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Tristan had crossed his arms and was watching us with amusement.

He said I was beautiful!

It was distracting having him there. I placed my cello on her stand. “Of course I’ll come.”

I’ll come because you care.

Dylan gave me a brief smile. “Good. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”

I nodded and Dylan left.

Blowing out a breath, I turned to Tristan.

“He’s like a cat on a hot tin roof,” Tristan said, running his hand through his hair.

“You think?”

“Oh yes. I’ve never known him wound up this tight.”

“You know him well?”

Tristan’s expression darkened. “Yes. I do.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Tristan shook his head. “You’d better go. I’ll see you later.”

“Tristan?”

“What?”

“Before you go, can I ask you one thing?”

“Okay. If you must.” Tristan regarded me warily.

I stepped toward him, my hand outstretched. Tristan disappeared and materialized several feet away from me.

“You can’t touch me!” He was horrified.

“Why?”

“I’m not here!”

I stepped forward again.

“Fuck. No, Emily, you can’t.” Panic hardened his voice.

“I don’t understand. You look so alive.” I stepped hesitantly toward him.

“Stop!” he ordered.

I halted.

He took a deep breath and seemed to compose himself. “Take my hand,” he murmured.

I reached out to grasp his outstretched hand, and there was nothing there. My hand passed through his. There wasn’t even a noticeable change in air temperature.

Nothing.