Secret Vow

by Susan R. Hughes

  “Good to see you, Ian. Burgers are nearly ready,” Brian announced, just as his wife bustled past, muttering something about salad dressing before she sprinted up the porch steps and disappeared through the back door into the house.

  “Can’t wait,” Ian said. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

  Still no sign of Brooke. Could she have left town without letting him know? He couldn’t discount the possibility, considering how quickly she’d fled after they kissed. Judging by her physical response, she’d enjoyed it as much as he had—but as he hadn’t heard from her since, he couldn’t be certain it meant as much to her, or that she even wanted to see him again.

  He was about to ask Brian whether Brooke was around when the back door swung open again and she stepped out, carrying a basket piled high with dinner rolls. Ian felt a smile curve his lips, as the sight of her impelled his heart to thump a heavy rhythm against his breastbone. Casually dressed in denim shorts and a red tank top, her hair drawn back at the sides and fastened behind her head, she looked startlingly like the young girl he’d known. She paused on the second step to gaze up at the overcast sky, her lips pursed with concern at the possibility of imminent rain. The Eldridge barbecues had famously never been rained out, but the stark gray clouds moving in threatened to end that streak of good fortune.

  At last she stepped carefully down the stairs and onto the patio, and then turned to set the basket on the long table, fitting it in next to heaping bowls of corn on the cob, devilled eggs and cold salads. As she bent forward, Ian couldn’t help letting his gaze linger on the shapely pair of legs tapering from beneath the hem of her shorts. Shaking off his doubts, he stepped forward at last, reaching around her toward the basket of rolls.

  “Your buns look fantastic,” he blurted as he took one.

  Startled, Brooke spun to face him. As her gaze met his, a warm smile lit her features. Relief swept through him; she was glad to see him after all.

  “Yours aren’t bad, either,” she said, colour blooming high in her cheeks. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

  “Never apologize for complimenting a man’s posterior,” Ian replied with a smile, growing a little warm himself as he fingered the soft, hot roll in his hand. “Did you bake all this?” He gestured at the far end of the table, stacked with plates full of fruit pies, cheesecake tarts and chocolate éclairs.

  Brooke bobbed her head. “Other than Eva Randall’s famous date squares, the rest are mine. I’ve been baking up a storm since I’ve been here. It’s what I do to relax. The problem is I can’t find enough people to eat it all.”

  “No problem with that today.” Ian nodded toward the numerous eager hands grabbing up the pastries. “Your strudel was out of this world, by the way. If you don’t want to go back into finance, you could always open a bakery.”

  She laughed, shaking her head so that her hair shifted across her shoulders. “They love it if it’s free, but I’m not sure I’d be able to make a living off my creations.”

  “You won’t know unless you try,” he said, echoing her advice to him. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re still in town. I thought you might be headed back to the big city by now.”

  He saw her expression wilt at the mention of going back, and she busied herself straightening the bowls on the table before replying. “Soon, maybe. I’m not really sure what I’m going to do.”

  Ian’s pulse surged a little at the news that she had no immediate plans to leave. He wouldn’t flatter himself that her hesitation had anything to do with him—but if she was staying a little longer, he’d take the opportunity to spend some of that time with her.

  “Do you have plans for this evening?” he asked.

  Brooke paused briefly in her arranging, but didn’t look up. “Not really.”

  “Would you join me for dinner?”

  She met his gaze briefly, a troubled look darkening her features. “I can’t. I have to help my parents clean up.”

  “Fair enough,” Ian said, trying to puzzle out the nuances in her expression that might have conveyed so much more than her words, if he could only decipher them. “Let me stay and help you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I really don’t mind, Brooke. But I get the feeling you’re trying to let me down easy.” He drew a deep a breath and released it, determined to express his thoughts as plainly as possible. “I thought something pretty incredible happened between us the other evening. It was something I haven’t felt in a very long time. But if you’re not sure you feel the same, I understand, and I’ll leave you alone—”

  “Don’t go, Ian.” She grasped his elbow to keep him from turning away. “You’re right, the evening was just about perfect.” Easing her hold on him, she didn’t let go but slid her palm gently around the back of his bicep, pinning him more firmly to the spot with her warm brown gaze. He felt the patter of his own pulse against the soft pressure of her hand. “But you know I’m not going to be around for long. There’s no point in starting something that isn’t going to lead anywhere.”

  She was right, of course; it probably wouldn’t take her long to get snatched up by another financial firm, and she’d be gone again—and it wouldn’t take much for his heart to shatter in the process. Even so, he couldn’t make himself walk away from her.

  “You might be right,” he said slowly, holding her gaze. “But to hell with being sensible. I just want to spend some time with you. Whether it’s a candlelit dinner or scrubbing pots in your parents’ kitchen, I don’t care.”

  For a moment she only stared at him, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she searched his face. Ian wished he knew what she was hoping to find there, and what exactly was responsible for the reluctance clouding her eyes. He couldn’t blame her for being cautious; it had been a long time since they’d known each other, and a lot had happened in each of their lives since then.

  Slowly her lips parted. “Well, I—”

  “Quite a spread you’ve got here,” intoned a familiar deep voice behind them. Ian turned to find Ted Davies by the table, sporting his affable mayoral grin. Next to him, Faith stood cradling baby Brandon against her hip, her expression oddly rigid.

  “Looks wonderful, doesn’t it?” Ian agreed, realizing he had yet to taste the soft roll cooling in his hand. “How are you doing, Faith?”

  “Fine.” She offered a tight smile as she and Brooke exchanged looks. “What are you two up to?”

  “Just monitoring the food,” Brooke replied cheerfully. Having jerked her arm away, she now held it stiffly at her side. While she’d pasted a broad smile onto her face, apprehension lurked within her eyes. Puzzled by her reaction, Ian observed her uneasily. Could she be embarrassed to be seen touching him?

  “I’m so glad you guys could make it,” she went on brightly. “Ted, I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you on becoming the youngest mayor in Eastport’s history. And your son is just adorable.” She waggled her fingers at the baby, further widening her grin. “What gorgeous blue eyes he has, just like his mom’s.”

  Brooke’s forced display of high spirits appeared to succeed with Ted, whose weakness for pretty women had persisted since high school. “I hear you’ve done quite well in the financial world, Brooke. And you look as stunning as ever.”

  “Thank you. Well, I’m happy to finally make it to one of my parents’ barbecues. Although I may have brought inclement weather with me.”

  “It’ll hold off.” Ted glanced up at the darkening sky, unconcerned. He then turned his attention to Ian. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Ian. How’s the law business these days?”

  All Ian wanted to do right now was continue his discussion with Brooke—alone—but saw no way to politely extract himself from this conversation. But as he chatted with Ted, he kept his eye on the two women next to them, who discussed Brandon’s emerging tooth at length in spite of the palpable undercurrent of tension between them. He supposed Faith might still be out of sorts, grieving for her father—but he suspected t
hat something more was going on between her and Brooke.

  Their conversation ended when Dana appeared behind Brooke and tapped her on the shoulder. “Honey, sorry to interrupt, but could you run inside and grab some more napkins? We’re running low and Father Finlay just piled a huge stack of ribs on his plate—you know it’s not going to be pretty.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  No sooner had Brooke turned her back than Faith thrust the baby into Ted’s arm. “I’ll help you,” she said, following closely behind her old friend as she headed inside.

  “He’s got hearts in his eyes when he looks at you,” Faith muttered the moment the screen door slammed behind them.

  “You’re exaggerating,” Brooke said, though the notion stirred a brief flutter in her chest. Had he not told her how he felt, the tenderness in his deep green gaze would have conveyed the sentiment just as clearly. She knew Faith was right; getting close to Ian was dangerous and would only lead to heartache for both of them. But despite her better judgment, she simply couldn’t help the exhilaration that skittered through her whenever he favoured her with one of his sensual smiles.

  “This is just like high school,” Faith went on, standing close as Brooke rummaged through the plastic bags on the counter in search of the jumbo pack of paper napkins she knew was there someplace. “The way the two of you would make eyes at each other when you passed in the hallways. You know you had the hots for Ian back then, and it appears you still do.”

  Irritated, Brooke paused to cast her old friend a challenging look. “Would you feel better if I went straight back to Toronto?”

  Faith shook her head, her tone softening at once. “Of course not. I like having you here. It’s just … you know what I’m saying.”

  “You said it all the other day.” Finally finding the package wedged beside the toaster, Brooke swiftly tore open the plastic and dropped the stack of loose napkins into Faith’s hands. “Don’t worry. I made you a promise, and I don’t plan on breaking it.”

  “All right. Sorry.” Holding the napkins firmly against her chest, Faith glanced out the kitchen window at her husband and Ian, still deep in conversation on the patio. “But just to be clear, are you saying there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

  Holding the door open to let her friend pass, Brooke offered a vague smile. “Let’s just get these napkins to Father Finlay before disaster strikes, hmm?”

  The rain came down in sheets, drumming steadily against the kitchen windowpanes. The sky had darkened to a dreary gray, sunlight barely penetrating the heavy clouds.

  Up to his elbows in sudsy water, Ian bent over the sink with Dana’s enormous glass salad bowl in one hand, while scraping vigorously at a stubborn smear of dried mayonnaise with the other. Brooke watched him covertly as she wiped the clean dishes and stacked them in the cupboard. She hadn’t been able to stop him from staying to help with the clean-up; once he made the offer to her parents, there was no chance they’d let the extra set of hands get away.

  Having managed to transfer all the leftover food inside just as the first raindrops hit, her parents were now busy stowing the tables and lawn chairs in the garage, while Brooke and Ian had been assigned to dishes duty. Alone in the kitchen, they worked in silence for a while, lulled by the thrumming rain, its rhythm hypnotic in the dusky light.

  “It may not be my business, but I’m curious to know what happened between you and Faith,” Ian remarked, without raising his eyes from his work. “It doesn’t take two people to fetch napkins.”

  “Oh, that,” Brooke replied casually, twisting her towel around her hand. “She wanted to talk to me about something. But it’s fine. We worked it out.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  After setting the dripping glass bowl in the drying rack, Ian picked up a large pot from the counter, pausing to contemplate the ring of crusted potato he had to work on next.

  “When you offered to scrub pots, did you expect you’d end up doing just that?” Brooke asked lightly.

  He grinned, shrugging his shoulders. “In university I worked twelve-hour days every weekend washing dishes at a grubby little diner. I can do this with my eyes closed.”

  “If that’s the method they use, remind me not to eat at that diner.”

  “Wise to avoid the place,” Ian agreed, “but it’s the cook you should worry about more than the dishwasher. He was about eighty years old and deaf as a post, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s still there.”

  Laughing at the image, Brooke picked up the glass bowl and began absently swabbing the inner surface with her towel. She wanted to ask him more about the last twelve years—about what else he’d had to do to earn a law degree, without financial help from his reprobate father. She only knew that Ken McCarthy had moved away from Eastport about a year after Brooke did, and rumours had circulated that he’d gone back to prison for an unspecified crime. Not quite knowing what to ask, she kept quiet, and they didn’t speak again for several minutes.

  As she opened the cupboard door overhead to stack a number of glass bowls on the lower shelf, Ian remarked behind her, “This was a pretty good day, wasn’t it?”

  Turning, Brooke grabbed a pair of salad tongs from the drying rack. “It was. Despite having to cut it short.” She glanced at the window, where the relentless rain continued to batter. She wasn’t quite willing to admit that this portion of the day—washing dishes with Ian—had been the most enjoyable part so far. The mundane task that she’d always dreaded became a comfortable diversion in his presence; she could easily envision repeating this scene every day of her life, and never having it feel like a chore.

  “Still, I think it was one of your parents’ best barbecues. Might be because you showed up.” Lifting a teasing brow, he added, “Finally.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I heard that all afternoon from just about everyone I talked to.”

  “People missed you, that’s all.”

  Brooke released a gentle sigh. “I know. There’s a lot I miss about this town, too. Some things I didn’t even realize I missed until I came back.”

  Ian set the clean pot on the drying rack. “Such as?”

  “You know, the easy pace, and being able to walk from my front door to the shops in five minutes. Strolls by the river. And certain people.” Feeling her face flush at the implication of her words, she snatched up the pot, keeping her head down as she concentrated on drying it.

  When she did look up, she found Ian’s attention focused above her head, a half-smile tilting his mouth.

  “What’s the smirk about?” she asked.

  “Those.” He nodded toward the cupboard overhead, and Brooke followed his gaze to the set of salt and pepper shakers on the top shelf. Shaped and painted like a Holstein cow and bull, they had magnets in the noses so that they “kissed” when pushed together. “I remember them from the time you had me over for dinner, when we were fourteen. A patient gave them to your dad, and he thought they were ridiculous, but your mom insisted on using them, since they were a gift.”

  Brooke set the dry pot on the counter, surprised at the details he remembered from so long ago. “My parents haven’t used those in years, but my family tends to hang onto everything that has any sentimental value.”

  “Is that so?” Ian cast her an inquisitive look. “Have you still got that bracelet I gave you for your sixteenth birthday?”

  “I’m sure I do.” All of her classmates had been invited to her Sweet Sixteen party, and she remembered Ian among them, though she’d forgotten all about the silver bracelet he gave her. The mention of it brought the memory flooding back. “I left a lot of keepsakes here, in my old room, when I moved to Toronto. It must still be in my closet upstairs.” Realizing she’d just confessed to not valuing the bracelet enough to take it with her, she added quickly, “It’s not that I didn’t like it—”

  “It’s all right, Brooke. I didn’t expect you to still wear it. I didn’t even expect that you’d kept it. I was just curious.”<
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  “I do have it, I’m sure of it,” she insisted, unwilling to let him suspect she was lying to save his feelings. “I’ll bet I could find it.”

  Ian picked up another encrusted salad bowl and dipped it into the soapy water. “Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have even asked.”

  Tucking her damp towel over the stove handle, Brooke took the bowl from him and set it in the sink. “This can do with a soak. Come on, we’ll find it right now.”

  Too late, Brooke questioned her rash decision to bring Ian into her old bedroom, where the unicorn theme she’d adored as a girl, and barely noticed anymore, at once struck her as ridiculously juvenile and garish.

  His brows inched upward as he scanned the unicorn-patterned bedspread, wallpaper border and lampshade that complemented the collection of unicorn figurines lined up on the dresser. Her obsession with the mythic horned creature had peaked when she was thirteen or so; in later years she’d thought about changing her decor, but hadn’t bothered—an oversight she now regretted.

  “I never actually saw your bedroom before,” Ian remarked with a slow smile. “I have to say, I never suspected this unicorn fixation.”

  Brooke lifted one shoulder, grinning sheepishly. “It’s a girl thing. If I stay here much longer I’ll be forced to do some redecorating. I don’t know how my parents have been able to stand it all these years.”

  “It reminds them of their little girl. I think it’s sweet that they haven’t changed it.”

  “I suppose so. Like I said, we’re a sentimental family.” Brooke slid the closet door open and reached up to the top shelf, knowing just where to find the old cardboard box in which she’d stashed her girlhood keepsakes.

  Turning around to find Ian seated casually on the bed, she swayed briefly on her feet, struck by the odd juxtaposition of the grown-up Ian McCarthy against her purple unicorn bedspread. The image felt startlingly surreal, like two parallel moments in time crashing into one another.