Promise Me: A Second Chance Romance Page 4

  “Don’t,” she warns with a shaky voice as she points her finger at me, her chest heaving and a beautiful flush now coloring her chest. She takes a step backward. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I want you back,” I tell her.

  She huffs a sad, disbelieving laugh. “Right. Well, I want a lot of things, but mostly I just want to get away from you.”

  She turns around, her feet kicking up gravel as she walks away, heading for an old blue Nissan.

  I follow her path and stand a few feet away as she gets into her car. I don’t want her to leave, but it’s not like she’s going far. And I’ve already pushed her limits tonight. She needs time. I know her. I know my Vi. I need to give her a little space and a little time.

  Now that I know where my Vi stands, I’m not stopping until she forgives me.

  I won’t let up until she gives me a second chance.

  Chapter 5

  Violet

  The dim daylight filters into the large windows of the bakery as I stretch my arms above my head, yawning and then letting out a weak sigh. It’s late and the front of the bakery is much darker now than it was this morning. I flipped the sign to “closed” about an hour ago, and everything’s all cleaned up now.

  I’ve got to wheel this birthday cake back into the walk-in fridge and then I can get out of here, a productive day behind me. And then I have nothing left to hide behind. No more work to keep me busy and keep my mind off of what happened last night. The thought makes a touch of dread stir in the pit of my stomach. I ignore it and toss the washcloth in my hand onto the side of the large basin sink.

  I take a long glance of the birthday cake for tomorrow to make sure it’s perfect.

  A small smile plays at my lips as I take in my handiwork. Even if my heart’s not in it, my grandma would be so proud. The thought makes me feel slightly better. She’s the one who first taught me how to mold fondant and whip up the buttercream just right. She’s why I thought I’d be good at this.

  The two-tiered orange citrus cake is covered with a pale blue buttercream. There are white chocolate molded sea shells at the bottom, a sailboat on top with a little red flag and an “Ahoy Matey!” banner on the second tier. I think it’s one of the cutest cakes I’ve ever made.

  I’d squeal with delight if I was in a better mood. But I’m not.

  I’m still in this shitty situation with Hunter and Slade, and now that it’s time to close, I have to face reality.

  I can’t believe I did that last night. I let Hunter kiss me, I let him draw me in and make me feel something for him again. I shouldn’t have. I should have my armor on when it comes to that man. But he breaks it down so easily. I’m ashamed.

  For a moment, I wanted to lean into that kiss. I wanted Hunter to take me right there. To fuck me outside against the wall of the bar. Even worse, I feel like I cheated on Slade, even though we aren’t even a couple. I feel like everyone was right about me.

  I could feel my defenses crumbling around me. I’m pissed at myself for everything that happened last night, but when I think of Hunter...

  I touch my lips and close my eyes. The spark between us was still there as he held me and kissed me like he really wanted me. I keep remembering the way Hunter leaned in and kissed me as though I was his. He wanted me last night.

  He wants me.

  My heart swells in my chest and my pussy heats for him, clenching around nothing. My eyes close and I feel weak, but only for a moment. I grit my teeth and shove down those feelings.

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

  I won’t let that happen. I can’t.

  I carefully push the cart with the cake on it away from the frosting station and to the right where the double door fridge is. I have to prop the heavy door open with the stopper and then go back to the cart.

  I shouldn’t feel like I cheated on Slade.

  I’m not his girl. I cringe remembering how he was treating me last night. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t want his hands on me and him hovering over me like we’re an item.

  But then again, I haven’t really dated in so long, so maybe I’m the one who’s in the wrong.

  I’m so confused. I’m in a really bad mood, and somehow I just don’t know how to break out of it.

  My stomach churns as I kick the stopper away from the door and let it fall shut. I pull the handles slightly to make sure it’s a firm seal. Like everything else in the bakery, the fridge is old.

  I have too many real problems to deal with. I don’t need to fall back into an old habit, whether that would be Hunter or this pity party I’m throwing myself. That’s only going to make me angry at myself all over again.

  I close out the register and have to hold back the self-doubt I have about continuing to run this place.

  I had a great day today in terms of sales and customers. Although the money coming into the bakery is good, the bills are piling up.

  I wish I was just a baker. It was better back when Mr. Mealey owned and ran everything. When he hired me, he told me the job wouldn’t last long and that he was going to be retiring.

  I jumped at the opportunity to own this place. I practically begged him to teach me.

  I lock up the shop, thinking about one problem after another.

  The keys jingle in my hands as I turn and walk back to my car, just to the right of the shop. I open the car door with a loud click in the otherwise empty, quiet air and ease into the seat, exhaustion taking over my body. Owning a small business is hard work and more difficult than I ever imagined.

  I close the door, but I don’t put the key in the ignition. Instead I stare at the bakery, Sweet Treats.

  It’s such a cute building. It’s one of the only ones off of main street, but it’s so close, I still get foot traffic. I put a fresh coat of pale blue paint on the cement walls and bright white on the shutters when I took over. Now the pale blue is faded and in need of a serious power wash.

  Same with the shutters, only they’ll have to be scrubbed by hand. The striped awning still looks decent, but the sign above it needs to be replaced.

  I put everything I had into giving this bakery new life and creating a new beginning and a fresh start for myself. It’s been a little over a year. I wish I hadn’t. I’m exhausted, and I didn’t expect running a business to be so much paperwork and marketing. All these aspects I’ve never considered and I’m not at all interested in. It’s a money pit that sucks up every ounce of energy and minute of my time as well.

  It’s another mistake. That’s what I’m good for. One mistake after the other.

  I give myself a stern lecture as I start my car. There’s no time and no place in my life for feeling sorry for myself. I’d do best to remember that. I pull out of the lot, more worked up than ever.

  I wish I could just crawl into my bed and pass out, ignoring all my troubles, but I have to do this. I promised Mama I would see her everyday while she’s recovering.

  I sigh heavily, feeling like I’m on a knife’s edge with my anxiety and lean back in my seat as I slowly stop at the red light. It’s only then that I realize I’ve been driving without the radio on. I reach over and gently turn the volume louder so I can hear something besides my own thoughts.

  My thoughts are all-encompassing, though. It’s not so easy to get away from them.

  I sigh. I wish I could just run away sometimes.

  I should just run away. Leave this place and start over.

  Guilt weighs against my chest at the thought. My car starts shuddering a bit more as it moves from the smooth asphalt to the dirt road. I blow out a breath, trying to calm myself.

  There’s only one thing I should be worried about, and that’s getting to my parents’ house on time.

  Mama only asked one thing from me. Just dinner at my parents' house, every night that I’m able. Thinking of my mama makes my heart hurt that much more.

  I have to stay in town and be here for her. I won’t let anyone or anything get in the way of that.


  Certainly not long-lost love or failing bakeries.

  I pull in my parents' driveway feeling guilty for even thinking about leaving. It was a short drive and not nearly enough time to calm down.

  Then again, it’s a short drive practically everywhere in this town. The hardware store is about twenty minutes away, that’s probably the farthest I’ve driven in months.

  I resist the urge to scream in frustration when I look to the house across the street.

  It’s the Graves’ house. As in Hunter Graves. I grew up across the street from Hunter.

  I take a deep breath and hold it. His mother used to say we were gonna get married when we were just toddlers. She kept saying “Told ya so,” when we started dating in high school.

  It wasn’t fair, because I believed her. She set me up.

  I exhale, shaking my head.

  I’ve barely talked to her since Hunter left. All I know is that she didn’t want him to go.

  I can understand that, no one wants to see their baby boy go off to war. That’s not why we’ve barely spoken though. There’s simply not much to say.

  It’s not her on the porch today though. It’s Hunter.

  And the sight of him has my thighs clenching with need.

  He’s a beautiful distraction. Bare-chested and looking every bit of the man I knew he’d grow up to be.

  He’s got a drill in his hand, and he’s reaching high above his head. His corded muscles are glistening and making me forget every bad thought I ever had about him.

  It looks like he’s screwing something to the ceiling of the porch. My eyes finally tear away from his chiseled body and I see the porch swing sitting there.

  I swallow thickly and prepare myself for a quick getaway into my parents' house. I’m not here to talk to him, and I’m not interested.

  I open my car door as quietly as I can. His drill’s on, and the loud hum can be heard from across the street. I shut the door as softly as I can and wince a bit when it’s a tad louder than I wanted. I shouldn’t even turn to see if he heard. But I do.

  I take a peek over my shoulder and sure enough, his piercing green eyes are on me.

  I feel caught in his gaze, my body tingling as goosebumps trail down my skin; he lowers his arm and turns to face me, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart races remembering how I caved to him last night, even if it was only for a moment.

  He takes a step forward and the slight movement releases me from his hold. I walk as quickly as I can up the three wide steps to my parents' front door.

  The second I’m inside, I feel like I can finally breathe. I want to turn and peek out of the peephole to see if he’s still looking. But I don’t.

  I sag against the hard maple door and resist the urge to look, catching my breath.

  It’s not fair that he does this to me. I hate that he affects me so much.

  This town is too small. It’s so teeny-tiny that I can’t escape for one moment.

  “Is that you, sweetheart?”

  I hear my mama call out from the kitchen and I instantly push off the door.

  I’m pissed at myself for being so consumed by Hunter. I swallow thickly and right my dress, smoothing it out and pushing the loose hair out of my face.

  “I’m home, Mama,” I call out to her.

  It’s not my house. I don’t live in this cute little raised ranch anymore. The one with green shutters and a porch meant for sitting out on rainy nights and watching the lightning. My house is the tiny apartment above the bakery now, but in a lot of ways, this house will always be home.

  Mama appears in the doorway to the dining room off to my right, with a dish in one hand and a sage green kitchen towel in the other. Her dark curly locks are showing her age with a little grey at the ends near her scalp. She needs a touch-up.

  “Hey Mama,” I say, pushing off the door. “Need any help?”

  “I can handle a few dishes.” She gives me a warm smile and walks back into the kitchen.

  She looks strong on the outside. She never talks about the pain either. She didn’t even go into the hospital when she started having chest pains.

  Some days I wonder if she would’ve gone in at all if my father hadn’t seen her bent over holding her chest, her heart racing.

  I’m glad he was there. As for my mama -- she knows better now.

  That said, she’s not recovering liked they’d hoped from the surgery.

  I say another silent prayer that the medication for cardiovascular disease and the surgery do their job, help her recover. So far she’s not getting any better, and they’ve done all they can do.

  I inhale deeply and try to get my mind off of it.

  It’s going to work. I know it is. It has to.

  I blink away the tears in my eyes before she can see them. She needs me to be here for her and to be strong. And I will. I made that promise to her, and I’m going to keep it.

  I follow her, taking easy steps so she can’t tell how much I’m hurting. I clear my throat, walking through the unlit dining room and turning on the light as I pass through.

  “How’s it going today?” I ask her as I lean against the large dining room doorway, peering into the kitchen.

  She’s standing in front of the sink, and her smile only falters slightly. She knows what I’m asking.

  “Everything’s fine,” she says with a casual tone. Fine. She’s not fine.

  I nod and give her a weak smile. It’s hard to be around her sometimes, especially when she’s so relaxed about it all. She doesn’t want me to worry. She wants us all to be happy, but I'm worrying. I’ll worry until they tell her she’s healthy again.

  I turn and walk back into the dining room. I can at least be productive while I’m here. “I’ll set the table for dinner.”

  There are stacks of mail and newspapers on the table. Growing up we never even used the table. All it did was collect lost items and mail flyers and bills. But now we use it every night.

  I can faintly hear the TV in the family room as I clear off the table.

  I’m sure my father’s in there, passed out on the recliner. He gets up early to start his day at the factory and doesn’t come home till late. I grew up with him in that old leather chair, shoved in the corner of the room. The brown coloring is worn from him sitting in it every day, watching the back of his eyelids while his shows played on the TV.

  He always woke up the second you changed the channel though.

  As I move the pile of newspapers to the entry table in the foyer, there’s a knock at the door.

  My heart stops, and I stare at it like a deer in headlights.

  The knock comes again and this time it’s louder.

  “Can you get that?” Mama calls from the kitchen.

  I lick my lips and pray it’s not him. God’s not listening though, cause I open the door enough for me to see Hunter. I want to slam it shut in his face.

  I grip onto it and lean in as I practically hiss, “I don’t have time for this.”

  I’m livid that he’s come to my parents’ house.

  I try to remind myself that he doesn’t know that my mama is sick. No one knows. We don’t talk about it. Mama doesn’t want us to. But still. There are fucking boundaries, and Hunter’s pushing mine.

  He rests the palm of his hand against the door, but he doesn’t try to open it.

  “Vi, I just wanna-”

  I don’t let him continue; I don’t wanna hear what he has to say. Whatever it is, it’s too little, too late.

  “You just wanna barge back into my life and use me? Throw me away again when you’ve had your fill?”

  My words come out in a tone even I don’t recognize. I don’t talk like this, to anyone, but today I’ve had it. I’m stressed and unhappy and I refuse to let him think I have any time for his games.

  Instead of looking hurt or remorseful, Hunter looks back at me with a flash of anger.

  “I didn’t throw you away,” he says with an even voice.

  I keep his narrowed gaze an
d scoff at him. “I don’t wanna hear it. Whatever you have to say, you can keep it to yourself.”

  I try to shut the door, but he holds it open. I look up at him with daggers, hating that he’s stronger than me.

  “What’s going on?” Mama asks from behind me, and my eyes fly to hers. All the anger vanishes as my heart races.

  “Who’s there?” she asks as she opens the door to answer her question herself.

  I watch as her forehead scrunches and her eyebrows raise.

  “Hunter,” she says with a bit of surprise before looking back at me. My face feels like it’s on fire and I can’t look her in the eyes.

  “I just wanted to come on by and talk to Violet for a minute, Mrs. Shaw.” Hunter’s polite as he always is, but it’s not gonna work this time.

  “I don’t think she wants to talk right now, Hunter,” my mother answers.

  My chest tightens with pain. My mama shouldn’t be coming to my rescue. I’m a grown woman. Yet he makes me weak.

  “I don’t,” I say with conviction, finally looking back at Hunter.

  Hunter looks at me for a long moment in silence, before conceding.

  He nods once and looks back at Mama. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Shaw.”

  “You too, Hunter,” Mama says evenly.

  She leaves me in the doorway alone with him. I watch her back as she walks away, and then look to Hunter.

  I expect him to say something, anything. I don’t know what, but he doesn’t say a damn thing.

  I don’t either. I have nothing else to tell him. He turns without saying goodbye to me. It hurts more than it should. It’s what I wanted, I should be happy.

  As I shut the door and rest my head against the wall, my heart breaks. I wish I was over him, but it’s painfully obvious that I’m not.

  I wish he hadn’t come back here.

  Chapter 6

  Hunter

  I wander into the kitchen late the next morning to find little Abbi on the floor, trying to pour milk into a bowl of Froot Loops.