The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (114 page)

“
It
’
s nothing. Just a friend helping out another friend, right? And this is why you keep me around.
”
I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“
Kidding
. Send the text, will you?
”

I pull out my phone to do as I
’
m told as she reaches into her bag and takes out her homework. Not long after we both direct our attention to our studies, the responses to my earlier text start pouring in. I don
’
t notice at first, so focused on what it is that I
’
m doing; but then Logan kicks my shin. When I look across the table at her, she laughs and then points at my phone. It
’
s obvious that she
’
s really excited about her idea, so I don
’
t waste another minute before checking the replies.

Me:
Logan invited all of us to Steamboat to stay the weekend 11/14. Who
’
s in?

Avery:
Um
…
that
’
s awfully nice. What does she want in return, our souls?

Claire:
lol, does it matter? That sounds awesome.

Grayson:
Ave, be nice :P I think we should go.

Jack:
If Claire
’
s in, I
’
m in.

Sarah:
She has room for all of us?

Avery:
Queen Bee will probably make all of us sleep on the floor.

My Girl:
Hahaha, AJ, be nice.

Grayson:
Shorty, if she makes us sleep on the floor, I
’
ll be your pillow ;)

Claire:
Sarah, look what you started!

Me:
Gross.

Jack:
Whipped!

Sarah:
Ha-I will not take responsibility for their shameless flirting.

Avery:
Okay, you
’
ve convinced me. I
’
m in :)

My Girl:
If she really has room for all of us, it could be fun.

Me:
She says she does.

Sarah:
I think that makes us all in.

Claire:
Yay!

“
Count me in with six more.
”

“
Great!
”
she says, clapping her hands.
“
I
’
ll be right back. I
’
m going to call my mom.
”
I watch her leave, shaking my head in awe as she goes. I really can
’
t believe that she
’
s doing this for us
—
for me
—
but I am looking forward to it. It
’
ll be nice to get away and, hopefully, forget about all the things that are stressing me out, at least for a couple of days. Who knows, by then, I might know whether or not I
’
m going to med school next year, which has the potential to turn that weekend into one of celebration; or, possibly, one of
mourning
.

I shake the thought away, take another drink of my coffee, and decide that I could go for a snack. Looking over at the register, I realize that Daphne is working and I should definitely head over there, even if just to say hello.

“
Hey, Beck,
”
she says as soon as she spots me. She waves her phone at me and smiles.
“
I hear you
’
ve managed to earn all of us a trip to LG
’
s Steamboat paradise.
”

“
Not sure how it happened, but yeah. Have you been before?
”

“
It
’
s amazing!
”
she replies with wide eyes and an enthusiastic nod.
“
So amazing, in fact, you
’
ve also earned yourself a treat
—
on the house. Pick your poison.
”

“
I
’
ll take one of those giant cookies
—
but I
’
ll pay,
”
I insist, reaching for my wallet.

“
You can only pay if the barista behind the counter takes your money. Too bad for you, I refuse. Here you go,
”
she responds, handing me my stomach
’
s desire. I reach into my wallet anyway and pull out two singles before placing them in her tip jar. She laughs and folds her arms across her chest.
“
Touch
é
.
”

“
Thanks for this.
”

“
Oh, hey, are you going to be here tomorrow night?
”
she asks before I can turn away.

“
Uh, for what?
”

“
Addie
’
s going to be singing for open mic night. Didn
’
t she tell you? Maybe she forgot. Anyway
—
she
’
s singing one of Roman
’
s songs. It sounds
incredible
. They let me hear it last weekend.
”

For a second, I don
’
t know what to say. I had no idea. In all the times that I
’
ve managed to see Addie in the last couple of weeks, she hasn
’
t mentioned it. In fact, no one has. I
’
m not really sure what that
’
s about, but I know that I don
’
t like it. The fact that it involves Addie
with
Roman makes me feel a bit uneasy. I
am
curious to know what she might be singing, though. I haven
’
t seen her perform someplace other than church since high school.

“
What time?
”

“
They go on at eight.
”

“
Cool. Thanks. I
’
ll be there.
”

I
’
ve been standing in front of my closet for a half an hour. I know that whatever I wear will be fine, but I can
’
t shake my desire to wear the perfect thing. If I don
’
t pick something in the next five minutes, though, I
’
ll be late
…
or naked. I would ask Ave for help, but she
’
s out with Claire. I know that Sarah would be able to dress me up in two seconds, but she got stuck doing a group project tonight
—
which is lame on so many levels. I haven
’
t told her that Roman and I are performing; we were going to surprise her. I didn
’
t tell anyone else in the group either, seeing as how open mic night is kind of a
Three Musketeers
thing; but it looks like it
’
s just going to be Roman, his guitar, and me.

I finally decide on a pair of mustard leggings and my navy sweater dress. I debate between ballet flats and boots until I
’
m about to drive myself crazy; I pull on my boots and gather my things before hurrying out the door. It
’
s just after seven when I arrive at the cafe, making me only a couple minutes late. When I notice the crowd of people that has already started to fill the place, my stomach knots up with nerves. It
’
s not that there are more people than I would expect, but knowing that I
’
m about to sing in front of them makes me anxious. And it
’
s not just a matter of singing by myself, without the familiarity of the worship band behind me, it also has to do with my desire to make Roman proud. It
’
s a big deal, him sharing his music, and I don
’
t want to let him down.

Thinking that a hot tea might calm me, I head for the line to order a drink. As I wait, I look around to see if I can spot Roman. Before I do, I feel him come up behind me and rest his hands on my shoulders. I can
’
t explain why I know it
’
s him, I just do. When he begins to work my already tense muscles, I relax under his care.

“
I could feel your nervous energy from across the room,
”
he chuckles into my ear.
“
You should relax. You
’
re going to be great.
”

“
I hope so,
”
I say as I pat his hands and then turn to face him. I smile up at him, grateful for his comforting presence. He
’
s in a pair of black jeans and a red, button-up, flannel shirt
—
the sleeves rolled and pushed up to his elbows. With his guitar strapped across his chest, I
’
m sure he
’
ll look like a true mountain man.
“
I
’
m just feeling a little pressure,
”
I admit.
“
I really want them to like your song. I know how important this is to you.
”

“
Of course they
’
ll like it;
you
’
re
singing it. And you know what? If they don
’
t like it, I don
’
t care
—
I
’
m just happy to be doing this with you.
”
My stomach, already knotted with nerves, now tingles, too. His words were probably meant to calm me down, but they wind me up even more. I don
’
t mind, though, so I won
’
t complain.

It
’
s been a few weeks since our
front porch moment
when he promised that, despite our feelings, we could remain friends. He hasn
’
t broken his word, but I
’
ve noticed that he
’
s become more obvious about what he
really
wants. He
’
s constantly telling me sweet things and he
’
s grown more comfortable flirting with his hands. We don
’
t talk about Beck hardly at all anymore, and it seems like we
’
re in contact with each other almost every day. The gradual shift in our relationship isn
’
t something we discuss; it
’
s almost as if we
’
ll ruin everything if we do. Part of me enjoys his attention
—
because, come on, who wouldn
’
t enjoy just about any sort of attention from this gorgeous specimen of a man?
—
but part of me still feels guilty about the whole thing.