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Kendall
“Ohmigod! This is excellent,” Brit says, her face filling the screen of my phone. “I’m proud of you, K. Last time we talked I wasn’t sure you’d put yourself out there.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I tell her, more confused than ever about Vaughn. Sunlight streams into the kitchen. Flour, butter, sugar, blueberries, and my secret crumbly topping make a mess of the counter.
“What you’re doing is moving on, and the next time Vaughn touches your face or slides his fingertips anywhere on you, you’re going to kiss the bejesus out of him. Got it?”
“It’s not that—”
“Easy? Yes it is.” Her argument is easier to swallow with the compassion in her big brown eyes. “You’re single, K. He’s single. There is no reason not to have a summer fling. Take it from an expert, he is into you.” Her eyes soften even more. “It’s time you let yourself off the hook for what happened with Mason.”
She’s been telling me this for years, but no one can absolve me but me. Memories and feelings, good and bad, are a powerful bitch to deal with.
I continue to plate the blueberry muffins I baked this morning when I couldn’t sleep, caught up in thoughts of Vaughn’s hands on me.
I want them on me again.
Everywhere. My body is on fire just thinking about him holding my waist while we danced. Goosebumps rise on my skin when I relive the sensation of his fingers grazing my neck as he sought the pendant practically nestled between my breasts.
“You’re blushing,” Brit says. “Hallelujah, there is a guy out there who can steal your resolve.”
He’s a thief of more than that, stealing my decision, my composure, and what I thought was best for me. Still. I’m just here for the summer, and I’ve never been the kind of girl to have a fling. Throwing caution to the wind comes at a cost, I’ve learned. A high one, and I’ve already incurred and inflicted more than I can handle in one lifetime.
“Maybe…” I relive his touch, his smile, our rapport… “Maybe there is.” Temptation, for the first time ever, lives next door, and whenever I look into his eyes, nothing is normal for me.
The oven timer dings, signaling the next batch of muffins is done. “I say you take some of those muffins over to him this morning,” Brit suggests.
“You think?”
“Do it. Now, before you talk yourself out of it. I’ve got to run, literally, or I’ll be late for work again, but text me later and tell me how it went, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise me you’re going right to his house after we hang up.”
“Promise.”
“Okay. Love you!”
“Love you, too.”
Promise me. Growing up I was a huge Winnie the Pooh fan. I still am, actually. For our six month anniversary, Mason gave me a framed picture of Pooh and Piglet with the words:
Promise me you’ll always remember:
You’re braver than you believe,
and stronger than you seem,
and smarter than you think.
It’s my favorite quote. I lean on the kitchen counter, close my eyes, and say the words again in my head. I was already in love with Mason, but I fell even harder for him that night. A piece of my heart will always be his.
“I can do this,” I tell Snow, who is asleep under the kitchen table. Permission. Courage. A promise I can keep to my best friend.
I took off quickly last night, flustered by Vaughn’s attention and anxious to get Amber home, so this is a good way to reconnect.
Two minutes later, I walk up Vaughn’s driveway with a plate of warm muffins. The closer I get to his front door, the faster my pulse races. Chill, Kendall.
