Page 42 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)

N ot bad, Vivien Lawson. Not bad at all.

Vivien stepped all the way to the entrance of Danny’s loft and took a moment to drink in the fruits of her labor. The sports bar with a touch of refinement and elegance had been achieved with perfection, right down to the tribal-themed woven rug and the understated pillows on the sectional.

The sun was nearly down, but that gave an orange glow to the room that truly brought it to life.

The bar was welcoming, the built-ins were subtle but functional, and the new black felt pool table seemed like it had been there forever. And since it took three monstrous moving men to get it upstairs, it might very well be there forever, too.

She angled her phone and took another picture, trying to get the snapshot just right for the Vivien Lawson Designs Instagram page, already crafting the caption.

“Equal parts masculine and refined, cozy and luxe…elevated,” she whispered. “A touch of sophistication and definitely one-of-a-kind.”

“I hope you’re describing me for one of those diary entries you tell me you like to write.”

At Danny’s voice, she turned, lowering the phone and giving a quick—slightly embarrassed—laugh. “The room, my friend, the room.”

“Which is chef’s kiss perfection, Ms. Lawson.” He reached the top of the stairs and opened his arms toward the space. “You crushed it. I’m in love. With the room, of course.”

“Don’t ruin my moment,” she warned lightly, her voice laced with humor. “I’m having a professional high here.”

He was barefoot, as always, in dark jeans and a soft black tee that was maddeningly attractive. His mostly pepper but slightly salted hair was tousled, like he’d run a hand through it a few times before coming upstairs.

“You’re right,” he said after a beat. “It deserves a moment of appreciation. You made it look effortless, too.”

Vivien laughed. “Well, it’s one room, you had no make-or-break opinions, and your budget was more than generous. In this case, it was effortless.”

“Not to me—thank you.”

“You’re so welcome. And the lamps and rugs for the guest rooms will be here by the end of the week, so we, my friend, are done with this project.”

He made a face. “Let’s start on the downstairs.”

“You said you were happy with that.”

“I want to keep you around,” he said, the bluntness startling her.

“Well, I’m just down the road in the Summer House.”

He tipped his head in concession, and his smile faded into something gentler. “You’re going to make me spell it out, aren’t you?”

“Depends on what you’re spelling,” she joked, but her heart kicked up a notch. She could see the look in his eyes and knew what was coming.

“All right, I’m spelling…relationship.” He took a breath, then reached for her hand, guiding her over the tribal rug to the perfectly appointed sectional. “Do you want…specifics?”

She let him ease her onto the cushion next to him. “I know what a relationship is.”

“And don’t tell me—you’re in one with the cop you’ve known since you were a kid.”

Her heart dipped at the description, just thinking about that diary entry she’d read last night and how it had made her want to just wrap the man in her arms and thank him again.

Dear, darling, dependable Peter was so much more than a cop she’d known since she was a kid.

“I’ve been seeing him, yes.”

“Isn’t he ever going back to Pensacola?”

She gave a soft laugh. “He’s actually thinking about taking a job in Destin.”

“Aah.” He leaned back and eyed her. “So, it’s more serious with you two. I should back off.”

Was it serious? She didn’t know—and she didn’t know if she wanted Danny to back off at all. She’d certainly miss the attention.

“But if it wasn’t,” he continued slowly, “then I would very much like to see where this could go. Not just…this flirtation. But us. I want something real. With you.”

She swallowed, her throat thick. She’d known it was coming—Danny wasn’t subtle. He never had been.

But here in this perfect room he’d trusted her to create, after weeks of laughing and teasing and being seen by someone new…well, it was hard.

“Danny,” she began, her voice soft. “You’re…wonderful. You really are.”

“Oof.” He blinked. “The thanks-but-no-thanks tone.”

Was it? She studied him, thinking and feeling and letting her heart tell her what to do. What did she want from this man? From her life? And when would she figure it out?

Time was ticking.

“No. It’s the I-care-about-you tone,” she said, her voice hesitant. “You came into my life when I was figuring out how to start over. You reminded me that I’m more than a divorcee and a mom and a sister and a decorator. You made me feel…seen.”

“And what I see is beautiful,” he said, the perfect flirt always at the ready.

And maybe that’s what was stopping her. He was too perfect. Too handsome, too rich, too used to getting what he wanted.

And Vivien had just found her spine, which could very well be lost again with a man like this.

Danny waited, lifting a brow. “But…”

“But I can’t,” she said gently. “Not right now. Not when I don’t have clarity. Not when I don’t know what I want.”

He looked back up, silver-blue eyes searching hers. “The cop won, huh?”

Vivien let out a short, sad laugh. “This wasn’t a contest.”

“Felt like one sometimes.”

She reached out and touched his arm. “It was never about picking the shinier object. You and Peter are…very different men. You make me feel different things.”

Danny nodded slowly. “I knew that from the beginning. Still hurts a little, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m glad I met you. And I’ll use the heck out of this loft.”

Vivien laughed. “You better.”

A warm silence passed between them. Then Danny reached for her. “Friends?”

“Friends,” she echoed, though her heart ached a little as they hugged.

They stood, smiling at each other, and changed the subject to small talk about the room, the furnishings, and a promise of a rousing game of pool someday.

But they both knew that would never happen, Vivien thought as she walked down the stairs. After saying a warm goodbye, she stepped outside, the Florida heat wrapping around her like a real hug, not one from someone she liked but didn’t… need .

Satisfied, she climbed into her SUV and turned on the ignition, knowing where she was going next. She and Peter had plans to meet at The Back Porch for dinner—and it was time to give him her decision.

Vivien was early enough to snag one of the waterfront tables at the very small and desirable section that was the original “back porch” and gave the restaurant its name. With the massive windows wide open, she could feel the salt air and enjoy an unobstructed view of the water and waves.

Sunset was an hour or two away and by the time that white sand and blue water turned fiery orange, she would have to make her decision with Peter.

Sipping a white wine, she felt the restaurant shift from a quiet cocktail hour to the first light rush of dinner patrons, checking her watch to see that Peter would be here in about five minutes.

Her shoulders tensed as she imagined how she’d tell him that, yes, she wanted him to stay and pursue a relationship with her.

That was what she wanted…wasn’t it?

With no answer, she stared out into the beautiful waning light, the kind that made Destin shimmer like a postcard. The yellow sun still filtered through the restaurant windows, warming the ancient wood floors and lacquer-covered tables that had served thousands of tourists over the years.

Including, she mused, two young families who’d summered together for seven years. They’d eaten here at least three times every summer. Maybe more. Maybe right at this very table, with Peter looking so cute and smiling and calling her “champ” and Eli annoying her and sliding glances at Tessa.

Was that what was really at the heart of her feelings for Peter? Nostalgia?

No, it couldn’t be. She didn’t feel nostalgic when he wrapped her in his arms. She felt loved.

Glancing at her phone, she frowned at the time. Fifteen minutes late? Not like Peter McCarthy.

He showed up early. He held doors. He called when he said he would. He came to her beach parties when no one else did.

Yet he was late and there were no missed texts to explain or apologize.

“Another wine?” The server’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.

Although a second glass sounded good, she wanted her wits for this conversation—even if she wasn’t sure what she was going to say.

“Just ice water this round, thank you. My friend should be here soon. I’m sorry to take the table if there’s a wait.”

“It’s fine,” the man said. “You just relax.”

Smiling her thanks, she turned back to the view and tried to follow the order. Relax. How could she? She was basically deciding her future in the next half hour.

As another fifteen minutes passed, she had the first tendril of worry. She knew Peter’s job could be unpredictable. He was buried in that missing person case here in Destin, and he was probably involved with the paperwork of closing it.

Maybe he was meeting with the PD chief to discuss the job. He hadn’t officially accepted the transfer yet, he’d made it clear—if Vivien was in, he was all in. He’d offered her stability. Love. A future.

Wasn’t that what she wanted?

She looked around the softly lit bar. The hum of conversation, the gentle clink of forks and the aroma of fried fish filled her with that same nostalgia. And yet, with every passing minute, Vivien felt a strange unease creeping in beneath her skin.

She tapped her phone again, stunned when she realized he was now an hour and ten minutes late. She texted him as a whisper of worry danced up her spine.

His job was dangerous. He joked about the fact that he always had a gun, but the fact was…he always had a gun.

Which meant he was safe and could defend himself. She hoped.

When it hit the hour and a half mark, she knew she had to order something or leave.

She opted for some fried shrimp and another glass of wine, and stared at her phone wondering why he hadn’t called or texted.