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

Maeve laughed and eyed her sister. “Either that or he’s turned into an old softie.”

Macey nodded. “It’s possible, although Ben loses to Harper all the time.”

Maeve swallowed. “Is Mom letting you bring anything?”

Macey laughed. “She’s letting me bring an appetizer, so I think we’re gonna bring buffalo chicken dip.”

“Mmm,” Maeve said. “That sounds yummy.”

“It’s Ben’s favorite.”

“Mine, too,” Harper chimed in, grinning.

“How ’bout you?”

“She’s letting me bring dessert, so I’m thinking of making a chocolate chess pie.”

“Ooh, that sounds yummy, too.”

“I have a new recipe, so we’ll see,” she said, laughing. “No promises, but Gage was recently talking about a chocolate chess pie he had years ago, and how good it was, so I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

“How is that boy?” Macey teased. “How’s shacking up together going?”

“Good,” Maeve said. “I love living out there, and it’s nice having him around all the time and not having to schlep back and forth to my apartment.” She suddenly remembered the jewelry box and eyed her sister. “Remind me to tell you what I saw on his drawing table.”

Macey nodded, and Harper looked up. “Did he finish his drawing?”

“He did,” she confirmed.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Harper said, and then mused, “I always thought he only drew animals.”

“That’s what I thought, too, but I guess when you can draw, you can draw anything. Unlike me,” she added. “I can’t draw a stick figure.” She looked at her phone to see what time it was and then scraped the bottom of her bowl. “I hate to run, but I better get to work.”

Macey nodded, popping the last bite of her poached-egg breakfast sandwich in her mouth. “We have to go, too. I have to get this one to camp.”

“How was your sandwich?” Maeve asked, gathering her things. “I don’t know how many times I’ve almost ordered the Eggetarian.”

“It was really good, but you will never order it,” Macey teased. “You love your Bird’s Nest!”

“I do!”

“That’s cuz you’re such a bird, Aunt Maeve,” Harper teased, giggling.

Maeve tousled her niece’s hair and pulled her into a hug. “That’s enough outta you, missy,” she said. Then she hugged her sister. “See you guys tomorrow!”

33

MASON ROSE EARLY, SHOWERED, SHAVED, PULLED ON A CLEAN PAIR OF Levi’s and a light blue oxford, and wolfed down a bowl of cereal. He threw some extra clothes and his toothbrush and deodorant into a duffle bag, and then stood inside the door, trying to decide if he had everything. He tapped his left and right back pockets, respectively, for his phone and wallet, and then remembered the envelope on the table. He retrieved it, folded it in half, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He turned the button lock on the door, and stood there, trying to decide when he’d be back. He switched the porch light on and off twice, and then left it on—just in case. He had filled up his car and checked the fluids the night before, so this morning he had only two stops to make, and the first one was the Ellijay Coffeehouse for two coffees—one black, and one regular.

Ten minutes later, he came out of the coffee shop and set the cardboard cup tray on the passenger floor. Then he climbed in, pulled the envelope out of his shirt pocket, and opened the maps app on his phone. He slipped the stationery out of the envelope, typed in the address his mom had carefully printed, studied the route that popped up, realized there was a traffic delay, and prayed it would clear by the time he got there.

He put his phone on the passenger seat, and as he pulled out of the parking lot, everyone who happened to be walking by stopped and watched the rumbling old car, and when several boys gave him a thumbs-up, he smiled. Five minutes later, before he’d even had a chance to park in front of J.B.’s Garage, Jeff was walking out with a big smile on his face. “I heard you a mile away.”

Mason grinned, climbed out, and watched Jeff walk around the car, nodding his approval. “Looks great, Mason,” he said. “You know, my grandfather had a ’67 Chevelle . . . same color, too—Marina Blue.”

“No, I didn’t know. What happened to it?”

“He sold it before anyone realized muscle cars would be in such high demand.”

“It’s too bad you can’t find it—you should look around the internet.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jeff said. “That’s why it was so much fun to work on this one.” He spied the duffel bag on the back seat and eyed him curiously. “You goin’ somewhere?”

“Savannah.”

Jeff frowned. “That’s a long drive.”

“Five hours.”

“By yourself?”

“Yep, but I wanted to stop by to show you the paint job and thank you for all your help.” Then he suddenly remembered the coffee. “I brought you a coffee, too,” he said, and then eyed him uncertainly. “Cream and sugar, right?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said. “I can always use a cup of coffee, but you didn’t have to . . . I loved working on this car. I wish I had more work like it, and less like that,” he said, gesturing to a Ford Taurus on the lift behind him.

Mason nodded. “You should get a website and spread the word. I’m sure muscle car enthusiasts would come out of the woodwork if they knew about you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jeff said, wiping his hands on a rag. “When are you going?”

“Now.”

Jeff nodded. “Visiting a friend?”

Mason shook his head. “Keeping a promise,” he said, closing the hood.

“Well, safe travels . . . and don’t forget, before you head off to college, we need to go to a cruise night at the diner.”

Mason nodded. “We will,” he said, a smile lighting his face. “Mr. Harrison wants to go, too. Maybe this Sunday, if they have one.”

Jeff nodded. “Sounds good.”

“All right, I better get going,” he said, reaching out to shake hands. “Thank you again.”

Jeff nodded. “You know how you’re going?” he asked as Mason turned the key.

“My phone knows,” Mason said, holding it