Promise (4 page)

I peered at him a couple times out of the
corner of my eye, not able to help myself. I thought I saw pain or
anger in his eyes and I wondered what he was thinking. The next
time I peeked, it was gone. He peered back at me, the gold flecks
sparkling. He pushed his notebook to the side of his desk, toward
me, with a note written in the margin.

How many cats do you think she has?

I suppressed a giggle. I'd wondered the same
thing about the teacher on the first day of class. I wrote on my
own notebook:
12?

He flipped over to a blank sheet and his pen
dashed across the page. I started to think he was just taking notes
when he pushed the notebook toward me again. He'd drawn a cartoon
picture of the teacher with twelve cats surrounding her. I had to
cover my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing aloud. We
exchanged written jokes about her and the cats, adding things to
the cartoon drawing, throughout the remainder of class.

"What are you up to between now and that team
meeting we have later?" he asked after class.

I wrinkled my nose. "I have calculus in ten
minutes. Then I'll probably torture myself some more and try to get
homework done before our meeting."

"Not a math geek, huh?"

"Not even close." It was the only freshman
core class I hadn't tested out of. But that was more than he needed
to know.

"Well, you have fun with that. See you later.
And thanks for making class interesting."

I cocked an eyebrow. I should have been
thanking him. I had practically fallen out of my seat with silent
giggles.

"Seriously. It's no fun writing notes to
myself. I don't play along nearly as well as you do." He grinned.
Then he did it again: he winked at me. My insides softened as I
gawked at him.
I'm such a fool
.

"I'll see you later," I finally muttered when
my head cleared. I made a beeline for the door before I made a
bigger idiot of myself.

After calculus, I grabbed a soda and a bag of
trail mix at the student union and headed for the seating area
where our team would be meeting. I had just spread out my calculus
text and notebook on the table when the familiar voice murmured
close behind me.

"I've been waiting for you for a very long
time."

It's like he keeps finding me…but why
would he want to?
Not that it bothered me. It should have, but
it didn't. He made me feel…good. Despite the mind-nudge.

"If that's the case, then I should turn you
in for stalking me," I replied drily as Tristan dropped his bag on
the table and took the seat next to me.

"Hmm, let's consider this. You show up in
my
communications class, then in
my
women's studies
class that I decide to pick up and have no idea which one you're
taking, and now you're right here where I need to be in thirty
minutes.
I
could turn
you
in for stalking."

I could tell he was just teasing, but my face
reddened anyway.

"I wouldn't, though, turn you in, I mean. You
can stalk me anytime." He grinned. I blushed.
Mr. Beautiful
is
flirting
with me
.

"Yeah, well, I don't have time right now.
First, I need to get this homework done."

"Ah, right, your own personal torture. Need
some help? I
am
a math geek."

I laughed. "Geek" was the last word anyone
would use to describe Tristan.

That's how it all started. With two classes
together and team projects to work on, I saw him every other day
during the week. He helped me with my calculus, I helped him
perfect his essays and we kept each other company in our classes.
Each time we were together, I felt another click in my heart and
that was probably not good.

I honestly couldn't explain my behavior. I
should have pulled away, if I knew what was good for me. Instead, I
was drawn
toward
him. He brought something out in me I never
knew was there. I couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it felt good.
Emotionally
good. Well, physically good, too. But also
emotionally. Really.

Even more than my own behavior, I certainly
didn't understand his—he could easily take his pick of girls. I
didn't complain, of course. Our conversations centered on homework,
college and the weather—pretty boring, yet safe, topics. The more
time we spent together, the better I felt around him. The
mind-nudge had all but disappeared.

Spending time with Tristan on campus left
little time for my research. But there wasn't much to do, anyway.
The deeper I sunk into it, the more outlandish it became. All I
found were myths—telepaths, witches, werewolves, vampires—and even
then, each had only one or two of our characteristics. Nothing
matched, not even fantasy. I came to a dead-end with no idea where
to go next.

Chapter 3

On a late September Saturday, Mom finally
held the Grand Opening of the bookstore. She'd been working long
hours cleaning, painting and setting up. I helped her some, but she
insisted I spend more time writing. So she hired Owen, who looked
like he should still be in college, but wasn't. I didn't ask, but I
guessed he'd dropped out to enjoy the Florida lifestyle of sun and
fun, although I thought he was on the wrong coast. He seemed to
belong in California, hanging out with the surfers.

I volunteered to help with the Grand Opening.
I thought they might need it, but it was also for selfish reasons,
hoping it would assuage my guilt for sneaking around so much. Mom
had very good reasons for protecting our secrets—promises to people
she didn't like and hadn't seen since I was a baby, but good
reasons nonetheless—but I also felt justified. I just wished it
didn't have to be like this.

"Good morning, little dudette," Owen greeted
when I entered the bookstore. I grunted. "Hmm…not a good
morning?"

"It's nine-thirty on a Saturday and I'm not
in bed. What could be good about it?" I muttered.

He nodded and laughed. "Yeah, know what ya
mean."

I watched as he enthusiastically cleaned the
counter, contradicting his words.

"You look like a morning person to me."

He threw me a disgusted look, though his
sapphire-blue eyes gleamed with humor. "I take that as an
insult."

"So you're not always like this?"

He scrubbed his hand through his blond hair
as he seemed to think about it. "I have no idea. Don't see this
time of day whenever I can help it."

He winked at me. It was cute, but it didn't
have that mind-fogging effect Tristan's wink did. He wasn't ugly or
even unattractive, but…well, not Mr. Beautiful. In fact, in the
looks department, Owen compared to Tristan like I compared to Mom.
She disagreed, saying Owen looked like a sweet James Dean, one of
her favorite actors from the old movies she loved so much.

"You want some coffee?" I asked. "I could
sure use some."

"Why don't you two go get some for all of
us?" Mom called from somewhere between rows of bookshelves. "Take a
five out of the drawer."

Mom didn't excite easily, but the way she
gushed about Owen—how great he was, such a good worker, funny,
yada, yada—you'd think he stepped right out of the pages of a book
about Mr. Right. When I asked her why she didn't go out with him,
she said she needed a man-break. Besides, she'd said, he was closer
to my age than hers. Yep, she was trying to set us up. Hence,
sending us both to do a one-person job.

"That's okay, Owen," I said. "I think I can
manage."

Warmth and humidity already hung in the air,
but a salty Gulf breeze awakened my senses as I crossed the main
business street of Cape Heron, a sleepy little resort town—for now,
anyway. It was a small town among many dotting the Gulf Coast
between Sarasota and Fort Myers. The region would grow busier soon
as the first snowbirds left their summer homes in the north and
came south for the winter.

Though season hadn't started, I wasn't
surprised to find a line at the coffee shop, since it was the only
one on Fifth Street. It was actually an old-style diner with wood
and vinyl booths and a row of peg-like stools pinned in front of
the counter. The smells of smoky bacon, sweet pancakes and pungent
coffee beans mixed in the air, reminding me of the many diners we
stopped at during our moves. I also smelled old-lady night cream
and Ben-Gay on the couple in front of me, light enough that I knew
it was applied last night.

While I waited, I observed people, a habit I
picked up as a writer. People-watching gave me something to do with
my abundant alone time and gave me ideas for my characters. I was
lost in thought while watching a man with gray, caterpillar
eyebrows and a matching mustache sip his coffee at the counter, a
newspaper in front of him. His mustache crawled as he silently
moved his lips while reading. He'd be a great werewolf, perhaps a
pack leader.

"Hello, sexy Lexi," a lovely voice murmured
in my ear.

I spun around to find Tristan just behind me,
leaning over, very close.
Mmm…he smells so good.

"Sorry, you don't like Lexi, do you?" He
smiled.

Actually, I love the way it sounds from you.
Did he really call me sexy?

"It wasn't the Lexi part," I said
pointedly.

His smile widened, his eyes sparkling
brighter. "So, I
can
call you Lexi?"

"Not in public." I never went by Lexi
specifically because of that nickname.

"But in private is okay," he said. It wasn't
a question. And he followed it with his devastating smile. My turn
was up and the cashier had to ask me three times for my order
before I even realized she was talking to me.

"Make that four coffees," Tristan said to the
cashier as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. "I got
it."

He smiled irresistibly as he paid and I just
couldn't bring myself to argue. When the cashier placed the
steaming cups on the counter, I deliberated how I'd carry three
without burning myself. Maybe it really was a two-person job.

"Let me help," Tristan said.

He grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups just as
I did. An electric pulse flew through my hand and up my arm as our
fingers touched. I flinched and looked up at him. He smiled. He
felt it, too, it seemed, but hadn't pulled back. It was,
admittedly, a pleasurable sensation. It was the first time we'd
ever touched—except when I collided with him that first night. When
there had also been a shock.
Weird
… I took the other two
cups and walked out without a word.

My stomach tightened as we crossed the
street—Mr. Beautiful and my goddess-like mother were about to meet.
The cowbell on the front door jangled when we walked in and Mom
came from the back room, her arms loaded with glossy hardcover
books. She looked up at me, then behind me at Tristan. She stopped
dead and the books crashed to the floor. Her mouth fell open, as
did mine. Mom never dropped things—she had excellent reflexes. She
just stood there stiffly, still staring at him.
Please,
please
don't let them….

"Um, Sophia?" I said, puzzled by her
reaction. It wasn't exactly what I expected.

She continued glaring at Tristan and I
realized I should make introductions, but my voice trailed off in
the middle of them. Mom paid absolutely no attention to me and I
suddenly felt like the outsider. Her eyes narrowed tightly at
Tristan as she lifted her chin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
Tristan just barely nod. Mom, almost imperceptibly, tilted her head
in response. And then, to my complete embarrassment, she turned on
her heel and marched to the back room. She said something harsh to
Owen and he rushed out. He stiffened when he saw Tristan, nodded
and then hurriedly picked up the books.

"Sorry about that," I said.

"Sure, no problem," Tristan said, watching
the doorway to the backroom, as if expecting her to come back
out…or wanting to follow her.

I moaned internally.

"Thanks for the coffee." I made my voice
light so it wouldn't betray my feelings of defeat and
disappointment.

He pulled his eyes away from the back room
and turned to me.

"My pleasure. I'll see you later." He leaned
closer and whispered, "Bye, sexy Lexi."

Stunned, I looked up at him. He flashed a
smile, then strode out of the store, leaving me in a daze.
Could
he possibly…?
Not
him and Mom? Maybe…just maybe?
My
heart sped with hope.

But then I remembered Mom. I trudged to the
back room where she paced around a stack of boxes.

"What was that all about?" I demanded.

"What?" False innocence filled her tone.

"Um, your warm welcome to Tristan?"

"Oh, that. Sorry." She waved it off.

"Mom," I whispered through clenched teeth,
hoping Owen didn't overhear us. "You were really rude. That was so
embarrassing. I kind of like this guy."

Mom's eyes grew wide. "You
like
him?
How do you even
know
him?"

She sounded angry, startling me into
forgetting that I was the one upset.

"He's in two of my classes and on my
communications team."

Her eyes flashed. "I can't believe you
haven't told me about him!"

I moaned with guilt, avoiding her glare by
looking at the floor as I pulled at my hair. I tried to avoid the
full truth. "Well, it's not like there's anything to it…."

"That could change. So what's the rest?" She
knew me too well.

I continued to stare at the floor, yanking
and twisting my hair. "Well, I knew you'd want to meet him and I
was afraid…you and Tristan…well, you know…."

My insides squirmed uncomfortably. Mom
surprised me with a loud, "Ha!" My head snapped up to see her smug
expression.

"That, my dear, is one thing you don't need
to worry about," she said. "I have absolutely no interest in him
and I strongly wish you wouldn't, either."