CHAPTER TWO
It was hot, but a cool breeze moved through the town. We walked side by side, and it felt natural. Like we hadn’t met less than an hour ago.
I felt small next to Tristan. He was easily over six feet and broad. The sleeves of his plain shirt hugged his biceps, straining slightly around them. The man was in tremendous shape.
Plus, his hands.
Good God, why did I keep staring at them? I had never been a hands kind of woman, but there was something about Tristan’s that made parts of me warm and tingle.
Within moments of leaving the pub, we passed the motel where I was staying. I didn’t tell him that, though. I didn’t know what this was or what it meant. I only knew I was tired of being careful. Tired of folding myself into safe corners.
Tonight, I wanted to live.
There were people everywhere, most of them drenched or red from the sun. A water park was nearby, and children could still be heard screaming in delight.
Rowe would have liked this.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Tristan asked.
“I like this town,” I mused. “It’s small, and the nature is wild.”
“I like it, too.”
“Also a bit of a tourist trap.”
“What place on the West Coast isn’t?”
I nodded. “That’s fair.”
A lot of people looked our way. Most of them were women, and they were ogling Tristan like he was a piece of meat. When I glanced up at him, he didn’t appear to notice.
Or maybe he was simply used to it.
The ice cream shop was tiny, framed in red, with a line stretching out the door. We stopped behind at least a dozen people. I tightened my grip on my purse strap and studied the menu written across a chalkboard propped against the wall.
I gaped at the price of a single-scoop cone.
“Sixteen dollars?” I asked. “How much is one scoop back home?”
“Eight. Maybe. If it’s fancy.”
I laughed. “We could have bought an entire tub.”
“Relax, Daze.” His voice was low and warm. “Sometimes it’s about the experience.”
Daze.
He made it sound as though he had been calling me that for years.
I looked up at him, and he was already watching me. He wasn’t smiling. He only held me beneath that focused gaze until my skin felt too tight.
“I suppose you’re right,” I murmured.
“What are you getting?”
“Brownie crunch. You?”
“Strawberry.”
I stilled for a fraction of a second, unable to resist the heat that moved through me. It was the way he said it—low and slow, as though the word itself were something to savor.
I blinked, suddenly conscious of how warm my neck felt.
When we reached the counter, I began to open my purse, but Tristan beat me to it. He ordered for both of us and slid cash across the counter.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, my cheeks heating.
He shrugged. “It’s only ice cream.”
But to me, it wasn’t. It was something else. Something he wouldn’t understand.
I let the tremor pass through me without showing it and whispered, “Thank you.”
He smiled, and I felt it in my chest.
My attention snagged on his hands again as he drummed his fingers against the serving counter.
“You’re welcome.”
My body relaxed at his tender smile. Who knew two simple words could feel so good to hear?
When he turned toward the servers, I released a slow breath and briefly closed my eyes, trying to center myself.
Out of the darkness, Daisy.
Into the light.
When I opened my eyes again, the tremors had eased.
The server passed our ice cream over the counter, and Tristan handed mine to me. The evening was so warm that it began melting almost immediately, a thin line of ice cream running over my thumb and down my wrist.
Tristan noticed.
He grabbed a napkin, but instead of handing it to me, his fingers closed gently around my wrist.
I stopped breathing.
His touch was light. Careful. I watched every second as he drew the napkin slowly over the melting ice cream, following the line from my wrist to the base of my thumb.
“There,” he said.
His fingers remained around me for a moment longer than necessary.
“Thank you.”
His gaze lifted from my hand to my face. Something subtle changed in his expression. The playfulness remained, but it had darkened around the edges.
He released me and tossed the napkin into the nearest bin. For several seconds, neither of us moved. Then he took a large bite from his ice cream, his eyes still holding mine.
“So, what’s your next plan?” I asked with a timid smile. His gaze made me warmer than the sun. “Or does this end with us getting ice cream?”
He ran his tongue over his lips, drawing my attention to his mouth. Then he began walking, and I followed beside him.
“I’m still working on it,” he admitted.
“You don’t know?”
“I have a few ideas.”
He kept his attention on the path ahead, still wearing that slight smirk, but for the first time, I noticed the uncertainty beneath his confidence.
Was he as flustered as I was?
There were only small signs, but they were there.
“I was doing well before,” he said.
“It felt rehearsed,” I teased.
“I kept playing it out in my head. All the different ways you might respond.” He looked at me again. “Everything sort of stopped back there at the ice cream stand.”
I grinned, unable to help myself. A giddy thrill moved through me at the thought of him pursuing me so deliberately.
“What do you usually do in these situations?”
“I don’t usually find myself in these situations.” His smile tightened. “I’m going to follow my gut and try to keep you interested.”
I had just taken a bite when I asked, “Is that hesitation I detect?”
He chuckled. “Of course. I’m used to holding someone’s attention by singing. I’m not singing now.”
“You could be.”
“I could.”
“Are you comfortable enough to break into song right here?”
“Singing has never been the problem.”
“But?”
He paused before shaking his head. “I’m more than a pretty voice, Daze.”
My heart jumped. “You’re right.”
His shoulders relaxed.
“You’re also a pretty face.”
His laughter reached his eyes. “I think my chances improve if you lead the conversation.”
I leaned closer to his side. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m a terrible conversationalist.”
He nodded, watching my mouth as I licked the melting edge of my cone.
“We have that in common,” he said quietly.
I looked away from his intense gaze for a moment to gather myself.
“Do you usually watch people this closely?”
“Just you.” He didn’t give me time to respond before adding, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you usually study a man this carefully?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His mouth pulled to one side. “You’ve looked at my hands at least six times.”
Heat rushed into my face. “I have not.”
“You have.”
“I was looking at your guitar pick.”
“I’m not holding it.”
My gaze dropped instinctively to his empty hand.
Tristan laughed.
“Oh, shut up.”
“You just did it again.”
“I was checking.”
“For what?”
“To see if you were lying.”
“And?”
“You weren’t.”
His smile deepened. “So, what is it about my hands, Daisy?”
I took another bite of my ice cream to avoid answering. “Nothing.”
His brows shot up. “Nothing?”
“They’re just hands,” I lied.
“So, you stare at a man’s hands like this often?”
“Not like this,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
The playfulness in his expression shifted. His eyes dropped to my mouth as I drew my tongue along the edge of the cone.
“Not like this,” he repeated quietly.
My pulse quickened. I pointed the cone toward him. “You’re hardly innocent.”
“I never said I was.”
“You keep looking at my mouth.”
His gaze settled there again, deliberate this time. “I know. I’m very aware at what I’m looking at.”
The bluntness of it made my stomach tighten.
“At least I tried to deny it,” I said.
“I don’t see the point.”
“The point is subtlety.”
“I walked away from a paying audience because I saw you sitting alone.” He lifted one shoulder. “I think subtlety left a while ago, Daze.”
I smiled despite myself. “That was very dramatic.”
“It was expensive, too.”
“How much did you lose?”
“No idea.”
“You abandoned your guitar case without checking?”
“I checked.”
“And?”
He hesitated. “And I decided I wanted to talk to you more than I wanted the money.”
I looked down at my melting ice cream, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “That sounds like a bad decision, Tristan.”
“Probably.”
“You make a lot of those?”
“Enough.”
A family hurried past us in the opposite direction, forcing us toward the edge of the path. Tristan moved closer, his arm brushing mine, and neither of us shifted away.
“How do you know when one is worth it?” I asked.
“I don’t.” His voice lowered. “That’s what makes it dangerous.”
I swallowed. “You seem very comfortable taking risks.”
“I am.”
My pulse quickened. His responses were so immediate. I found it hard to catch up. His arm was still close enough to brush mine, but neither of us moved away. His gaze moved slowly over my face before settling on my mouth.
“You’re looking at my mouth again.”
“I know.”
The air between us felt charged.
“What are you thinking about?”
His expression darkened; it wasn’t uncertainty but restraint.
“What it would feel like under mine.”
I hardly breathed. He stepped closer, leaving only a narrow space between us. His gaze flickered to the ice cream as he added, “And whether you’d taste like that ice cream.”
Heat moved through me so quickly I nearly forgot where we were.
“That’s very specific,” I said quietly.
“I’ve had time to think about it.”
I held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. “And is kissing me the most dangerous thing you’re considering right now?”
A slow smile touched his mouth.
“Not even close.”
My stomach tightened. Other places tightened too.
It took everything to keep my voice steady. “What else?”
His eyes moved over me once, deliberate and unhurried, before returning to my face.
“I’m not telling you that out here.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll want to show you.”
I should have agreed.
Yes, that would be stupid.
But I didn’t want him to stop.
I licked a drop of ice cream from my thumb and watched his attention return to my mouth. “You’re very brazen, Tristan.”
“You must like it because you’re still here.”