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I mumbled, “Thank you,” as I did the last straps that stopped at my knee.
He stood up and leaned closer to me, his hands on each side of the bed, holding me hostage.
“You weren’t kidding about the damn dress,” he said, biting his bottom lip.
“At least you’re not wearing sweats and a tee,” I said, adjusting his collar.
He laughed in the small space between us. I expected him to lean in for a kiss, but he pulled away.
“Let’s go,” he said, taking my hand.
“One minute,” I said and ran to my wardrobe to look for a purse. Vina had forgotten I needed one. I picked a black leather purse and forced my phone inside, not sure of what other valuables I needed to take inside the purse.
“Ready,” I said, hooking my arm with Tristan’s.
Morris gave me a bouquet of flowers when we got downstairs. Tristan looked away when I took a glance at him. I shook my head and smiled at the pretty flowers. The note in the middle said,You make every day worth living.Mine.
I took a glance at Tristan with my cheeks on fire. He gave me a genuine smile, one I rarely saw.
We got to the car and took the backseat as Morris sat behind the wheel. Tristan’s hand remained on my thigh the whole ride as he asked Morris a few questions about his family and something about a room in the house.
“When is your birthday, Morris?” I asked.
“April 21,” Tristan replied.
“Mine is August 12,” I said to Morris.
“One week after my second granddaughter’s birthday,” Morris said, beaming.
“Aww, how old is she?”
“Nine. She is a very smart kid and is the captain of her softball team.”
He seemed so proud. I wished my parents looked that proud when they talked about me.
“When is yours?” I asked, looking at Tristan, who looked lost.
“It’s not important,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t like birthdays,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Why?”
He sighed and looked away. He had that same look on his face that he had every time I asked about his past. The one where he avoided my eyes and tightened his jaw.
“What was your favorite sport in high school, Miss Simpson?” Morris asked, drawing my attention away from Tristan.
I told Morris about how I’d sucked at every sport I joined in high school and that they always kicked me off the team.
“What would you like me to bring for you, Morris?” I asked as the car came to a stop in front of the restaurant.
“Nothing, thank you.”
“I’m still bringing something,” I said as I stepped out of the door Tristan held open.
His hand stayed on the small of my back as the doorman opened the door for us.
