Page 70 of Promise

“Just tell me now, Trin. Are there others?” More dates. More kisses.

“No.” She shakes her head adamantly. “Only a few dates. No kisses.”

“Okay.” I breathe out. I can handle poor dates. I can. I wasn’t here. She misunderstood. The dates didn’t go anywhere.

And I’m fucking here now. I’m back. For good.

“Shall we keep walking?” Trinity eventually asks, sensing I’m still a little wound up but maybe moving will help for the moment.

“Sure.” I point toward another booth, and we step closer to bundles of flowers and displays of soap and lotion.

“Hey, Dart.” Savannah Grant is ten years younger than her brother, Marshall, but a raven-haired beauty with sharp blue eyes like her sibling. Over the past decade, she’s been working to turn a portion of the family farm into lavender fields, and her booth represents her success.

“You haven’t placed your flower order yet.” She smiles warmly, knowing my ritual.

Fuck.

“What order?” Trinity gives me a sharp look.

Savannah glances from me to Trinity and back. Her face drains of all color before flushing a deep pink.

“Uh. Nothing.” Savannah waves dismissively and immediately jumps into a sales pitch. “Can I get you anything today?” She gestures toward the array of homemade body products.

Trinity gives me another questioning stare before offering Savannah a tight smile.

“I’ll take the Daisy Delight. You know it’s my favorite.” Trinity points at the lotion that smells like sunshine and fresh meadows in a jar. Her signature scent.

Savannah glances at me before picking up the container and ringing up Trinity’s order.

My friend’s little sister knows a few of my secrets, like an annual purchase of my wife’s favorite fragrance.

Once I pay for the lotion selection, I set my hand on Trinity’s lower back again. We’ve barely stepped away from the booth when we come face to face with Tate and Marshall.

Marshall greets Trinity with a hug, while Tate watches me, taking note that my hand hardly leaves his sister’s back. When Marshall releases her, Tate crosses his arms and glances at his sister.

“I told you we needed to talk.” His tone is too sharp for my liking, and I’m opening my mouth when Trin speaks.

“And since when do I listen to you?”

Tate and Trinity have one of those push-pull relationships. He wasn’t always the best brother when they were younger, but he’s protective of her. Like it was okay for him to torture her, but he’d torture anyone else who tried to harm her.

If I didn’t know Tate better, I’d question if that was hurt in his eyes at Trinity’s strong retort. But Tate only glares back at his sister.

He’s more pissed at me than at her.

Tipping up his head, he must see something out of the corner of his eye, and he turns in that direction.

“Pete,” he calls out, walking away from us without another word. I watch as the two men shake hands and pat backs.

“I see I’ve been replaced,” I mutter.

Marshall slaps my shoulder. “He’ll come around.” He addresses Trinity with a short, “Trin.” Then, steps around us to chat with his sister.

I stare at Tate and Pete Gallagher. Pete’s a good guy, but I don’t know him well. He’s a college friend of Tate’s who hung out with us when he visited Rogue River.

“I didn’t know Peter Gallagher was in town,” I state.

“He moved here shortly after . . .”