Page 19 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)

She stood very still, holding his gaze, aware that her palms were damp and her world could very easily shift depending on how she responded to that.

“Is that the question?” she finally asked.

“No.” He tipped his head toward the ball. “If you make this shot, we tie and you don’t have to answer my question. If you miss, I’ll ask.”

As she put her putter behind the ball, her heart slammed against her ribs, and not because she gave a hoot about this game.

But she cared very much for Peter. This wasn’t just a summer crush anymore. He was a man with a life, with roots. What was he going to ask her?

She took her shot, missing by a foot. From behind her, he slid both arms around her and pulled her into his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, too, and the sheer strength of a man she trusted.

“Viv,” he whispered into her ear. “I want to be more than your friend with history. I want to be with you. I want…us.” He turned her around slowly and looked down at her. “Is that possible or am I dreaming?”

She inhaled softly, lost in his gaze, vaguely aware of the next group of golfers coming to the eighteenth tee. She swallowed, silent. After a moment, they heard the others’ laughter, waiting for them to leave the green as they teed up.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “We’ll finish off the course.”

They walked to the car in a companionable silence, holding hands, the weight of his question pressing on her.

As they reached his car, he stopped at the passenger side, pulling her into an embrace. “Listen. Just so I’m clear. I don’t have to go back to Pensacola.”

She drew back. “You don’t?”

“I’ve infiltrated the Destin PD—in a good way. The chief offered me a job here, which is very alluring. I could stay—sell my house, buy something here. I could stay. For you.”

For her ?

“Peter, I…” She exhaled slowly. “That’s…wow.”

“I’ve been holding back, Vivien. I know you’re just out of a long marriage and I know exactly what’s involved with a divorce. But this opportunity came up and I wouldn’t consider it, if not for you.”

“That’s a lot to put on me.”

“I know,” he agreed instantly. “But I care about you. I think—no, I know—we could be happy together.”

“Oh.” She tried to breathe again. “But Cameron’s at the Pensacola police academy. And when Connor finishes dental school, won’t he go back home near you?”

“They’re grown men,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not going to choose my home base because of where they are.”

“But you’d choose it because of me?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “At least I would if I believed there is a real future for us.”

“Of course there is,” she said. She just didn’t quite know what it looked like.

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to leap into this moment, let herself believe that the boy she’d once fantasized about had somehow grown into the man she could love.

But Danny’s face flashed through her mind. That reckless spark. That inconvenient flutter of excitement she hadn’t felt in years. Not to mention, her divorce papers had barely just been signed. And that was honestly far more of a deterrent than a flirtation with a client.

“Peter,” she said softly. “I… I don’t know what I’m ready for. I’m still figuring everything out. I love spending time with you. I just… I need a little more time.”

He nodded. “Take all the time you need. I’m here for a while, then…” He pulled out his phone. “Hang on.” He frowned, reading the text. “Oh, wow. This is big.”

“You found the missing guy?” she asked, her heart tumbling. That meant he’d leave, unless she?—

“Do you think Maggie and Jo Ellen are still up?” he asked, the question throwing her a little.

“Yes—baking a great-grandmother celebration cake, according to Eli. Why?”

“I have news about your father’s case. We should go see them.”

“Okay.” She broke away as he reached to open the car door.

“And Viv,” he added, smiling at her. “I don’t mean to pressure you. Take your time. I got carried away with the thrill of victory.”

She just smiled at him and slid into her seat, her heart full and confused. Had her teenage heartthrob just asked her for…a future?

She glanced at the Goofy Golf sign as he rounded the car to climb in. Iconic, indeed.

Vivien opened the front door to the Summer House and frowned at the muffled sound she heard. Was that…someone crying?

The strangled noise was followed by a deep gasp, a wheeze, and…a snort?

“Jo! Get ahold of yourself!” Maggie exclaimed, but she didn’t sound like Maggie. She wasn’t mad and she certainly wasn’t crying.

Was Jo Ellen? Had a bout of grief?—

“I can’t!” Jo Ellen shouted, then a gale of giggles followed. “Look at that! Mags! I’ve seen five-year-olds do better! And that color! You had a great-grandson, not a Smurf!”

Maggie choked a laugh. “Fine. Icing isn’t my forte. And that’s supposed to be a globe, for Atlas. You want to do—” She looked up and saw Vivien come in from the entry. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello.” Vivien paused at the sight of Maggie and Jo Ellen smearing bright blue icing on a sheet cake, wearing the aprons that Kate and Jonah used to love when they cooked. “This looks like fun.”

Her mother almost looked embarrassed to be accused of having fun. But she didn’t deny she’d been caught in a moment of sheer abandon with her former best friend.

Jo Ellen didn’t look guilty or ashamed. She wore a huge smile, a dab of blue icing on her cheek, and the first real glint Vivien had seen in the grieving woman’s eyes.

“We baked a cake!” she announced. “A baby boy cake. With…a globe. Or something.”

“I see that.” Vivien came closer, glancing at the …creation. “It’s a masterpiece.”

Maggie gave her a dark look. “It’s a mess,” she shot back, sounding much more like the mother Vivien knew and expected to find. “We attempted baking.”

“We should stick with cooking,” Jo Ellen said dryly, then elbowed Maggie. “Nothing ventured, right?”

Maggie rolled her eyes and tried to smooth the icing some more, then looked over Vivien’s shoulder. “Hello, Peter.”

“Maggie, Jo Ellen.” He came to the island counter and took a long look at the cake, then up at them. “Looks delicious. I say you should never judge a cake by its icing.”

“Smart man.” Maggie took her icing tool to the sink to rinse it off. “How was dinner?”

“We need to talk,” Peter said, making Maggie freeze in the act of flipping the faucet. Slowly, she turned, dropping the icing knife in the sink unrinsed.

“Is something wrong?” Jo Ellen came around the island. “Is it about Artie?”

Peter angled his head. “I just got a message that kind of changes the game.”

“Hardly a game,” Maggie said under her breath, coming closer and leaning on the counter to look at him. “What is it?”

“I have a friend in the FBI, based in D.C. He’s pretty high up the food chain, so he was able to access some rather, uh, elusive information.”

The words touched Vivien—how sweet of him to care so much about their situation that he’d pressed a friend for sensitive information. Points for Peter, who opted not to tell her whatever he’d learned while they drove home. He said he wanted to tell Maggie and Jo Ellen first.

But Maggie didn’t look grateful for his effort, or his secrecy. “The FBI? This wasn’t a federal case, even though there was tax evasion. Roger was charged by the Atlanta police department. Why would the FBI get involved?”

“I don’t know, but there’s a case file,” he said.

“And normally I would think that meant Roger’s crimes were worse than you thought and crossed state lines.

And, of course, federal tax evasion, but I hear what you’re saying.

This is the first I’ve heard of the feds being involved, so I’m surprised, too. ”

Jo Ellen turned to her friend. “Surely you would know if your own husband was investigated by the FBI, Mags.”

“Not at all,” she countered. “He protected me from the whole thing. He didn’t want me included in the slightest. He was absolutely insistent that the less I knew, the better.”

Vivien made a face as she pulled out a stool to sit at the counter. “I would think he’d have wanted your help, Mom. You’re so smart and resourceful.”

“Well, he didn’t.” She looked hard at Peter. “What else did you find out?”

“That the investigation team was CCSG, out of Biloxi, Mississippi.”

All three women just stared at him.

“Crime and Corruption in Sport and Gaming,” he explained. “Did Roger gamble?”

“No!” Maggie pressed her hands to her chest, aghast at the suggestion, which almost made Vivien laugh.

He’d committed fraud five ways from Sunday, stole from clients, and laundered some cash, but the man did not gamble. Maggie’s defense of her late husband was consistent, if nothing else.

“He would never gamble,” Maggie insisted. “He didn’t bet on races, or…or associate with people who did.”

“Yes, he did,” Jo Ellen said, making them all look at her. “We all did, even if we didn’t know it.”

“What are you talking about?” Maggie demanded.

“Frank Cavallari had his fingers in all that stuff,” she said.

“Of course,” Peter said, nodding. “I had heard a rumor that the deli was a hot spot for illegal lotteries and betting. Years ago, it wasn’t unusual for small businesses like that to be a central receiving place for bets and payouts. Frank was likely a bookie who got a cut of the numbers they ran.”

“What does that have to do with Roger?” Maggie asked, looking from one to the other, and settling on Jo Ellen. “We bought Italian food from that store and went out to dinner with Frank and Betty. No…gambling.”

“But plenty of drinking,” Jo Ellen murmured. “Frank and Betty could put it away.”

“But that doesn’t mean my husband was a gambler.” Maggie took a deep inhale, the first sign that she was about to lose her temper. “And Frank Cavallari had nothing to do with Roger’s…problems. The situation was in Atlanta, around Roger’s business. When he was here, he was free of it all.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Peter said. “If Frank was somehow part of organized crime, maybe he roped Roger into working with him, even starting an arm of the gambling business in Atlanta. That would explain the FBI’s involvement.”

“How does it change the game?” Vivien asked, remembering what Peter had said earlier. “Does this mean my mom and Jo Ellen can’t get the answers to what Artie did and why?”

“Artie didn’t do anything,” Jo Ellen said.

Maggie sniffed. “Except turn my husband in to the police.”

The two of them glared at each other, tumbling right back to square one.

“It means getting background information or files will be impossible,” Peter told Vivien. “My contact said the files were transferred to federal offices and sealed, which explains why the attorney can’t find them. It’s essentially a brick wall that will not come down.”

For a moment, no one said anything, but Maggie looked at Jo Ellen, that silent communication they always seemed to share ricocheting between the two women.

“I know what we can do,” Maggie said softly.

Jo Ellen nodded. “Yeah.”

Peter and Vivien glanced at each other, lost.

“We’ll have to talk to Frank and Betty,” Maggie said. “They’re the only stone we haven’t turned over.”

“But don’t get your hopes up, Mags,” Jo Ellen warned her. “Frank never talked about that unsavory stuff.”

Maggie lifted a brow. “But Betty talked. At least she did after three glasses of chianti.”

“Then let’s go,” Jo Ellen agreed. “And we’ll take a bottle.”

“I think it’s good to go on a fact-finding mission,” Peter said. “But be careful and subtle.”

“You think it’s dangerous?” Vivien asked, a skitter of fear going up her spine.

“No, but…I wouldn’t want to wake up the FBI any more than we already have. The last thing you need is to have them come sniffing around this house and the profit it represents.”

Maggie paled at the words. “You’re right. But I still want to talk to them. We’ll be subtle.” She threw a look at Jo Ellen. “At least I will be.”

“Yeah, you’re so subtle, Mags,” Jo Ellen said dryly. “As understated as Smurf-blue icing.”

The air of friendship blew through the room again as they offered Peter a piece of cake. He politely declined cake, and after a few minutes, Vivien walked him to the front door.

Stepping outside, she looked up at him. The night air felt heavier now, thick with old secrets and fresh uncertainty.

“You okay?” he asked.

“A little overwhelmed,” she admitted. “It was a lot tonight—feds involved and a baby born and…”

“Losing at mini-golf,” he finished for her.

She laughed. “Yeah, a champ no more.”

He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a light kiss. “You still won my heart.”

“Oh, Peter.” She dropped her head on his shoulder and sighed.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, giving her such a classy way out.

After one more sweet kiss, she watched him walk to his car and drive off.

Vivien stood outside a moment longer, staring out into the dark, wondering as much about the past as the future.