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“Thank you.”
“Anything for you,” he whispers, surprising me with his statement.
Suddenly feeling heated under his intense gaze, I nervously brush a piece of hair behind my ear. Why am I so edgy around him?
This is just Tristan.
Tristan, who is my friend and Quinn’s brother.
Unexpectedly, my heart races as my friend hesitantly draws his hand toward my face and lightly rests it on my cheek. I don’t know what to do because it doesn’t feel wrong or weird. It feels…normal.
“Mia…” Tristan sighs, and as faint as it is, I feel him trace a line over my cheekbone with a shaky finger, which has my skin breaking out in goose bumps.
“Mia, I—” he presses, gazing at my mouth.
I need to pull away because some part of me knows we’ve crossed some invisible line, but I can’t. I don’t know why.
However, the voice of reason suddenly sounds, and I yelp at the intrusion.
“Everything okay?” the stern voice asks, and I quickly pull out of Tristan’s embrace, gingerly meeting Quinn’s demanding gaze.
I’m suddenly hit with a serious case of guilt even though I’ve done nothing wrong. But deep down, I know that’s not entirely true because something weird is happening between Tristan and me.
I just don’t know what.
“Fine,” Tristan quickly says, trying to fill the uncomfortable void.
Quinn’s eyes never leave mine, and I avert my gaze, which makes this scenario look all the more suspicious.
But Quinn knows, and Tristan’s comment suddenly takes on a whole different meaning.
“He’s smart, Mia. He’ll figure it out.”
Sadly, I think he already has.
“Well, I’m starved,” Tristan says. “I’m, um, going to get some breakfast.”
When neither Quinn nor I move, Tristan clears his throat.
“Okay, well, I’ll catch you later.” And he’s gone, leaving me alone with Quinn.
We remain silent, the strong breeze howling around us. I know I should say something, but what?
As much as I hate to admit it, Tristan being here has changed the dynamic between Quinn and me.
And I’m afraid to find out why.
Polly has insisted we continue with the charade of this Christmas dinner, and as I slip on my sweater, I have a bad feeling about tonight’s proceedings.
Quinn has been missing for most of the day, and I’ve let him be because if he wanted to be found, he would have made himself known.
This morning has played on my mind, and as hard as I try to deny the shift between Tristan and me, it’s there. It’s not romantic; it’s just…different. Something has changed, but I just can’t figure out what.
Sighing, I sit at the foot of the bed to tie my laces but peer up when the bedroom door opens. Quinn sways in, notebook under his arm, and by his clumsy entrance, I dare say he’s drunk.
I stand, looking at him, waiting for him to explain where he’s been.
However, he brushes past me and silently digs through his backpack, ignoring me.
