Page 77 of Nixon’s Promise

“You all right?” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched in concern.

“Yeah. Thanks for taking care of that this morning. Have a good day at school.”

“No biggie.”

My sister backed out of my room and took off down the stairs. I abandoned my search for my shoes and walked to my bed, planting my ass on the side before I fell over.

Mandy had let out Sally and Goat.

She’d fed the ducks.

This was huge. She’d never helped in the mornings. Zack helped, and if he didn’t have time, I did it. Never Mandy. Not once. Not until today. And she didn’t give me lip. No attitude, no teenage bitchiness.

My eyes drifted closed and I let hope seep in. Maybe we’d turned the corner. Maybe we were on the right path.

It was good to have my sister back.

Nixon Swagger was so getting five dozen chocolate chip cookies and whatever else he wanted for like, eternity.

I found a parking spot next to Fountain Park, thinking that Zack was right—parking in the small downtown area sucked. The locals called it downtown, but it was hardly close to what the word would conjure up in anyone’s mind.

One main street with a greenspace that had a large fountain, hence the name. In the spring and summer, the park was used for the farmers market and on weekends crowds would gather in the evening to listen to live bands play. Across from the fountain was Memorial Park. Again, not really a park, just a small open square.

The street was lined with historic buildings, dating back to the colonial times, and boosted signs proclaiming George Washington had visited. High Street dead-ended at the town dock where visitors would be treated to geese that run you clear back up the street if they weren’t feeling like company. Yes, that had happened to me, and I learned, never go to the water’s edge in a pair of flip-flops if you couldn’t run a five-minute-mile pace in them.

The history was rich, the brick buildings were stunning, but the parking was a nightmare. That’s what I was thinking when I crossed the street, hit the brick-paved sidewalk, and nearly tripped. The history may’ve been rich, and the town demanded every last detail remain forever frozen in the eighteenth century, but you walked the uneven sidewalks at your own risk.

I found the door to Nixon’s office wedged between the distillery and a clothing store that was so far out of my price range, I had to drive forty-five minutes to make my purchases. Not that I’d wear a stitch of what the shop offered. I didn’t wear articles of clothing that had crabs or other sea creatures embroidered on them. Being as Cliff City was on the Chester River and therefore proud of their fresh seafood, no one else in the community seemed to have my aversion.

Unlocking the door with the key Nixon had given me the day before, I tromped up the narrow staircase and found a small landing and one door at the top. I tried the handle. Finding it unlocked, I still rapped on the door to announce my arrival. I may’ve been helping decipher a message, but I didn’t want to intrude on any private conversations, or accidentally hear something Nixon and the guys didn’t want me to hear.

“Hey,” Chasin was the first to greet me as I walked in.

“Good morning,” I returned, taking in the space.

Once again, my brother had been right—the interior was cool as shit. The first thing that caught my attention were the five arched windows encased in the brick wall that faced the street. I knew if I looked out them, I’d see the park and beyond to the county courthouse that sat on the next street over taking up half a block. The walls had been painted white—stark white—which was good for opening up the room but hard on the eyes. And the stamped tin ceiling was ornate and out of this world.

I loved it. All of it. Except the ugly white plastic folding tables that junked up the room. The matching plastic folding chairs were worse. Nixon needed furniture. Big, heavy, manly mahogany pieces that would suit the office. Though, I didn’t think the desks and tables I envisioned would fit up the tiny staircase. Total bummer, because the Home Depot crap they’d fitted into the main room had to go. ASAP.

“What do you think?” Nixon asked.

“It’s awesome, much bigger than I thought it’d be,” I told him and continued to glance around.

“Want a tour?”

“Hell, yeah.” I dropped my purse and laptop case on one of the tables and made my way to Nix.

I stopped in front of him, wondering why he wasn’t moving. He didn’t make me wait long for my answer. He dipped his head and planted a hard, fast kiss on my mouth. When he pulled back, he smiled.

“Mornin’,” he rasped.

“Mornin’,” I returned.

God, he looked good. So good in fact, I was hoping one of the doors I’d seen led to an office where we could have privacy so I could kiss him the way I wanted to and not be limited to a friendly peck.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He grabbed my hand, laced our fingers together, and started for the door on the farthest side of the room. He walked me through, into a small hallway. The first door on the right was a small storage space. It was big enough a desk and filing cabinet could fit in a pinch, though there were no windows.