Page 70 of The Professor's Wife

Tristan spotted the pub first—a cozy place with ivy curling around its patio railings and a chalkboard sign promisingLive Music Tonight. He went right in and spoke to the manager while I sipped lemonade by the front gardens. When he returned, he was all smiles. He’d been given the green light to sing in the early evening, which was fast approaching. But instead of setting up, he paused, glanced at me, and said, “Wait. Before we set up, I gotta get one other thing done.”

We wandered down the street, and he led me into a boutique with soft lighting and the scent of cedar and lavender. He moved with purpose, his fingers brushing past hangers until he stopped at a pale-yellow dress. It was simple, cotton, with thin straps and a skirt that looked like it would sway in the wind.

“I want you in this,” he said, then pointed to a pair of light-brown braided sandals. “And these.”

I blinked. “You’re buying me clothes now?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t teasing. “I like you in my clothes. But I have a feeling that’ll get old for you real fast.”

The dress I was in needed a serious wash, but I didn’t want him to buy me clothes.

“Take me to a laundromat,” I said. “I’ll wash my dress.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s also the cheaper option.”

“I promised you sandals,” he pressed.

“And I told you flip-flops would do, not these.”

The sandals weren’t cheap. Not if they were from a boutique in a tourist town. They didn’t have a price tag hanging from them, which probably confirmed my suspicions.

“I want to do this,” he said. “Please.”

My heart began to thud faster. I didn’t know how to explain that I didn’t want him to do this without sounding crazy.

I also didn’t want him to have to beg to put me in clean clothes. I knew he wanted this to be positive for me. I wished he knew it already was.

“Nothing else, Tristan,” I warned.

He smiled brilliantly and took off toward the counter to pay, like he was worried I’d change my mind. I hadn’t even tried on the dress or shoes, but he appeared confident they would fit.

Once they were paid for, he took me to a dressing room, and I changed. The sandals slipped on easily and were far more comfortable than the heels I’d been wearing. Next was the dress. My heart squeezed because not only did it fit, but it hugged my body like it had been made for my curves.

I stepped out and peered around. Tristan was by the front counter, his fingers drumming against it. He spun his keychain in his other hand as he patiently waited for me. So uninterested in his surroundings, he had no idea how much attention he was getting. I wasn’t sure why that warmed me so much, but it did.

“I’m ready,” I announced, stepping closer.

When he noticed me, he immediately straightened. The keychain fell loosely at his side as he gaped at me, his eyes trailing over my body. The familiar amusement was absent from his expression as our gazes slowly met.

He looked like I’d stolen his breath.

I felt mine pick up in response.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and he meant it. “Really fucking beautiful, Daze.”

My cheeks heated as I lightly said, “You have good taste in clothes.”

“No. You’d look good in anything.”

I didn’t realize we had an audience until I tore away from his intense stare and met the eyes of the young cashier behind the counter. While he was gaping at me, she was gaping at him.

I didn’t blame her. Tristan was devastatingly handsome.

When he extended his hand for me to take, her eyes snapped to mine. Whatever she saw prompted such intense curiosity. I took his hand anyway. He pulled me into his side until his hand fell from mine and wrapped around my waist.

Tristan’s affections weren’t hidden or subtle. He walked with me by his side like he was proud to be seen with me. While I knew what it was like to be alongside a romantic partner, this felt different—new.