Free Promise by Kristie Cook Page A

expression. He made me nervous. I
held the dart in my hand, up near my face, eyeing the board—no
particular place, just the board in general. It's a big enough
area. Surely I can hit it at least once . Just before I let the
dart go, my eyes slipped to Tristan.
    And the dart flew. And missed the board. By a
long shot.
    "Oh, oh, oh !" Both hands flew to my
mouth. Holy crap! I stabbed Mr. Beautiful!
    I stared at the dart lodged in his bicep. He
raised his eyebrows with an I-can't-believe-you-just-did-that look
as I hurried over to him. "I'm so sorry ! Are you okay?"
    He grimaced. "I don't know."
    I lifted my hand gingerly to pull the dart
out. He flinched and I jumped back.
    "Don't touch it! Aren't you supposed to leave
these things for the doctor to remove?"
    I fretfully bounced on the balls of my feet.
"Then what do I do ?"
    The grimace disappeared and a huge grin
spread across Tristan's face as he easily plucked the dart out of
his arm. He leaned forward and whispered, "You can kiss it and make
it better."
    I narrowed my eyes and scowled at him. He
burst into laughter.
    "I'm…sorry…but…you…should've…seen….your
face!" He nearly fell over from his belly laughs.
    I crossed my arms against my chest and
glowered at him. I couldn't hold it for long, though. He was
laughing so hard and he was so dang irresistible. I couldn't help
it. I started laughing, too.
    "I am seriously sorry," I said again once we
regained our composure. "I can't believe I did that. Are you really
okay?"
    He lifted his sleeve. The only evidence of my
assault was a miniscule hole, though I was sure the steel-tipped
dart had pierced at least half an inch, maybe more, through his
skin. I exhaled with relief, expecting it to be worse.
    "I think I'll live," he said, grinning. "But
you are rather dangerous. Let me show you how it's done
before you really hurt someone."
    He stood close behind me and tried to teach
me the proper way to hold the dart and when to let it go, but the
electricity distracted me every time he touched me. We laughed at
my absurd technique. I had more fun than I'd had in a long
time—maybe ever.
    When he slid the bike into the driveway a
little after midnight, though, the panic started to set in again.
Not like earlier, but enough to make my stomach flutter.
    "Did you have fun?" Tristan asked as he
walked me to the door.
    "Yeah, I did. Thank you." I watched the
ground.
    "My pleasure. Maybe we can do it again
sometime?"
    I took a breath to steady my nerves and
looked up at him as we stood on the front porch. "Hmm…you're
brave."
    He chuckled. "I'll just be sure to stand
behind you next time."
    "You saw my throws. That doesn't guarantee
anything."
    "Yeah, you're right." He smiled. "But I'll
take my chances."
    My heart raced as I looked into his sparkling
eyes and wondered if he was thinking about kissing me.
    "I better let you get some rest," he
murmured.
    "Mmm, yeah. I do have to open the store in
the morning."
    He held my gaze for a moment and then cupped
his hand gently around the side of my face. My skin tingled. Then
he leaned over and ever so lightly brushed his lips across my
cheek, then whispered in my ear, "Good night, ma
lykita ."
    I closed my eyes as the sensations washed
over me—his smell, the warm breath on my ear, the electric touch on
my face.
    "'Night," I breathed. He let go of me and
when I opened my eyes, he was already half-way down the walk.
Electricity still pulsed on my skin and throughout my body. Part of
me wanted to call him back, but, with a heavy sigh, I turned and
went inside instead. And I realized I didn't get to ask what he
called me. It couldn't be bad, but it was annoying not to know. It
had sounded like something in French. I made a mental note to
research it.
    The two-bedroom cottage was quiet and usually
comforting. It was one of the few places we lived that actually
felt like home. Usually, our moves required leaving everything
behind except the bare necessities. Since we actually brought