I dragged a hand over my face and closed my eyes.
“Josh dropped me off, and it’s not fair to derail his plans to turn around and come and get me, only for him to bring me back in the morning.So where does that leave me?Hotels are going to be booked solid; the terminal looks like a riot with luggage, and I’m currently stranded in Tim Horton’s purgatory talking to my phone like a feral raccoon in scrubs.”I ended the memo and sighed into my coffee.“And the universe better be listening, because I’m one Timbit away from losing custody of my sanity.”
Behind me, someone chuckled.
I froze.
Not because I recognized that husky, throaty sound right away but because something in it nudged a corner of memory I hadn’t opened in years.Warm.Low.Amused in that infuriatingly confident way only one person ever pulled off around me.
But that wasn’t possible.
I was clearly running on a lack of sleep, so there was no need to turn and shoot a disapproving glare.That chuckle had to have been from a stranger who had no issues with eavesdropping.
That voice though, steeped in dreams from a past era, broke through my thoughts, speaking again, closer this time, like the words were a private joke.“Still muttering threats at the universe, Nightlight?”
A nickname that only one person called me.
Hearing it, my heart did something very undignified and the sip of coffee I’d just taken lodged in my throat like a balloon.
Choking it down, I whipped around to see for myself.
Tristan Graham.
Except not the lanky, cocky, sharp-edged version burned into my last memories of him.No.The man behind me had grown into himself.Filled out across the shoulders.A voice with gravel now instead of bravado.And that dark, five o’clock shadow—good grief—rugged but intentional, like he’d stopped being the brother’s best friend and started being...a man.
I almost dropped my coffee.
Because those stormy blue eyes, the same ones that used to narrow when I stole his Triscuits were still intense.And they were definitely looking at me.
Chapter Two
“Tristan Graham.Ohmy goodness.”
I left my bag at the table and wrapped my arms around him without second-guessing it.
He hugged back, solid and warm, but there was a flicker, a pause, like the touch carried too much history.The last time I’d held on to him had been for a very different reason; tear-streaked faces, shattered lungs, and his arms around me because neither of us knew what else to do.This hug didn’t come with sobs, but it still landed like history pressing against my ribs.
