaming through the bedroom windows when Moe woke up, his hands intertwined with Amy’s. Her eyes were drifting open, and he wondered if something had woken them or if they were simply in sync.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Did you hear something?” Amy asked, her eyes wide.

  “Just the squirrels in our eaves. We’re safe.”

  She snuggled a little deeper into the covers. “Thanks for letting me sleep in here.”

  “You’re welcome to until you feel safer.”

  “That was really nice of Zach and Logan to change our locks in the middle of the night.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Amy shook her head as though trying to shake off thoughts. “It’s the what-ifs, you know? I know we probably just forgot to latch the door properly and I’m spooking myself because of the car in the neighborhood. But it’s like my mind keeps running down that what-if alley. What if someone knew we would still be at work so they busted in? What were they looking for? Did they take something? Why did they leave the door open?”

  “Maybe Logan ratted us out to Devon and the others, and they were in the middle of pulling a new prank. You know, to get even for when we retaliated after they rearranged all of our furniture and took your bed,” Moe offered. “Although without Logan saying anything, it was pretty obvious it was us due to the timing of our pranks. But Devon did take your keys before—or so we figure. Maybe this was all just nothing. Just a prank.”

  It had to be. Otherwise she was going to have him looking over his shoulder all the time if they kept talking like this.

  She sighed. “If it was a break-in we probably interrupted it—they likely had a lookout who alerted them and they hightailed it out before getting a chance to do whatever they had planned.”

  “So all is well?”

  “That ends well. I would’ve lost my mind last night if you hadn’t been here,” she said, her voice quiet and uneven. “My imagination is way too willing to make something of this.”

  “We have a security system now, and Logan and Zach did a sweep.”

  “I know.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You take care of things. And me. You’re the best, you know that?”

  Moe wasn’t sure what to say, the sincerity of her words making him feel unsettled inside.

  “Why didn’t we ever fall in love with each other?” she asked.

  She was watching him, with a serious look in her eyes, he’d never seen before. It was intense but vulnerable, too. He cleared his throat. “I guess because you love the idea of love, not the long-term reality of it?”

  “I don’t mind the long-term. I just haven’t found a man who loves me for who I am.” She tapped him on the chest with a heavy sigh. “And you don’t
count because you don’t love me. Not in that way.”

  “And that’s why we have the pledge,” he said, stroking her mess of bed-head curls, his chest so tight it was difficult to speak normally. “Plus I can’t find a woman who wants boring old Mr. Reliable.”

  He rolled over, throwing his legs off the side of the bed.

  “Maybe more of them do than you realize,” she said softly.

  As he turned to size her up, he couldn’t help but feel as though their relationship had some serious potential this time. The problem was, somewhere between potential and long-term something always happened, leading them back to just friends.

  It had been a few nights since they’d found the front door open, and Amy knew she could go back to her bedroom, but it felt empty and cold without Moe. She felt safe curled up against his side, and he didn’t seem to mind the company, even though she was pretty sure he didn’t believe that anyone had been in their house. She wasn’t so sure she did, either.

  But it was nice pretending that she and Moe had what everyone else did. It was nice having someone beside her, someone to chat with when she woke up in the morning. And someone to turn to in the dark hours of the night, with slow kisses, warm hands, bodies pressed together.

  Amy felt a nudge. Ginger was waving a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Amy. You have that dreamy look in your eyes again.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just friends making babies together.” She did a quick scan of the pub, checking people’s drink levels in case anyone needed a refill. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to, which meant she had no easy escape from Ginger.

  “Who mentioned anything about Moe?” she asked. “And as for the friends part, have you ever kept track of how many times you kiss that man? Back when you were ‘just friends’ you’d find every sweet reason to plant one on his forehead or cheek in just about every conversation.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did so.” Ginger whacked a thick booklet of raffle tickets on the counter. “Have you got your tickets yet? All proceeds go to the senior center.”

  Amy sighed and went to the back room to find her purse. She hauled it up front while digging around for a twenty. She rarely won raffles, but hoped that if she did this time she’d get the adorable hand-knitted baby blanket, and have a reason to keep it instead of tucking it away as gift for her prolifically reproducing friends.

  She held the twenty out to Ginger, just about pulling it back at the last second. Moe’s request for a loan to buy the pub had been conditionally approved this morning. All he had to do was come up with ten grand as a good faith payment, should the estate grant him approval.

  He should be in a better mood, although maybe his edginess was due to the spot check made by the estate’s executor.

  Then again, did they have ten grand? If not, she should be saving up instead of buying a raffle ticket.

  Ginger snagged the bill. “Just one?”

  “Please.”

  Ginger tore a ticket off her bundle and Amy shoved it in her purse, then tucked the bag under the bar after double-checking that her house keys were still inside, the pub keys still secured to her wrist by a coiled rubber band. The other night her keys had been right where she’d thought they were—on the bar. Safe and sound. But that didn’t make her any less paranoid.

  “And for the record,” Ginger said, “making babies is what people do when they’re in love with each other.”

  “Do you think he loves me?” Amy asked, immediately regretting have verbalized the question.

  “Honey, he’s loved you for years. You’re both just too afraid to let go and dive in.”

  “We’re just really good friends.” Friends who had yet to slip back into the friend zone since they’d begun trying for a baby. Last night they’d even made love, slow and sweet. No calendars or plans, just that easy togetherness that brought them closer.

  She was getting in too deep.

  And it felt wonderful.

  “Give me all your excuses,” Ginger said, fingers waving in a “gimme” motion.

  Amy shot her a “get real” look, but her friend leaned forward, all ears. “Come on.”

  “Fine.” She sighed and placed her hands on her hips, daring Ginger to dispute all the reasons Amy had for why men didn’t stick with her. “I’m not long-term, deep-love lovable. Men want a wife who doesn’t take off on scuba vacations on a whim, or change careers. I’m too…selfish. That doesn’t make for a good partner.” She raised her arms and stepped back with a sigh.

  “Moe married you,” Ginger replied simply.

  “Because we had a pledge.”

  “He’s the one you always come back to. He’s always been in your life.”

  “Because he’s my best friend. We always drift back to friends when we try to go for more than that. We fail at doing the whole real relationship thing.”

  “Because you’re afraid to lose the friendship part,” she said with a “well, duh!” tone. “You two are making love like hot little monkeys—”

  “Are not!” Amy lied indignantly.

  Ginger gave her a try-me-again-you-liar look and continued, “You’re living together, married, working together, and are still best friends. In fact, you two seem closer than ever.”

  Amy pressed her fingertips against her eyebrows. It was all true, but this time she worried it wasn’t going to end well. They’d come further into this than ever before and she didn’t believe they would be able to drift back to mere friendship. Their relationship had a very high potential for crashing and burning, like two planets colliding.

  Ginger was furiously shaking her head. “Oh no, you don’t! Don’t you dare pull back from what’s good. I can see you freaking out. This is what’s right for both of you.”

  “Ginger…”

  “Seriously, girl. Let go. Tell him you love him.” She pulled herself over the bar and clenched Amy’s hands. “This was meant to be.” The ferocious truth blazing in Ginger’s eyes—the woman who never failed with her matchmaking—struck Amy in her solar plexus. She believed in them. Believed in their love.

  Amy’s breath hitched and she stepped back, her throat thick with a mix of fear and hope. “You really think…”

  Loud voices filtered out of the back room and into the pub distracting her. She couldn’t think of a time when Moe had ever spoken so loudly.

  She hurriedly excused herself from the conversation with Ginger.

  “We’re not done here!” her friend called after her. “You can’t just run away from the truth and pretend it doesn’t exist!”

  Amy hustled in her comfortable nursing shoes, stopping in the doorway to the brew room, where the atmosphere was best described as tense. Kimi, in her dress pants and tight white blouse, was glowering at Moe, whose cheeks were an uncharacteristic red.

  Kimi took in Amy with a sweep of her icy gaze, pausing on Amy’s shoes before her mouth twisted with distaste.

  Warpath status? Occupied by one angry woman.

  No wonder Moe had been in a mood for most of his shift. When he’d kept replying to her are-you-okay inquiries with a we’ll-talk-later, Amy had figured it was because having Roald Phipps checking up on him had gotten him perturbed. Now she thought his mood might have more to do with Kimi.

  “What’s the problem?” Amy asked, crossing her arms.

  “When I escorted the executor of Daddy’s estate to the pub this morning, so I could show him how around,” Kimi said, her chin trembling, “it was unlocked, the alarm off.”

  “I said I’d deal with it,” Moe said, his voice flat.

  “Moe is very careful about locking up,” Amy said. “Always.”

  “We need to restrict who has keys.” Kimi was staring at her.

  “That’s a good idea,” she agreed.

  Kimi lifted her brows as though expecting Amy to give up her set, and she raised her brows in return.

  “I didn’t leave the building unlocked,” Amy said. “Maybe it was your brother.”

  “
Spencer doesn’t have keys.” Kimi stepped closer, blocking the light from the bulb hanging behind her. “There are only three sets.” She took another step. “Mine, which are my father’s old ones, Moe’s and yours.” She was closing in, her subtle lilac perfume reaching Amy. “As managers, Moe and I need to have keys.”

  “We also need someone other than me, who is in town and works full-time, to have keys, Kimi,” Moe said. “We talked about this.”

  Kimi’s eyes were wet with tears, but this time they seemed genuine. The woman was losing it. “I just want this place to remain standing as a legacy. It looks like we don’t know what we’re doing, or that we don’t care, when it’s left unlocked. The executor is keeping track of everything. He decides whether we win or lose.”

  Amy noted the number of “we” statements in Kimi’s little speech.

  Moe let out a long, slow breath and sat on one of the kegs as he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Do you think he’s gunning to have the offer revoked?”

  “I don’t know.”

  An unlocked pub, beer going bad, accounting information missing, inventory out of whack. Things were adding up against Moe.

  But not enough for the breakdown Kimi was on the verge of having.

  “What’s else is up?” Amy asked.

  The woman inhaled, eyes closed. “The executor wants to do a spot check.”

  “Didn’t he just do one?”

  “Of your home.”

  “What?” Amy gaped at her, then at Moe. His shoulders were hunched, his arms crossed. She’d bet this was what had caused him to raise his voice.

  Kimi looked pained. “Someone told him that Moe is bringing home product and other things he shouldn’t.”

  “He’s not stealing.”

  “Uncle Roald is trying to account for missing inventory.”

  Moe made muttering sounds under his breath.

  “He should take stuff home, for all the unpaid work he does,” Amy said, “but he doesn’t. And what would it matter if he did? He’ll be buying the place and then he’d just be stealing from himself.”

  “Amy,” Moe murmured, his jaw tight, his anger barely controlled. “It’s fine. I’d want to do the same if things weren’t adding up in a business I was responsible for.”