Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

upstairs of a downtown Savannah home had been a stroke of good luck, and the price had been a steal. Her parents had tried to convince her to move back home after college, but she’d been determined to spread her wings, and she’d loved making the apartment her own. She’d loved the dark mahogany trim and the ancient tile fireplace—over which she’d hung a long bayberry garland every Christmas—and she’d loved the big windows.

She sighed and shook her head, and then finished sweeping the dirt into a dustpan. She dumped it into the trash bag, set the dustpan and broom next to it, and went into the kitchen to rinse her hands. As she dried them on her jeans—because Gage had thrown the last roll of paper towels in a box—she realized he’d forgotten to take the plants. She carried them into the living room and set them on the floor next to the trash, and then walked through the rooms one more time. She had to admit she was excited about moving in with Gage, but she was also a bit nervous. It was a big step, and even though she loved his cozy cabin, she was going to miss her sunny old-fashioned kitchen, and her independence. Life goes on, she thought with a sigh and a wistful smile, and maybe this is the next step toward making a lifetime commitment to each other!

The late-day sun filtered through the tall windows, splashing light and shadows in all the familiar places, and filling her heart with melancholy. She gazed at the corner where she’d sat in her “prayer chair” every morning, saying countless prayers for loved ones and friends, and then she turned to the opposite corner—the spot where she’d always set up her Christmas tree. Oh, how she’d loved looking up from the street and seeing the tiny lights sparkling in the window. Next, she walked into her bedroom and smiled. If these four walls could talk! she thought. Although they wouldn’t have much to say about the first eight years, they certainly would have something to say about the last two with that country boy in her bed!

“Time to move on,” she whispered softly, “come what may.”

AN HOUR LATER, AFTER HER LANDLORD HAD WALKED THROUGH THE apartment, told her he was sorry to see her go, and given her back her security deposit, she turned into Gage’s driveway—and my driveway now, too, she thought. As she parked next to his truck, Gus gave a welcoming bark and then rocketed across the lawn. “Hey, there, Gussie,” she said, laughing. “You ready for another roomie?”

He wiggled all around her, thumping her head with his tail until she finally stood up. She hoisted her big leather bag—which contained her entire life—onto her shoulder, and the still-wiggling Lab escorted her to the cabin. Balancing the box of plants, she pulled open the screen door. “Anybody home?”

“In the kitchen,” Gage called.

She made her way through the maze of boxes. “It smells so good in here!”

Gage looked up from sliding garlic bread into the oven. “Thanks,” he said, smiling. “I thought you might be hungry after all this moving.”

“I’m starving!” she said, and then she noticed the table by the window was beautifully set with candles, a glass milk bottle with a bouquet of lilacs in it, and cloth napkins. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed. “It looks so . . . romantic.” She eyed him suspiciously and teased, “Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

He laughed and held up two bottles of wine. “Red or white?”

“What are we having?”

“Spaghetti.”

“Red,” she said and then looked down at Gus. “I don’t know why I didn’t move in sooner.”

“We don’t know, either,” Gage said, handing her a glass.

“You even have my favorite music playing,” she said, hearing Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love” drifting from the speaker on the counter. “Such a great song.”

“It is a great song,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” she murmured as he pressed against her, already aroused, “or our dinner will get cold again.”

“The sauce is simmering and the pasta’s not in yet,” he whispered back, unbuttoning the top of her blouse.

“What about the bread?” she whispered back.

He frowned. “Damn,” he said, considering his dilemma. “I could take it out,” he suggested hopefully.

“I really am starving,” she countered.

“All right,” he conceded, stepping back, but as he reached for his wineglass, he pretended it was a microphone. “Yeah, it makes me mellow, down into my soul . . .”

“Do I know you?” she teased, laughing.

“I hope so,” he said, turning the flame under the water back to high. “You just moved in with me.”

“I did indeed,” Maeve mused, carrying her glass over to admire the table and realizing the napkins had been folded into pockets that held silver flatware. “This is pretty fancy, Gage. I didn’t know you had cloth napkins . . . or knew how to fold them.”

“Ah . . . from me ole bartending days,” he said, tossing the salad. “When it was slow, we folded.”

“You’re a man of many talents.”

He laughed. “Folding napkins is just one of many,” he teased as he dropped the pasta into the boiling water.

Maeve lifted the cover off the smaller pot and peered through the savory steam. “Mmm . . . did you make the sauce, too?

“Sort of. I added sausage and ground beef, but the base is from my mom’s tomato preserves.”

“Well, it all smells amazing,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head as he stirred the pasta. “I think I have everything under control.” But just as he said this, smoke began to drift from the oven and he realized he’d forgotten the bread. “Damn!” he said, opening the door and pulling it out bare-handed.

Maeve peered around him. “It’s fine. Want me to slice it?”

“Sure,” he said. “The cutting board is right there.” He pointed to it and a nearby knife, and she nodded, happy to have a job. As she sliced the bread and rewrapped it in