CHAPTER ONE #2
Then he turned back to me, his eyes alive.
“You don’t come here often.”
It was a statement, but I shook my head anyway. “No.”
“I figured.”
When he caught the slight arch of my brow, he gave me a warm, lopsided smile.
“You stand out,” he explained. “Most people here sort of blur together. You don’t.”
“Someone like me doesn’t?”
He grimaced. “Shit. That sounded wrong.”
My lips twitched. “Then what did you mean?”
“It’s just…” He gestured vaguely toward me. “You look…”
“What?”
“Nice dress. Heels. Hair…”
“Pampered?”
“No. No, I didn’t mean—” He stopped and rubbed a hand across his jaw, clearly regretting every word. “I’m making this worse.”
“What did you mean, then?”
His gaze settled on me. The awkwardness remained, but something more serious entered his expression.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “That’s what I meant.”
Men had flirted with me before. I remembered once sitting beside a man on a bus for three hours, watching him stumble over his words as he tried to convince me of how desirable he was.
Men often carried that sort of bravado, boasting about their careers, their wealth, the houses they owned, and the cars tucked away in their garages.
Rarely did any of them simply say, You’re beautiful.
I wondered how different things might have been if they had.
Because when this man said it—just that, nothing more—it made me feel lightheaded and wanted. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so much older than him after all.
Whoever he was, he wasn’t trying to impress me with a list of achievements. He had said it as if it were the only honest thing he knew how to offer.
My smile broadened. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He continued watching me as I looked down at my water. Feeling a little more courageous, I said, “I listened to you sing.”
“I know.”
My eyes darted back to his.
This time, his smile was barely there. His blue eyes searched mine.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but there had been so many people around him that I had almost convinced myself he hadn’t truly been looking at me.
I kept my voice bright. “You’re really good.”
His expression softened. “Thanks.”
“Is that what you do?”
He chuckled. “Hell no. I was just busking.”
My lips parted in surprise. “Really? You’re allowed to do that here?”
“I got the owner’s permission.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah.”
“Does it…” I paused, not wanting to sound nosy, though I desperately wanted to know. He waited for me to continue. “Does it pay well?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes. Depends on how long I play.”
“Were you out there long?”
“Not today.”
I glanced toward the patio. “You finished already?”
“Cut it short.”
“Why? There were a lot of people out there supporting you.”
He still hadn’t touched his beer. He looked down at it for the first time, seeming to reconsider whatever answer had first entered his head. Then he lifted his gaze, giving me a half smile that deepened the dimple in his cheek.
“I saw you.”
Something in my chest tightened.
I held myself steady, refusing to be swept up by something that felt too easy.
I wasn’t twenty anymore, ready to believe anything with a pulse and a smile.
So I studied him instead—the eyes that didn’t dart away, the slight tension in his fingers around the neck of the bottle, the quiet certainty in his voice.
He had noticed me.
And he wasn’t pretending otherwise.
“You saw me,” I repeated because I didn’t know what else to say.
“I saw you leave, too.” His face softened. “I thought you might be gone by the time I packed up.”
I wanted to tell him that it had been a strong possibility. I had been watching the minutes tick by, trying to choose the best time to get the hell out of there.
“What would that have meant?” I asked, unable to help myself. “What other skirt would you be chasing in my place?”
“I don’t chase skirts.”
He said it plainly, offering nothing else.
I liked that.
I took a sip of my water. “They come to you, you mean.”
His gaze dropped to my hand, quick and instinctive, before returning to my face.
“I’m not that kind of guy.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What sort of guy are you?”
He went quiet for a few moments, choosing his words carefully. I liked that, too—the way he deliberated rather than spitting out the first charming answer that came to mind.
Finally, he said, “I don’t eat fast food.”
If I had been drinking anything stronger, I might have choked. It still took me a moment to recover.
“That’s your answer?”
“It is.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, playing along. “So, what do you eat?”
He looked faintly embarrassed by the conversation he had started but committed to it anyway. “Something worth waiting for.”
“What happens when you find it? Do you devour the whole thing?”
He gave me an offended look. “No.”
“No?”
“You take your time with something good.”
I laughed, and it felt good.
So good.
His dimples deepened at the sound. “Please tell me your name.”
“Daisy.”
“Daisy,” he whispered, tasting it. “Daisy. Daze. Day.”
I gave him a cheeky look. “What are you doing with my name?”
“Trying to find the one that fits.”
“And?”
“Daze,” he murmured, almost to himself. “That one suits you.”
“Why?”
He let out a startled laugh, as though he hadn’t expected me to ask.
“Because I can’t think straight around you.” He shook his head at himself. “You’ve put me in a fucking daze.”
This man was trouble.
Big trouble.
His words curled around me like smoke—warm and dangerous. They settled beneath my skin, in the places I tried hardest to protect.
I wasn’t easy. I wasn’t na?ve. But God, had I waited for a moment like this?
To be seen.
To be wanted.
Life had thrown its curveballs, and despite the pain, I wouldn’t trade the years I had lived. Rowe had once been my reason for everything. But tonight, for a few hours, I wanted to be something else.
Just a woman, with no other tags attached.
A woman being seen.
Even while I smiled, part of me remained aware of the pub door behind him. Every time it opened, something in my body tightened before I could stop it.
“What do I call you?” I asked, my voice low, almost shy.
“Tristan.”
“Tristan,” I repeated, letting it roll from my tongue. “Tris. Trist.”
He laughed, a warm, throaty sound. “Please stop.”
“What?” I teased, raising a brow.
“Tris is just…”
“Not a fan?”
“Fuck no.”
“Tan, then?”
He winced. “I knew a Tan in school.”
“Didn’t like him?”
“Hated him.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. He just had that look, you know?”
I tilted my head. “No, I don’t.”
“Arrogant. Like his shit didn’t stink.”
“You’re so triggered.”
He let out a dry laugh. “Fucking hated him.”
I laughed, too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep.
“Tristan, then.”
“Tristan,” he echoed, his gaze dropping to my mouth. His voice softened. “It sounds good when you say it.”
Trouble.
Big trouble.
I could feel heat rising in my cheeks. I wondered how flushed I looked.
He didn’t look red at all. He appeared calm and cool, though one hand continued worrying the guitar pick between his fingers.
Maybe he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed.
“Do you live here?” he asked, watching me closely.
My attention shifted to the door again before I could stop it. I looked down at my water, swirling it slowly.
“No.”
He nodded, not pressing. “Me neither.”
“Where do you live?” I asked, needing the focus to shift. I didn’t want him digging into my life.
Not tonight.
“East Coast,” he said simply.
I studied him, curious. “Long way from home.”
He chuckled, though the sound was a little distant. “Yeah.”
“What brought you out here?”
He glanced away, scanning the room as if the answer might be written somewhere across it.
“I like to drive.”
It was vague, but I understood.
We all had our walls.
Our secrets.
For the moment, they didn’t seem to matter.
His gaze flicked to the barely touched water in front of me. “Not feeling it?”
I shook my head, grateful he hadn’t offered to buy me something stronger. Even if I had wanted it, I didn’t need alcohol to make me lightheaded.
This man was doing all the work.
“No. It’s just water.”
If he thought that was strange, he didn’t show it.
“You want to grab ice cream?” he asked. “There’s a little mom-and-pop shop down the block. I saw it when I drove through.”
“Ice cream?” I echoed, surprised.
“Too random?”
“Just a little.”
“It was either that or the hot dog stand across the street. The donut shop is closed, and coffee felt too serious.”
I laughed, some of the tension in my chest loosening. “It sounds like you put a lot of thought into this.”
He laughed with me, his eyes crinkling. “I’m not going to lie. I did.”
“In the span of a minute?”
“My thoughts are racing,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Ice cream seemed like the safest bet. Who doesn’t like ice cream?”
I hesitated.
The sun was still out, but I didn’t know the area. I didn’t know him. I had already walked away from one life without understanding where I was going next.
I didn’t want to get lost.
Or worse, lose myself.
“I’m a busker,” he said gently, sensing my hesitation. “I come in peace.”
He thought I was wary of him.
If he only knew.
I played along. “Are you suggesting all buskers are innocent?”
He grinned. “No. We’re probably rougher around the edges than most.”
“That sounds like a warning.”
“Maybe it is.” His grin faded slightly. “Most of us are running from something.”
My movements slowed.
I studied him, unsure whether I wanted to ask what he was running from.
“I get that,” I said.
“I figured.”
I gave him the smile I reserved for moments like these. The hollow one. The one that said, Please don’t look too closely.
He reached for his guitar and slung the strap over his shoulder. Then he leaned in until he was only a breath away.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Let’s go hurt over ice cream, Daze.”