Page 72 of The Professor's Wife

“You were wonderful,” I finally said. “Just…amazing.”

“So long as you think so.”

“Everyone thought so.”

He’d received so many donations that his guitar case was overflowing. He quickly scooped up the money as he packed away his guitar, tucking it away without counting it as we headed out. He didn’t look like he cared to, either.

“You’re flushed,” he said just then.

“It’s hot.”

Plus, he made me squirm beneath his attention.

He made a thoughtful sound before throwing the strap of the guitar case over one broad shoulder.

We didn’t head straight back to the van. Tristan took my hand and led me down the street, past the boutique, the dress still clinging to my skin in the heat. We weren’t in any rush. I liked that we could roam in the places we stopped. Every town felt the same, but there were neat little treasures hidden around every corner.

“This is addictive,” I admitted quietly. “The traveling, the new places…”

I could feel his eyes on me. “How does it make you feel?”

I took a deep breath. “Alive.”

And I was dead, I wanted to add.

I’d been dead for a long time.

“I gotta admit, Daze, it wouldn’t be half this intense without you.”

I smiled. “Is that right?”

He looked unusually solemn as he gave a stiff nod. “It is.”

My cheeks burned. He wanted to say more, but he held back, frowning as he looked away, his eyes distant.

We turned onto a quieter path, one that sloped gently downward and was lined with wildflowers and the occasional bench.

The air grew cooler as we walked, the sun dipping low enough now to cast golden streaks across the pavement.

Then I heard it.

The soft lap of water against stone.

A lake.

It was tucked behind a row of trees, hidden from the main road. The surface shimmered like glass, catching the last of the sunlight. A small dock jutted out, weathered and empty.

Tristan let go of my hand and walked ahead, kicking off his shoes. He stepped onto the dock, then turned to me, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Come on.”

I hesitated. “Are we…?”

“Just our feet,” he said. “Unless you want to start peeling off that dress. I wouldn’t object.”

I rolled my eyes, biting my lip to stop myself from grinning. He sat at the edge of the dock, rolling up his jeans. His feet dangled over the side, his toes skimming the water.

I joined him, slipping off the sandals he’d bought me. The wood was warm beneath my thighs as I sat beside him and dipped my feet into the lake.