The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (56 page)

“
So. Trevor is like
wicked good
at corn hole,
”
I mutter, hoping to strike up conversation with Daphne.

She laughs and offers me a nod.
“
Yeah. He is. He
’
s pretty much amazing at everything he does,
”
she says with admiration.

“
How did you guys meet?
”

“
He gave me my first tattoo.
”
She smiles down at me and then I watch as her gaze begins to go
through
me as she recollects the story.
“
I was nineteen, which was an interesting year for me, and I wanted to do something
rebellious
. When I walked into the shop, he happened to be at the counter. I told him kind of what I wanted and I started flipping through books of samples to try and see if I could find it, and then he offered to freehand something for me.

“
The cool thing about Trevor and his art is that it comes with a story; so as he drew, he asked me to kind of explain why I wanted what I wanted. Fifteen minutes later, I was in the chair. We
’
ve been friends ever since.
”

I marvel at the way she talks about him.
Maybe it
’
s because
I
’
m
in love and I want everyone else to be able to feel what I
’
m feeling, or maybe it
’
s because what I
’
m hearing is actually there
—
but it sounds like Trevor is her Sonny.
“
You said
draw
. You
’
ve got script on your arm. Does that mean you have more tattoos?
”
I ask as we move forward in line.

“
Yeah. I
’
ve got a couple. My first was my tramp stamp,
”
she says with a wink.

“
Really?
”
I ask with a laugh.
“
Can I see it?
”

She turns and lifts up the back of her tank top, revealing an image of a phoenix; the bird is outlined in black, with the tips of its wings
—
open wide across the small of her back
—
shaded orange and red.
“
That
’
s not a tramp stamp,
”
I murmur as I stare, taking in all of the intricate and delicate details. It looks feminine and yet it seems to speak of
power
.
“
That
’
s
beautiful
.
”

“
Thanks,
”
she says, readjusting her shirt.
“
I
’
ll tell him you said so. Like I said, he
’
s amazing at everything he does.
”

There it is again
—
it
’
s like her voice changes whenever she talks about him.
“
Do you like him?
”
The words are out before I can stop them. When she snaps her head around to look at me, I can feel my blush crawling into my cheeks.
“
I
’
m sorry. That
’
s none of my business.
”
I avert my gaze from hers as I rewind my way through the last couple hours and quickly replay the evening. She might talk about him endearingly, but she doesn
’
t
act
as if she likes him. In fact, it was Logan who was flirting with him all throughout dinner.

“
What makes you ask that?
”
she inquires, interrupting my thoughts and pulling my attention back on her.

“
It
’
s silly,
”
I say with a shrug as I reach for the end of my ponytail to fidget with my hair.
“
These days, I just imagine everyone is in love. The way you talk about him
…
I don
’
t know. You sound close to him.
”

“
I am,
”
she states, matter-of-factly.
“
There
’
s no one closer.
”

“
So, wait,
”
I stammer, now confused.
“
Are you
together?
”

“
No,
”
she answers with a small, sad smile.

She has officially kicked the hornets
’
nest that is my inner hopeless romantic and my curiosity has been set ablaze.
“
Does he not reciprocate your feelings?
”
She studies me for a moment without responding. I stare back into her brown eyes, decorated in various shades of blue eyeshadow that I
’
m still having a hard time believing she can pull off so well.
Who pulls of blue eyeshadow? I mean, really? She an anomaly.
I shake the thought away when I realize that silence has wedged its way between us.
“
Sorry. Again, none of my business. I don
’
t mean to pry.
”

“
It
’
s complicated,
”
she speaks softly.
“
We
’
re two very broken people. Sometimes love can
’
t fix what is broken.
”

Her words break my heart. I
’
m not sure that they would have a week ago; I
’
m confident I would have felt bad for her or sympathized for her, but I don
’
t think that her admission would have stirred the ache that permeates my chest just now. I know why without even thinking about it.
Sonny.

I know our love is new
—
everything about us is new, aside from our friendship
—
but with every day that goes by, I can
’
t imagine not having what we have; not being able to experience our relationship to the fullest, like we are now. It sounds like Daphne and Trevor
are
in love
—
but they aren
’
t doing anything about it, or they think that they can
’
t because they
’
ve been hurt in the past
…
whatever that looks like
. Sonny
’
s been hurt, too, and yet
…

My body starts to tingle in that way it does when I know I should talk to someone about God. It
’
s not the most comfortable sensation, because it
’
s not exactly a topic of conversation everyone is open to; but for some reason I
’
m feeling more brave in this moment than timid, so I ask,
“
Do you really believe that?
”

“
Yeah. I really do.
”

“
What about God
’
s love? Do you believe in that?
”

“
Ah,
”
she begins with lopsided smile that seems to showcase her condescending attitude toward the topic.
“
Now you
’
re starting to sound like my brother.
”

“
So you
don
’
t
believe?
”

“
Let me put it this way: God and I are acquaintances, not friends. I believe He
’
s there, but I
’
m not interested in a relationship.
”

“
Why?
”
I ask, emboldened by her participation in this discussion so far.

“
In my experience, most of the Christians I know are self-righteous assholes who wouldn
’
t be able to define
hypocrite
if you dumped a truck load of dictionaries in their laps. If being one of
God
’
s
people
means associating with them, I
’
d rather not be one.
”
She uses her fingers to air quote
‘
God
’
s people,
’
implying her distaste for the term
—
or perhaps the people themselves.
I feel my mouth fall open into a silent
‘
oh
,
’
unsure of how to respond to that. She saves me when she continues.
“
No offense. I know not all of you are like that
…
but something happened to me and it
’
s not easily forgotten, that
’
s all.
”

“
Wh-what ha-happened?
”
I manage to stutter before I lose my nerve.

“
That, my friend, is another story for another time,
”
she says kindly before she disappears into the next available stall.

Wow
. How we managed to get from the subject of
corn hole
to
God
, I have no idea
—
but I find that I
’
m grateful for the moment. These situations don
’
t happen every day; or, at least, my eyes and my heart are not open to see them or embrace them every day. I know there is more to her story that I
’
ll have to wait to hear, but my patience
—
and my surprising persistence
—
is derived from my genuine interest in this new person. She strikes me as someone who makes new friends out of habit and I like that about her and hope this isn
’
t our last meaningful conversation. She
’
s different than anyone I
’
ve ever met, but in the couple times that I
’
ve hung out with her, I find that I do enjoy her company.

After we both get a chance to use the restroom, we stop at the bar so that Daphne can grab another beer. As we wait, she tells me more about the band that we
’
re about to see. Apparently, they are a folk rock band that has been growing in popularity around Fort Collins over the last few months. It doesn
’
t surprise me that she knows so much about them, as she strikes me as someone who is really into music. She confirms my suspicions when she gushes about her love of the local music scene. When I tell her that I share in her appreciation for music and that I play the cello, she tells me that she knows a couple of bands off the top of her head that she thinks I might really enjoy and she makes me promise that I
’
ll come along to see them in concert over the summer.

As we make our way into the growing crowd that fills the patio, I try to look over and around people to spot our group, reprimanding myself for picking my flat sandals instead of my wedged ones with the platform heel. Then I see him. Or, rather, I see his gorgeous head full of dark auburn hair. My heart begins to race with anticipation as I point him out to Daphne. When I turn from her to look back at him, I see Logan appear at his side. My feet stop moving as I watch her lift herself up on her tiptoes and brace her free hand on top of his shoulder so that she might speak directly into his ear. I don
’
t have to hear the words she
’
s saying, I can tell just by the way she presses her body against his arm that she
’
s flirting.