His Promise

Chapter 3, His Promise

Chapter Three

She had changed three times trying to find the perfect outfit for tonight, but everything made her butt look too big or frumpy. She'd settled on a short jean skirt and black sleeveless T. She put on gold hoops, and after fighting with her hair and its waves, which always gave it that messy "just out of bed" look, she finally gave up and pinned it in a loose bun. She put on some blush and a light brush of mascara, and as she glanced at the image staring back at her in the mirror, she realized she really looked good.

So many of her hopes and dreams had been dashed that she was afraid to hope for anything to come of tonight. "Well, don't look like that," she told herself. "He's coming for dinner. You're friends, that's all." Was she a fool to want more?

The timer on the stove dinged, so she raced into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner: roasted lamb with rosemary, garlic, baby potatoes, and steamed asparagus. She'd done up a small salad from a mix from her garden with a roasted shallot dressing. She'd spent hours putting together this meal to make it special, and she wanted it to be perfect, to see the joy on his face when he tasted what she'd made for him. She'd picked wildflowers and put them in a vase on the table.

She had just checked the lamb—and it was perfect—when she heard a car. Living out in the country, Kim didn't have much traffic, and she could hear a car before she could see it. She looked out the window in her kitchen to see Bruce's two-door Mercedes, black and expensive, with a trail of dust behind it. She watched as he pulled up the slight hill and parked beside her pickup in front of the house. She couldn't get over how nervous she was as she fought the urge to race to the door. She took her time, waiting in the kitchen until she heard him on the steps and then knocking on the screen. The front door was open, allowing some air into her house, which overheated from May until September. She came around the corner. "Great timing!" she said.

He pulled open the screen door, and the hinges squeaked. Damn, he looked good dressed in blue jeans and a short-sleeved navy shirt. He had that freshly showered and shaved look, and even his scent had her knees feeling a little weak.

"Here," he said. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, red or white, so I brought both."

She hadn't even realized he was holding wine. Not that she drank much. She hadn't even thought about picking up any. She had lemonade and ice water in the fridge.

"Great, either would be fine. Come on in. Dinner is ready—I hope you're hungry?"

He winked, fun and flirty, as he let the screen door slap closed behind him. She must have been staring at him, because he suddenly stood in front of her and raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," she said. "Come on into the kitchen. Why don't you open the wine? I'm not sure which. I made lamb. Is there a certain one?" She'd never understood pairing wine with food. As far as she was concerned, if she wanted a glass of chilled white, she didn't care if she was having a burger. It was what she wanted.

"They say red, but it doesn't matter. No preference?" He was looking around as he walked ahead of her into the kitchen, putting the wine on the counter, taking in the small, cozy room. It was an older home, two bedrooms, one bath, the kitchen done in warm tones—she'd painted it herself—with an antique table with four chairs set by a large window that overlooked the pasture in back. "Nice," he said.

She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she let it out. She hoped he liked her house. "It's small, but I like it," she said. This was her house now, but it hadn't always been.

He didn't say anything as he opened the red wine. He looked at her over the rims of his glasses, and there was something about Bruce wearing glasses that she loved. "Do you have wine glasses?"