Kristie Cook - Promise

Inside the box lay a silver chain with a beautiful pendant—two spaghetti-thick strands of silver entwined around each other and shaped into a circle with a triangular ruby dangling in the center. I'd never seen anything like it. When I looked up at him, his expression was pained and guilt stabbed my heart.

"Oh, I'm so sorry !" I said sincerely. I threw myself into his lap, put my arms around his neck and looked directly into his eyes. "I absolutely love it! And, even though you broke the rules, I'll keep it forever."

He swallowed. "But I didn't break the rules. The chain is new, but I designed and made the pendant myself."

I looked at the pendant and back at him. "You designed this?"

"Just for you. It's symbolic." He lowered his voice. "Two lives intertwined around one love."

"Oh. My ." I studied the pendant and happy tears filled my eyes. I treasured it more than anything I'd ever owned. I lifted my hair. "Put it on me. I'm never taking it off."

He clasped the chain and kissed my neck before I dropped my hair.

"Tristan…?" Mom asked, her voice mixed with concern and wonder as she eyed the pendant against my chest. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes."

I looked at him questioningly.

"The stone is unique and very precious," he explained.

"Does it mean anything?" I asked. "I mean, besides the symbolism?"

"It's the closest I can come to giving you a piece of my heart." He shrugged it off, but his eyes told me it meant a lot.

"Thank you," I whispered, fingering the ruby. It felt strangely warm to the touch. "I'll wear it forever."

"Thank you for your love," he said, indicating the poem. "I'll keep it forever."

"I might let you have it that long," I teased.

He pulled me against his chest. "You don't have a choice because I'll never let it go. And I'm much stronger than you."

Christmas Day was the best Mom and I ever had. After delivering the cakes to a homeless shelter and nursing homes, we drove around, scoping out opportunities for random acts of kindness. The first one came when we saw a lady and four small children clambering out of a car. She tried to unload gifts from her old station wagon, while keeping the kids out of the street. Tristan and I carried the gifts to the house for her while Mom helped her with the kids. Tristan slipped her something as we left and she stared after us, her mouth hanging open with shock. He did the same thing each time we helped someone. I didn't ask about it because that was the point of the day, but I knew when we stopped at a convenience store.

We'd just bought drinks and the man behind us argued with the clerk about why his credit card didn't work at the pump. He carried on about how he needed to get to Miami to see his kids for Christmas. Tristan tucked something into my hand, nodded at the man and strode out of the store. I looked at the folded one-hundred-dollar bill in my hand, smiled and stepped over to the man at the counter.

"Here, go see your kids," I whispered. I placed the bill in his hand and hurried out the door before he could stop me. We took off as soon as I was in the car. When I looked back, both the man and the clerk stood outside, watching after us.

As December slipped into January and January disappeared into February, I spent as much time as I could on the book…when I wasn't in class or with Tristan. I was surprised at how easily most of it came to me, almost like it wrote itself and I was just a tool. The book would be better than I expected and I nearly finished the first draft by the middle of February. Then I got sick.

Valentine's Day and my birthday five days later were both miserable. I caught a horrible cold that fell into my chest and became bronchitis. I felt even worse because Tristan had planned a weekend in Orlando for my birthday that included seeing one of our favorite bands in concert. Instead, he made me homemade soup and we watched my favorite movies.

"You probably shouldn't be here," I said to him my first miserable night. My voice was hoarse and nasally.

"It's Valentines. Of course I want to be with my love." He sat on the end of the couch, my head in his lap, and stroked my hair.

"You really don't want to catch this, though." A fit of coughing emphasized my point.

"I don't get sick," he said. "I didn't think you could, either."

I started to answer, but coughing took over again. My head and shoulders and chest—oh, hell, my whole body—ached from it.

"Her body's not that strong," Mom answered for me. "Her skin can heal, but her internal organs aren't as powerful. She'll get over it quicker than most, but she still gets sick."

"I'm still somewhat normal, in other words," I croaked.

"That explains how the wine made you drunk," he said.

"You guys don't get drunk?" I asked with mild wonder. Tristan and Mom both shook their heads.

Then Tristan looked at me thoughtfully. "What about your bones?"

"We don't know. That cut last fall was the worst I've ever been hurt. I've never broken a bone, so we don't know if they'll heal on their own or not."

"Hmm…you're more fragile than I realized," Tristan said. I looked at his face, trying to understand the grim tone. "I must be extra careful with you from now on."

I was disappointed but also relieved that Tristan had to cancel the plans for Orlando. I knew there'd be more opportunities, but I thought a weekend away, just the two of us, may take us to the next level…we'd have sex, in other words. I'd been thinking about sex a lot. I knew our relationship was serious enough for this to become a hot topic anytime now. I'd never really planned my first time…though many times I wondered, when I was younger, if I'd ever have a first time…so I had not specifically decided to keep my virginity until I was married. In fact, I wasn't sure if I thought that was fair to either party. Mom had repeatedly lectured me about how it was the most important gift I could ever give and I could only give it once, "So you make it count." I thought I'd know when the right person and right time came along, whether it was before marriage or on my wedding day. Now I was torn.

I knew the right person had come along, but I hadn't yet figured out the right time. Every time we'd get passionate, my body would scream to continue. But my mind—and Tristan's self-control—always won and I always felt relieved it ended that way. I didn't want to regret it when it did happen. I wanted to know for sure it was right and not just hormones taking over. Tristan helped. He had his own issues to deal with—like trying not to kill me. We would go a little longer and get a little further each time before he had to stop.

Not until late March did it even become a discussion between the two of us. It was a memorable night—for more than one reason—at the end of Spring Break, which I had used to finally finish the book. It was just the first draft, but the story was finally out of my head. Tristan took me out on the boat and then to his place so he could make me a celebratory dinner. At least, that's the reason he'd given me.

After dinner, we went out to the beach to watch the sunset. Unlike the beach by Mom's cottage, this one was empty. Beaches were generally public property, but people assumed those in front of the big houses were private. Tristan spread a blanket out for us and I sat down facing the water. He usually sat behind me so he could hold me, but this time he kneeled in front of me, his back to the sunset.

"You're, uh, facing the wrong way," I pointed out the obvious.

"I prefer this view," he said with a stunning smile. It was cheesy, but I fell for it anyway and smiled sappily at him. His smile faded as he seemed to be thinking hard about something. "Can I ask you a question?"