Promises should never be made lightly. At least that’s always been my go-to rule in life. Keep expectations low, that way you won’t disappoint often. This is especially true when it comes to dating. A girl never forgets a promise, so a few years back, I decided never to make any.

But then a couple of months ago, during the summer before my Senior year of high school, Hannah moved to town. And I don’t know how she managed, but somehow when I am with her, all rules and logic go out the window.

I would promise her the moon if it would make her flash me one of her “I can practically taste you” looks. Thankfully, two of the three promises I made her over the summer weren’t serious at all. I was planning on doing the first one anyway. So, when she put her head on my shoulder and whispered, “Promise me we will go to the homecoming dance together,” it was a no-brainer.

It seemed a silly thing to promise seeing as we were exclusively dating. The dance was a couple of weeks ago. We even were selected for court which was kind of a shocker, seeing as she was new to the school this year.

The second promise I made to Hannah was also not a big deal at all. A couple of Saturdays ago, we were headed to Crispi’s, our favorite diner, and passed by our town’s little farmer’s market. It’s in the Main Street parking lot and happens every Saturday from late June to early November. My mother goes there a lot, but I’ve never been.

So, when Hannah pointed at the tents and casually said, “Hey Drew, promise we will check out the farmer’s market before the season ends,” it sounded like a good idea. With Halloween only a week away, and the weather forecasted to be sunny and pleasant, today seemed the perfect day to fulfill that second promise. So here we are.

But as we walk through the crowds, hand in hand, my mind is elsewhere, stuck on the third promise that I made to her. The only one of the three I regret making.

I don’t even know who told her about the old Maxwell house. I sure as hell didn’t.

My best friend Lucas and I rode our bikes out to that creepy old house back in fifth grade. He dared me to go up onto the porch and ring the bell. I put one foot on the porch and a squirrel shot out from under an old chair in front of me, sending me backward, tripping down the steps in horror. We both screamed our guts out as we jumped on our bikes and rode at lightning speed the six or so miles back into town. We never spoke of the place again.

But when it's homecoming night, and your perfect girlfriend’s naked chest is pressed against yours and you’re about to do something you have always wanted to do, but before anything starts happening, she leans back and asks, “Will you take me to the Maxwell house on Halloween night?” you agree.