Page 33 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)
G lancing in the rearview mirror, Vivien wanted to check on the eight-plus-foot silk olive tree in a massive stone pot that somehow fit in the back of her SUV.
But her gaze got snagged on the man in the seat behind her, holding the tree so it didn’t roll or break a branch every time she made a turn.
Peter gave her a cute smirk, looking amused and a little annoyed at the whole thing. It had been a heck of a “design errand” as he called her trips to various boutiques and shops that always ended in some large piece of décor in the back of her Highlander.
But she could never have gotten this tree from the silk flower distributor’s warehouse and into her car, not to mention upstairs to its new home, by herself.
“I’m not sure I really understand,” Peter said as their gazes locked in the mirror. “Why a man cave loft needs a giant olive tree? And how exactly did I get roped into this?”
“I know, this is a pain,” she conceded. “I thought I’d persuaded Lacey and Roman to help me with this tree, but Roman had to leave for a few days and Tessa has a new client and wanted to bring Lacey to the meeting. I really was counting on her strong boyfriend.”
His brow flicked. “Boyfriend? Didn’t they just meet a few weeks ago?”
“Well, what should I call him? The NFL player who has bewitched my daughter?”
He inched forward. “He’s okay, right? Good guy? Won’t hurt her? Because…”
“I know. You’re carrying.” She made a playful shooting gesture, but was touched by his protectiveness. “He’s good, all right. Maybe too good to be true, if there is such a man.”
“Hey. You’re looking at one,” he joked.
“I stand corrected. But, yeah, they seem to be…well, I don’t know if it’s serious, but Lacey sure acts odd when she talks about him. Like she doesn’t quite believe it’s real, so I don’t know where this thing will go.”
“It could go to Jacksonville,” he said. “And so could your daughter.”
She made a face. “Or they can be yet another long-distance relationship, like Eli and Kate. Who will be here in just a few days, remember?”
He nodded. “I talked to Eli last night. Well, texted. He wanted to know if I’d be around much this summer, since he will obviously be working from Destin as much as he can if Kate decides to stay.”
She didn’t respond but stole another look, waiting for the rest of what Peter might say. Would he be around? He’d made it clear after they’d mini-golfed that the decision depended on her.
And all she’d done since then was dance around the topic.
“I’m happy he’ll be here and have the summer with Kate,” he said, proving she wasn’t the only one doing the dancing. “If she stays.”
But he hadn’t answered if he’d be here. “Are you staying?” she asked softly.
“For the Celebration of Life thing? If I’m invited. The boat will be crowded.”
And…more dancing.
He let out a breath and looked at the tree as if he already anticipated the sharp turn into Four Prong Lake at the next stop sign.
“Kate’s not sure if she’s going to spend the summer here,” she said, wanting to keep the conversation going just to see where it took them.
“Emma has a job at the local yacht club in Ithaca and doesn’t want to come down here.
But Kate’s ex-husband said he’d love to have both kids all summer, so I guess things are… falling into place.”
“Yep,” he said, strong-arming the olive tree when the massive pot rolled with her turn. “They’re falling into place for…other people.” He grabbed the tree trunk, grunting softly. “But you never answered my original question.”
Her heart tumbled around exactly like that tree. Now? He wanted her answer now ?
“Which question?” she asked—as if she didn’t know.
“What self-respecting man cave has an olive tree instead of, you know, a…wine cellar or air hockey game or…whatever goes in a place like that?” He snorted. “I’ve never had such a luxury. My man cave doubles as a garage.”
“It’s for ambiance and my client liked the idea for his loft.”
“ His loft.” He gave a knowing nod. “So not Fiona?”
“No…her brother, actually.”
He grinned, obviously having figured that out a while ago. “Maybe I didn’t realize Danny’s olive tree was part of the deal when I offered to help you.”
There it was—that name. Casual, harmless…but heavy enough to make her pulse skip.
“Would it have mattered?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the winding neighborhood road, pretending she didn’t catch the subtle weight behind Peter’s words.
“I guess it depends on”—he looked into the mirror again—“where things stand with you and the old—or, actually, not that old—hedge fund manager.”
“It stands that he’s my client, has a generous budget, and has given me free rein in the upstairs of his house.” She laughed softly. “Not sure that sounds…right.”
Peter looked amused. “So, strictly business?”
Was it? If so, Danny’s business was making her feel alive when she was around him—spontaneous and light, like the version of herself she used to be before life became all about responsibilities and expectations.
They flirted and chatted, exchanged banter and teasing, and shared a whole lot of… attraction.
“Strictly business,” she said, praying it wasn’t a lie. They’d never kissed again after that first night, or talked about feelings. All they did was have fun—and plenty of it.
But then there was Peter. Solid, dependable Peter, who dropped everything to help her with this tree.
Two men. Two versions of herself.
And somehow, she didn’t know which one she wanted more or what to do at all.
They pulled into Danny’s driveway, the sleek, modern lines of his house gleaming against the backdrop of the lake.
Peter let out a low whistle. “ This is Danny’s place? I guess I should have figured. Hedge funds and all that.”
Vivien climbed out of the front. “All that indeed,” she murmured to herself.
Peter joined her at the hatchback and flicked a fake olive. “Nope, not what I expected in a manly man cave.”
“He’s manly,” she said, and almost bit her tongue for defending him and not her design choice. “And it really finishes the space.”
“I’m not questioning his masculinity. It was on full display at Tessa’s fashion show as he followed you around and took up all your time.”
“Oh, please,” she said, feeling her cheeks burn.
He hoisted the massive pot with two strong arms, barely swaying under the weight as he gently set it on the ground. When he did, he looked up and into her eyes. “The guy likes you, Viv. Not that I can blame him.”
“He needed a designer.” Even as she said the words, they sounded hollow. “Come on. I have the garage code to get in.”
“Of course you do,” he muttered, bending over to grab the pot, oblivious to the branches that swatted his face.
She didn’t answer—did she have to?—but got them inside, grateful Danny’s expensive car wasn’t there. Not only did Peter not need to see the obvious display of wealth, it meant Danny wasn’t home, so they could drop this off and get out.
They entered the house, the air cool with a subtle scent of freshly ground coffee lingering from the kitchen.
She instantly pictured Danny on the back deck, barefoot, maybe bare chested, looking out over the water as he sipped his morning brew. It made her feel…achy. Interested. Wondering what it would be like to be there with him.
Pushing the thought away, she gave Peter a chance to do what any person with a pulse would do—take in the beauty of the waterfront home. He did, but only with a cursory glance.
Of course. He was a police detective who happily lived in a bungalow in Pensacola Beach. Danny Sullivan was a multimillionaire with two homes and cars that probably cost what Peter made in a year.
“Upstairs with this beast?” he asked, leaning over to grab the olive tree pot.
“Sadly, yes. Thank you, Peter.”
He responded with a grunt as he hoisted a hundred pounds of stone and fake tree, carrying it to the stairs and all the way up without even taking a break.
“Impressive,” she said as she joined him on the top step when he finally put it down.
“Gotta do something to outshine Mr. Money Bags,” he joked. Maybe joked.
“It goes next to the wall unit.” As she stepped into the loft, she couldn’t help taking a moment to appreciate how quickly it was coming together.
He’d chosen the most subtle of wallpaper and she’d gotten a fantastic carpenter to do the custom built-in.
“That wall unit will be painted a deep green and I think that will just go perfectly with the olive tree.”
He plopped the pot on the floor. “Dreamy,” he teased, adding a wink. “He can put little white lights on it for Christmas.”
Actually, he could, but she didn’t want to walk right into Peter’s playful trap. Instead, she came over to turn the tree for the best angle of the branches. Then Peter stepped back and, for the first time, really surveyed the space.
“Let me guess—this used to be nothing but a TV on a stand with a fifteen-year-old orange crushed velvet sofa and big speakers. No, wait.” He laughed. “That was my place after my divorce.”
She laughed with him, appreciating his humor and attempt to lighten the mood. “Actually, you’re close. It was essentially a barren room.”
“Well, it’s not now. Honestly, Viv. You have real talent. This is nice.”
“Thank you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking around to see it through his eyes. “There’s going to be a bar over there and he’s adding a pool table.”
“Of course he is.”
Leaning into him, she jabbed his side with her elbow. “Don’t be jealous. He can’t handle a gun or a mini-golf club the way you do.”
He chuckled. “I’m just praying he’s a jerk.”
“He’s not,” she said simply. “He’s kind and considerate and taking care of his sister, a widow who lost a child years ago.”
“ Annnnd now he’s officially a saint.”
Before she could muster a response, the unmistakable chime of the front door alarm echoed through the house.
Her stomach dropped. “And not only that, he’s home.”
Peter arched a brow. “Should we hide?”