Hold Me (Promise Me Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  After finishing my individual orders, I moved on, slathering butter on the bread and setting the cheese precisely within the crust. Working together in an assembly line, I handed the slice off to Kelly, who set it in the hot skillet with a sizzle.

  “Things tend to happen with these old houses,” Kelly told me. “I remember hearing terrible stories from Tommy. When we put the addition on my own sunroom, we had a hell of a mess to contend with. Wood rot like you wouldn’t believe, and the permits alone were enough to send me into an early grave.”

  Beulah added her two cents, as those types of women were wont to do, and I listened to the near-bickering that only rehashing personal history brought. A veritable pissing contest of who had the worst renovation horror stories and my-horse-is-bigger-than-your-horse and all done in a mockingly cheerful way, meaning they’d talk about each other behind their backs and still be friends in the morning.

  I hated those types of people.

  “My Leslie helped me with my living room remodel a couple of years ago. The furniture manufacturer over in Pineville gave me a definite delivery date for my order and two weeks later I still didn’t have my living room set,” Beulah contended. “Leslie called the store in a tizzy and they knocked a full thousand off the price. Got it delivered the next day.”

  Kelly waved her away. “That’s nothing. My sister-in-law waited an extra month for her wainscoting, and when the custom pieces finally arrived they’d been cut to the wrong dimensions.”

  Both women gasped in unison at the shock.

  I need the money, I reminded myself, moving down the counter to compose the next order. It was one thing to depend on Duncan’s income for the short term, but to have him sink money into my home while I racked up credit card debt was quite another. My mother raised a woman capable of pulling her own weight.

  Back in California I’d taken a job working as a bank teller. They paid a decent salary that gave me enough to afford the rent for my meager apartment. It had been a gleeful freedom, standing in the middle of the shoebox rented for sixteen hundred dollars a month. I could stare out the window at vast spaces in a strange amalgam of desert and mountain. The scrubby brown hills dotted with sparse succulents were a change from Virginia’s rolling green. Palms reached for the sky, their fronds like hands, ready to snatch the clouds. There the sun shone in silent solemnity as ocean waves crashed into massifs and no one knew who I was. Who I wanted to be.

  I chose the place, those people, in an attempt to create a better version of myself and follow the American Dream. What I failed to realize was my dream operated with a certain monetary currency I didn’t possess and couldn’t attain no matter how hard I tried. It was either gather the funds or sleep with someone to get ahead, and my moral compass didn’t allow the second option.

  In the end, and with a new man at my side, I skulked back to the east coast with my tail between my legs.

  To land smack dab in the middle of two gossiping guppies.

  Kelly wasn’t about to be outdone. “Yes, but the company insisted carpenter ants were easy to kill.”

  “I’ve never heard such a lie!”

  I didn’t even bother trying to keep up. I would just have to deal with them until I saved enough to pay for my fair share of the home improvements and property taxes.

  As in forever.

  A bell tinkled against glass as a customer breezed through the front door. I kept my head down to focus on work instead of the beautiful day beyond my reach.

  “Oh my, who is this gorgeous hunk of man? How delectable,” Kelly murmured.

  I glanced up in time to catch a flash of cropped blond hair and beguiling smile. “Back away, ladies, he’s taken.”

  Kelly looked from me to Duncan and back again. “Seriously?”

  Okay, I was within my rights to be insulted. “Yes, seriously. Snap your jaw shut, Kel, otherwise you’ll drool all over the sandwiches.”

  I left her sputtering, praying Beulah’s laughter meant I wasn’t in line for a reprimand. Wiping my hands on my apron, my gaze flitted to my future life partner, more than a little envious at his breezy attire.

  Duncan, always dapper, now wore his tailored slacks and button-up with the ease of a man who worked in the constant cool. Not a crease on him.

  I slicked my sweat-laden hair aside. “Hi, honey.”

  Duncan met me halfway across the floor and leaned over to brush my cheek in a kiss. “How is it going?” His way of saying hello.

  I looked back to the kitchen, the steam rising from a pot of stew and two sets of eyes attempting nonchalance while watching our every move. “It’s going as well as expected for a first day. I can be happy they hired me in the first place.”

  “Aw, I’m sure it will be great once you get the hang of the chef life. Everyone seems pretty nice. Am I right?” Duncan waved to the girls in the back and sent them into a twitter.

  “To your face, at least,” I corrected, fumbling with the knot in the back of my apron. “What’s going on? Please tell me it’s not anything bad. You aren’t known for impromptu middle of the day visits.”

  Duncan gave me a pat on the arm and nearly sent me careening into a shelf of yarn. “It’s fine. August texted me inviting us to dinner on Thursday, and I was in the neighborhood. Thought I would stop by and chat.”

  August texted him? I wasn’t sure what to think. “Why wouldn’t he text me?” I asked.

  “He said he tried and you didn’t answer, so he got me instead. It’s not a big deal. His mother wants to have a welcome-home dinner for you and she’d be happy if we both came. A family-style Southern feast.” Duncan licked his lips in anticipation. “I can almost taste the gravy now.”

  The idea delighted me less. The thought of August, his mother, and my new fiancé crowded around the same table fell into the category of nightmare. The potential awkwardness was enough to send me into a state of panic. I know Duncan mentioned that he and August were on good terms, but I recognized a budding pissing contest when I saw one. No matter what either one said, men rarely played nice with a woman in the middle of them.

  “Don’t we have plans for Thursday?” I hoped, to avoid disaster.

  “Nope, not a one.”

  “I guess you guys are bosom buddies now. Fingers racing across the keys while you gossip about your day.”

  Duncan’s face told me what he thought of my humor. “It’s fine. August assured me he had no designs on you and I need to learn to play nice.”

  “You’ve seen each other for five minutes since your big fight. But five minutes is nothing compared to a dinner party.”

  Duncan spoke in a low, intense voice. “I apologized for the scrap, okay? August knows we’re on even footing now. I would like for us to have a quiet dinner together and get to know the man a little more.”

  “I’m not sure how much more you want me to know him. We’ve only been friends for the last thirty years.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What did you tell him?”

  “I said sure. Why not? Who am I to turn down a home-cooked meal?” Duncan leaned in for a conspirator’s whisper. “And between you and me, I’m getting real tired of canned beans and sandwiches.”

  Yeah, I wasn’t thrilled with the sandwiches either, seeing as how I now made them for a living. Along with soups and salads and tapas-sized paninis the town residents considered gourmet.

  “I don’t know. It won’t be awkward for you?”

  “Only if you continue to act like it’s a major issue. I know how you are,” Duncan chided. “You overthink everything and put a negative spin on innocent, easy issues. If you stay calm, then the evening will go well. It would be rude to say no.”

  “So you guys will be all right in the same room without someone’s fist finding the other’s face?”

  “There you go being funny again.”

  I had the distinct feeling Duncan resisted the urge to ruffle my hair.

  The possibility of dinner had my mouth watering for the taste of the former Mrs. McKenney’s
cooking. How bad could it be?

  I wrung my fingers for something to do. “Fine,” I acquiesced. “If you promise to behave then we can go to dinner on Thursday. At least it gives me a few days to bulk up my mental fortitude in case things get ugly.”

  “There’s my girl.”

  I received a bone-crushing hug before his lips found mine in a light kiss.

  “Are you off now?” I moved back so the girls missed my gracelessness, though I would have stayed in his arms all day if given the chance.

  “Yeah, I have a few more things to do on my lunch break, run the numbers on the house and pick up nails for Hank. Then it’s back to the office.”

  Duncan’s job as an insurance salesman wasn’t the most glamorous gig in the world but it worked for the both of us. Setting up shop in town guaranteed the residents—and potential clients—who didn’t want to travel far for the opportunity to talk to a real person, those who preferred face-to-face interactions versus over the phone or via the Internet.

  “I’ve gotta keep the whip cracked on myself so I can afford all those home renovations you add on.”

  I turned away from the kitchen, ensuring none of the girls saw the flash of hurt at his subtle insult. “You agreed to them.”

  “Yeah, well, I got carried away in the fantasy. Now I know the bottom line and I’ve been running the numbers, so, try to check yourself before you go for the expensive tile, eh?”

  I got another clap on the back and tried to keep my footing. “Let’s not do this here. If you have a problem, we’ll talk later.”

  “Of course, it’s always later.” Gesturing with his chin, Duncan eyed the food prep line. “How about a snack for the road, eh?”

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “Whip out your wallet and then we’ll talk.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Thursday fast approached. I counted each minute from dawn to dusk in the meantime, my mind conjuring up every potential thing that could go wrong, such as:

  August bringing up an old memory about the two of us and Duncan getting mad.

  August’s mom mentioning how close we used to be and pondering why we never married. Duncan getting mad.

  Someone sneaking peanuts into the meatloaf and Duncan going to the emergency room...just to be vindictive.

  I tried to convince myself to be strong while working myself into a tizzy. My mind circled again and again to the meal and imminent doom until I could focus on nothing else. And then, at the last minute, Duncan canceled.

  “How the hell did you get sick? You’re usually sturdier than a mule?” I deflated faster than a three-day old helium balloon. I can’t say it came as a surprise. The week had progressed with startling speed and the downhill slide from healthy to flu-stricken moved in tandem.

  Duncan shivered, blankets tucked around his large frame. “I can’t even stand up.”

  The words were hard to make out through the coughs and gurgles. His tanned features paled as bags took residence under his eyes. His giant figure stooped and curled into a fetal position, refusing to move as the bed became his refuge.

  “I have the flu, Iz.”

  My hands fluttered toward the ceiling. Hallelujah. “Then I’ll have to call and cancel.”

  “Don’t cancel because of me. Go and have fun,” he responded.

  “How can I have fun when you look like you’re about to die?”

  His chuckle turned into a cough and his face blanched. “I’m fine.”

  “It won’t be a big thing,” I assured him. “I’ll give them a ring and politely back out because of contagions. No one wants to get the flu.”

  “Izzy, touch that phone and you are in for a spanking, and not the good kind. You are going without me.”

  I groaned. “This is unbelievable.”

  Duncan pushed through the worst upset stomach and sore throat, able to make it to work with a smile plastered on his face, yet here he was throwing me to the wolves alone. Why couldn’t he let me back out?

  Of course, I’d already dressed for the occasion, my outfit was a throwback, with a loose gauzy top and stretch pants to better hide my penchant for ice cream. Presentable but comfortable.

  “You’ll have a wonderful time. You know how bad they would feel if you didn’t show. I’m sure August’s mom has spent all day cooking.”

  “You’re right.” However, I’d latched onto the idea of a last minute ditch effort and hated having Duncan spin the situation around.

  “See, no sense in canceling now. Just go without me. You’ll be able to manage, right?” he asked through a stuffed nose.

  I handed the box of tissues over, careful not to touch his skin. “I guess. I should stay here and take care of you.”

  “If you insist on staying, then I’ll insist on going.” Duncan pushed to a seated position, his arms trembling.

  “Absolutely not! You lay back down.” I rushed to his side intent to do whatever necessary to ensure he rested. “You are not going. It’s a violation of basic manners to get your hosts sick.”

  My poor man. I hated seeing him so run down even though I held out hope for a swift recovery. He had a miraculous immune system, which is why I hadn’t guessed he would be bedridden tonight.

  “This sucks!” Duncan exploded. “Who gets the flu in May? It’s past the season!”

  “It seems to happen a lot here, let me tell you.” I tossed an air kiss in his direction. “Welcome to Virginia. I suppose I need to get going if I’m making it in time.”

  Duncan groaned through the aches and pains. “Will you bring me back something?”

  “Will you be able to eat it?” I countered, wincing at the memories of my own gastrointestinal horrors with the flu. If his stomach wasn’t in knots, then I’d be surprised.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Of course you will.” Without risking my own health, I blew a second air kiss in Duncan’s direction before adjusting my blouse.

  “I’ll try not to puke while you’re gone,” he managed to croak. “You’re too beautiful to clean up my mess again.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. Now rest and feel better. I’ll be back later.” I forced a smile on my face, plucking my courage with car keys clenched in hand as I walked out to the car.

  “Time to get this show on the road,” I said aloud.

  **

  The reality of dinner was ten times worse than anything I expected.

  I fought the urge to grip my seat through the ordeal. An emotional hurricane ripped through the room and decimated everything in its path without leaving a scratch on the furniture. At the ends of the table, August’s mother and her ex-husband engaged in one of the vilest staring contests I’d ever had the displeasure to witness.

  “This was my dinner for little Izzy,” Jennifer McKenney ground out, fists clenched on the tablecloth. “There was no reason for you to butt in on our evening.” She patted the brittle ends of her coiffure and strove for composure. “It’s not like you cared before.”

  Randolph McKenney volleyed back with an impressive glare. “I adore the girl too, Jen. We should at least be civil about this. When I heard she was in town, I had thought to get us together as well.” He retrieved the gravy boat and harrumphed. “You had to go and try to one-up me.”

  August sighed. “Can we not do this in front of company?” He shot me a quick grin, frayed at the edges, before turning back to his parents. “You two have been divorced for nearly a quarter of a century, so deal with it.”

  He sat across the table, an impossible distance, and our eyes locked for a moment. I caught the hint of embarrassment before he stuffed it down beneath a careful veneer of patience. I took in the feast, highlighted by beef roasted to perfection and accompanied by tempting supplicants of potatoes and carrots, collard greens and crowns of airy homemade biscuits. In the Heartwood Lutheran Church community, residents and worshippers used to pray for Jennifer McKenney’s roast to show up at their potluck dinners.

  “Everything looks great. I appreciate the invitation.
” Carefully grasping the knife and fork, I sliced my meat and tried to pretend everything was normal. “I’m excited to be back and my mouth is salivating in anticipation. I’ve always loved your cooking.” I shot Jennifer a bright smile.

  In high school I’d frequented their dinner table as often as I did my own. August and I trekked back and forth between our respective houses stuffing food in our faces. Now, years later, there I sat once more.

  “All I’m saying, Jennifer, is you could have picked a better day for this. Say, sometime other than when I’m supposed to ship five guitars to Wisconsin overnight,” Randolph stated in a huff.

  Jennifer testily drummed her fingers on the table. “Did you even consider I might have done it on purpose? That I wanted a nice meal with our son and his friend without you pulling everyone under with your bullshit? Is a quiet dinner so much to ask?”

  Her eyes made the rounds across the space, the same hue as her son’s, and if looks could kill, we would all be six feet under.

  “I refused to miss this. Besides, I was invited.” Randolph shot a look toward August, cutlery gripped tightly between his fingers. “Guests deserve respect.”

  “August James!” Ooh, his full Christian name. August was in deep doo-do with his mom. Jennifer only ever used the middle name addition to voice her extreme displeasure.

  Wait, where had that come from? The memories rushed me and I’d reverted back to high school and its juvenile language. I wanted to smack myself.

  “It was polite to offer,” August said in explanation.

  I should be used to the awkwardness by now. Having survived the initial rocky start, middle, and end of their divorce, I’d seen my fair share of their volatile arguments.

  My feet swung fretfully under the table while I searched for a safe topic of conversation.

  “So, catch me up on things.” I turned to Jennifer and swallowed a bite of her succulent roast. “What have I missed in the years I was gone?”