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“Tristan?”
“Nothing,” he says with a sad smile. “You’re so amazing, Isabel. Never forget that andneversettle, okay?”
His words should warm me, but instead my blood feels like ice when he cups my face and presses a gentle kiss on my lips. It’s the kiss of every fairytale, the kiss that changes destinies. It’s the kind of kiss that says I will always love you… right before a tragic goodbye.
I stare at my laptop screen, trying my best to concentrate on my work. Tristan is right about one thing—I need to step up my game at VT Engineering. I fought like hell for this career, and I fully intend to keep it. Although, today might not be the best example of my drive.
I’m supposed to be proofreading this design spec and getting a feel for the content and formatting. One day I’ll be writing these myself, but right now, all I can think about is the weird change that came over Tristan when we went to my room to finish what we started in the kitchen—except, we didn’t.
After the strange kiss, he decided he had to eat and get ready for work. I couldn’t exactly argue, since I was supposed to be working as well, but I’m not going to get anything done if I can’t concentrate. Plus, I’m hungry. Maybe I need to grab a bite to eat at Shelton’s. Just seeing Tristan safe and in action should be enough to put my mind at ease and help me focus. It would also be fun to surprise him and offer some support.
It’s only a fifteen-minute drive to the restaurant. I hate that it takes Tristan an hour each way without a car. I tried to drive him today, but he wouldn’t let me. Not surprising, given the fact that his macho-alpha-protector complex was in full swing this afternoon. The guy can be so exasperating at times.
As I pass Waverly Park, my adrenaline spikes at the presence of a vehicle that looks disturbingly similar to Pierce’s. It’s obviously not, since he wouldn’t be caught dead in this part of town, but it’s enough to remind me I need to be careful. He’s still on the prowl, and his texts this morning spring to the forefront of my mind. There’s no doubt he’s even more incensed after his stunt with the wallet didn’t result in anything more than a mild scare and some missed sleep for his target.
Forcing away the troubling thoughts, I crank the music and drown out the negative energy.
Shelton’s doesn’t appear busy when I pull into the lot, which should make it easy to check in with Tristan. I also shouldn’t have a problem getting a table in his section. But after scanning the dining room, I don’t see him and approach the host stand.
“How many?” the woman asks with a pleasant smile on her face.
“Just one. Can you put me in Tristan’s section, please?”
Her smile falters. “Oh. Um. He’s not on today. I don’t think he works until Wednesday.”
What?
I stare at her through the rapid increase of my pulse. “Are you sure?”
Because “he left for work” over an hour ago.
A sympathetic look covers her face. “Yes, I’m sure. Would you prefer the bar area or the dining room?”
“Actually, never mind. Thanks anyway,” I say with a quick smile.
“Wait,” she says when I start away. “Are you… I mean, you’re not Isabel, are you?”
Surprised, I return to her. “Yes, why?”
“Nothing, just… he talks about you all the time. He has your photo on the lock screen of his phone.”
“He does?”
Her expression softens as she nods. “Yeah. He’s always so sad, but not when he talks about you. He really loves you.”
My heart liquifies, warming my entire body with each beat.
“I really love him,” I say quietly.
She smiles. “Deep down, I don’t think he’s what everyone says. I heard him singing yesterday. He didn’t know it. He was outside on his break, and I was around the corner. It was really soft, but I could tell he has a great voice. The whole thing surprised me. He doesn’t seem like the singing type,” she says with a laugh.
I try to smile back.
He used to be.
Suddenly, I’m back in Kyle Alexander’s house, watching Tristan play the guitar for the first time in years. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. We all felt it. For the briefest moment, the veil lifted and we glimpsed what he could have been. Maybe what he could be if he can escape the prison of his own head. For a few glorious seconds his soul blossomed to life—then wilted just as fast.
My world dimmed when the invisible door slammed shut again right in front of us. He practically threw the guitar back on the stand, looking like he never intended to touch one again. I tried to talk to him about it on the ride home, but he said nothing as he stared out the window with a hard look on his face.
