Hill Country Promise
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Kit Hawthorne
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23
CHAPTER ONE
“I DON’T THINK we should see each other anymore.”
The words went off like a bomb in Eliana’s small apartment. Birch froze, a bottle of Merlot in one hand, two wineglasses in the other, the stems dangling between his slender fingers. A long wave of golden-brown hair fell over his poetic brow, covering one eye. He tossed it back and gave Eliana a quick searching glance. Then he let out an uncertain chuckle, as though this was a joke he didn’t quite get yet.
Eliana didn’t laugh back.
“Y-you’re not serious,” he said.
“I am.”
He appeared genuinely confused. Probably no one had ever broken up with him before. “Well, this is coming out of nowhere, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” she said. “I’ve been considering it for a while now, but I wanted to be fair. And after tonight, I’m sure. This isn’t working, Birch.”
She sounded like a boss gently terminating an employee who was a nice enough guy but simply wasn’t performing to expectations.
Birch set the bottle and wineglasses on the counter. “But—but why?”
That rich voice, that mobile face, those soulful eyes—the man had an impressive emotional range. It was one of the things that had attracted Eliana to him in the beginning. But now, as he stood in her kitchen looking tragic and shattered, she could sense something false about it all—like an overblown stage performance—and she had to resist rolling her eyes.
“We’re not well suited,” Eliana said. “You must see that.”
“No. I don’t see that. I don’t see it at all. I’m crazy about you, Eliana. You can’t cut me loose without any more explanation than we’re not well suited.”
She sighed. “All right, then. Let’s take tonight for an example. Our reservation was for six thirty. I texted reminders to you all day so you wouldn’t be late, and you kept telling me not to worry, that everything was fine and we’d make it on time. Did we make it on time, Birch?”
He raised both arms in an imploring gesture. “That wasn’t my fault! The traffic was—”
“The traffic was exactly what any reasonable person would expect of Austin late in the afternoon. The issue was poor planning. At the point in the day when you should have been driving back to your place to get ready, you were still puttering around that hipster record store in Travis Heights, and when you should have been home showering, you were stuck on I-35. You didn’t even send me that ‘Running a little late’ text until six twenty-five. You’re either a liar, or seriously out of touch with reality.”
Birch actually had the nerve to look wounded. “I thought the place where we ended up eating was perfectly charming.”
“It wasn’t what we had planned. We had to wait twenty minutes to be seated, and by the time our appetizer arrived, I was so hungry my hands were shaking. The evening was ruined.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? Okay, so things didn’t go as planned. But sometimes the best things in life are the unexpected ones. You can’t fit everything into a rigid schedule, Eliana. If you would just let go of control once in a while and be open to possibilities—”
“Whoa. Seriously? You’re trying to make this my fault?”
“Well, you’re the one who started casting blame!”
“Because you’re the one who messed up! Bottom line is you knew this was important to me, and you let me down. Call it a fundamental incompatibility of temperament rather than a failure of character if that makes you feel better. You’re a vagabond dreamer, and that just doesn’t work for me. I have enough trouble showing up on time myself. I can’t be constantly riding another person who’s worse at it than I am. I can’t be the practical one in the relationship.”
“You sound terribly practical now,” Birch said bitterly.
“Because I have to be! You think I liked sending you those reminder texts all day? I hated it. I felt like a nag. You put me in that position—again. This was one time too many, and I’m done.”
He braced his arm on the counter and hung his head so that his hair fell over his eyes again—aware, no doubt, of how gloomily handsome he looked in that stance. “I hear what you’re saying, and I admit there may be some validity to your feelings. But this doesn’t have to be the end, Eliana. We could spend some time apart, do a little soul-searching, reevaluate at a later—”
“No. There’s nothing to think about, and nothing to be gained by postponing the inevitable. It’ll never work between us, Birch. I know that now. I should have known it from the start.”
“But tomorrow’s your birthday,” he said. “What about your gift?”
“What about it? Have you wrapped it yet?”
“N-no.”
“Do you still have the receipt?”
He squirmed.
“You haven’t actually bought it, have you?”
His silence was all the answer she needed.
But he hadn’t quite given up. He struck a fresh dramatic pose, opened his mouth—
“Don’t,” she said. “I’m tired and I have to work tomorrow, and nothing you can say will change my mind. Just go.”
He left without another word, still looking bewildered. Eliana bolted and chained the door behind him.
She went to the kitchen, rested her hand on the wine bottle a moment, then shook her head and put the stemware away. She really did have work in the morning, and anyway, she didn’t especially need the solace. She felt mildly disappointed, but mostly in herself for not knowing better. Her heart was far from broken.
A small, slender, tawny-colored cat came out from under the sofa and gave a soft meow, as if to say, Thank goodness he’s gone.
Eliana stooped to pick up the cat. “Oh, Candace, you knew all along, didn’t you? You never did like Birch.”
She buried her face in the short, silky, ticking-stripe fur. Candace was an Abyssinian, with the distinctive agouti coat, dark-tipped tail, and M-shaped forehead mark typical of the breed. She had a typical Abyssinian temperament too—intelligent, willful and outgoing. Her mistrust of Birch should have warned Eliana that the relationship was doomed from the start.
Eliana carried her cat to the bedroom, where she slipped out of her little black dress and into fleecy pajama pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a worn button-down in buffalo plaid. She did her skincare regimen and brushed her teeth. Candace hopped onto the bathroom vanity to watch the water going down the drain.
Eliana’s belongings were scattered around the room, but in a pretty way—filmy scarves piled on the dresser, pearl strands draped over the mirror. A dainty white comforter lay on the bed in a soft, puffy heap, like a linen cloud. Her sleeping pillow had a silk pillowcase, good for hair and skin, but too slick and delicate for sitting up in bed. She moved it aside, propped some sturdier cushions against the headboard and settled in. Candace joined her, and Eliana pulled the comforter over them both.
The red-and-black overshirt enveloped her like a hug. She buried her face in the sleeve and inhaled. Even after all these years, the soft flannel still smelled faintly of woodsmoke.
She picked up her phone and opened her messages. Birch’s name was at the top; just the sight of it made her mad all over again. She deleted the whole thread, and then deleted him as a contact.
The next name down was Luke’s. She tapped it and typed Home safe. Then, as proof, she took a selfie and sent it.
She’d been sending Luke Mahan these “Home safe” messages at the end of her dates for more years than she could remember. She always told him the name of the guy she was going out with and where they planned to go, and she kept her location turned on for him as well. Julian, a filmmaker she’d dated for a while, had said, Why not just bring him along? Julian always had been a snarky jerk.
Luke’s reply came within seconds. Thief. Give me back my shirt.
She smiled. Nope. Possession is 9/10 of the law and I will never give up this shirt. It’s the softest flannel EVER.
I know it is, Luke responded. It’s mine, remember?
Not anymore, wrote Eliana.
They went back and forth that way for a while before Luke finally asked, So? How was your date?
It was a simple enough question on the surface. Over the years, the two of them had talked over her dates and his dates—mostly her dates—countless times, through volumes of text messages and occasional phone calls.
But this time was different. Her answer had the potential to change the course of both their lives.
She typed, Not great. I broke up with him.
She wished she could see his face as he read those words. Would he be glad? Nervous? Panic-stricken?
If he was any of those things, his reply didn’t show it. Figured you would eventually. Was it the vagabond thing?
Eliana chuckled, then snuggled deeper under her comforter and told him all about it. He interjected comments here and there, saying the right things at the right times, balancing outrage over Birch’s pathological tardiness and overall ineptness with sly humor and loyal support. He thought Eliana had done exactly right, but then he always did think that.
Her friendship with Luke was difficult to define. She considered him her best friend, but now that they were grown and lived in different towns, they rarely got together in person; she could count on one hand the times they’d seen each other in the past year. Most of their interaction took place through phone calls or texting, and even that contact was patchy. But whenever they did talk, or text, or see each other, there was never any awkwardness or sense of distance. They always picked up right where they’d left off.
Finally, he wrote, Do you see what time it is?
She glanced at the ornate gilded clock on her nightstand, and a strange sensation rippled through her. The hands stood at three minutes past midnight. At some point after she’d climbed into bed, the old day had given way to the new, and now here they were.
A birthday cake emoji appeared on her screen, followed by a balloon, some confetti, a crown and the words Happy birthday! Then more confetti followed by You are 27 today! Then more emojis still—a cat, a castle, some high-heeled shoes. He was really throwing it all out there.
Maybe that was all there would be—the usual birthday well-wishes from her best friend, with no mention of...the other thing. Was it possible he’d forgotten? No. They hadn’t talked about it a lot over the years, but they’d mentioned it now and then, in a playful way, whenever one of them—usually Eliana—was newly single and feeling blue.
Then a new text bubble appeared—no images, just words. Do you remember our agreement?
Her heart fluttered. I remember, she typed.
Do you still want to? came his reply.
She set the phone down, took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. What did she want? Did she even know anymore? She could honestly say that she loved Luke, in a way. He was the best man she knew. He made Birch and Julian and Rinaldo and all the rest look like overinflated posturing man-children. But she didn’t feel the least bit romantic about him.
They’d been through all that before, though, when they’d first made the agreement. Feelings changed; no one knew that better than she did. In the early stages of her relationship with Birch, she’d raved shamelessly about him—to Luke, mostly—and then one day it was as if the veil had suddenly been drawn back and for the first time she could see him for the self-absorbed, superficial, insubstantial guy he’d been all along.
She’d never had that rude-awakening sensation with Luke, and she’d known him since they were little. From childhood on, he’d been consistent. Reliable. Boring? Well, he’d never bored her. But would that change once they were together?
No. This time was different. This was Luke. Their pact was something she’d kept sight of through seven years’ worth of dashed hopes and heartbreaks—like a lighthouse beam shining through driving rain and sea spray. She would make good on what she’d promised. She wouldn’t fail.
She picked up her phone, typed a Y and an E...and then backspaced and replaced them with How about you?
Her heart was still pounding away, and her stomach churned as she watched the little pulsing dots that meant Luke was typing his answer. It was cowardly, dodging the question that way, but oh well. She’d take her cue from him. If he passed the whole thing off as a joke, then she would too.
Of course it’s a joke, said a voice in the back of her head. What else could it possibly be? People don’t actually follow through on this sort of thing.
Eliana heard from that voice pretty often, usually when she was about to do something outrageous. It sounded a lot like her sister, Dalia.
Luke’s answer appeared. I gave my word. I haven’t changed my mind.
Eliana drew in a quick, shuddering gasp. Under the covers beside her, Candace stirred a little and gave a sleepy chirrup of surprise.
Eliana took a few seconds to steady herself before typing, Same here.
Then we’re good to go?
I am if you are.
I am.
Eliana lifted her head and took another deep breath. Her own face looked back at her from the pearl-draped mirror across the room, wide-eyed and scared.
Then her expression hardened into firm resolve. She typed, I guess it’s all settled, then. We’re engaged. Her finger hovered a second over the screen before pressing Send.
