Page 103 of The Professor's Wife

I bolted from the chair and hurried inside.

It must have been the alcohol still working its way through my system.

That was all.

Jittery, I returned to bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

It was only when I was half-asleep that I realized I had forgotten the ring outside.

I should have gotten up.

I should have gone back for it, but I didn’t want to confront the eyes—all those eyes.

I didn’t want to look back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tristan was devastating when he sang. He captured an audience wherever he went.

I’d only been on the road with him for a month, and it felt like forever. At the same time, I felt the hours slipping by. A desperate itch settled in my being, a determination to do everything I could with those hours.

I had spent too much of my life wasting time.

Time that was robbed from me.

Time I would never get back.

I owed it to myself to make it up somehow. I knew everything would eventually come crashing down on me. I might as well make the most of it before the inevitable happened.

We had done a lot.

Tristan had taken me to places I never would have gone on my own. Through rain or shine, beneath starry skies or foggy nights, we had spent every night together—sometimes in his camper, sometimes in roadside motels or hotels where we could recharge, clean up, and feel human again.

We hiked trails that left our legs aching and our lungs burning, but the views always made it worth it. We ate crappy food from gas stations and diners but also splurged on restaurant meals when the mood struck.

He taught me how to play a few chords on his guitar, and I tried—God, I tried—but I was terrible. Still, he never laughed. He just smiled and said, “You’re better than you think.”

I wasn’t.

But I liked that he believed it.

We laughed so hard my ribs ached. We argued about petty little things that ended up resolved between the sheets. We kissed until our lips were raw and our breaths became one. We slept tangled together in the back of his van, our limbs intertwined like we were afraid of waking up alone.

And now, here we were.

In another town, smaller than the others but still filled with that beautiful mountain charm I hadn’t grown tired of.

We had been at the pub for some time. We’d eaten a light dinner, and then he found a chair on the patio and sang beneath the summer night sky.

“He’s dreamy, that one,” a server said, stopping beside me. “A catch.”

I smiled faintly at her. “He is.”

She looked at me for a beat. “You both look good together.”

I looked back at her, feeling my cheeks heat. “Thank you.”

It was the first time someone had said that. Had looked at us both and remarked that we looked goodtogether.