CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tristan spotted the pub first—a cozy place with ivy curling around its patio railings and a chalkboard sign promising Live Music Tonight.
He went right in and spoke to the manager while I sipped lemonade by the front gardens.
When he returned, he was all smiles. He’d been given the green light to sing in the early evening, which was fast approaching.
But instead of setting up, he paused, glanced at me, and said, “Wait. Before we set up, I gotta get one other thing done.”
We wandered down the street, and he led me into a boutique with soft lighting and the scent of cedar and lavender.
He moved with purpose, his fingers brushing past hangers until he stopped at a pale-yellow dress.
It was simple, cotton, with thin straps and a skirt that looked like it would sway in the wind.
“I want you in this,” he said, then pointed to a pair of light-brown braided sandals. “And these.”
I blinked. “You’re buying me clothes now?”
He smiled, but it wasn’t teasing. “I like you in my clothes. But I have a feeling that’ll get old for you real fast.”
The dress I was in needed a serious wash, but I didn’t want him to buy me clothes.
“Take me to a laundromat,” I said. “I’ll wash my dress.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s also the cheaper option.”
“I promised you sandals,” he pressed.
“And I told you flip-flops would do, not these.”
The sandals weren’t cheap. Not if they were from a boutique in a tourist town. They didn’t have a price tag hanging from them, which probably confirmed my suspicions.
“I want to do this,” he said. “Please.”
My heart began to thud faster. I didn’t know how to explain that I didn’t want him to do this without sounding crazy.
I also didn’t want him to have to beg to put me in clean clothes. I knew he wanted this to be positive for me. I wished he knew it already was.
“Nothing else, Tristan,” I warned.
He smiled brilliantly and took off toward the counter to pay, like he was worried I’d change my mind. I hadn’t even tried on the dress or shoes, but he appeared confident they would fit.
Once they were paid for, he took me to a dressing room, and I changed. The sandals slipped on easily and were far more comfortable than the heels I’d been wearing. Next was the dress. My heart squeezed because not only did it fit, but it hugged my body like it had been made for my curves.
I stepped out and peered around. Tristan was by the front counter, his fingers drumming against it.
He spun his keychain in his other hand as he patiently waited for me.
So uninterested in his surroundings, he had no idea how much attention he was getting.
I wasn’t sure why that warmed me so much, but it did.
“I’m ready,” I announced, stepping closer.
When he noticed me, he immediately straightened. The keychain fell loosely at his side as he gaped at me, his eyes trailing over my body. The familiar amusement was absent from his expression as our gazes slowly met.
He looked like I’d stolen his breath.
I felt mine pick up in response.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and he meant it. “Really fucking beautiful, Daze.”
My cheeks heated as I lightly said, “You have good taste in clothes.”
“No. You’d look good in anything.”
I didn’t realize we had an audience until I tore away from his intense stare and met the eyes of the young cashier behind the counter. While he was gaping at me, she was gaping at him.
I didn’t blame her. Tristan was devastatingly handsome.
When he extended his hand for me to take, her eyes snapped to mine. Whatever she saw prompted such intense curiosity. I took his hand anyway. He pulled me into his side until his hand fell from mine and wrapped around my waist.
Tristan’s affections weren’t hidden or subtle. He walked with me by his side like he was proud to be seen with me. While I knew what it was like to be alongside a romantic partner, this felt different—new.
Back at the pub, we grabbed tacos from a stand nearby and ate them perched on the edge of a planter box, laughing as salsa dripped down my chin. He wiped it away with his thumb, lingering just long enough to make my breath catch.
Then he set up.
I found a place among the audience and watched him get ready.
Beneath the string lights, his guitar case lay open on the patio stones, and he perched on a stool an outdoor server had offered him. The crowd was casual—locals, couples, a few tourists—but as soon as he began to play, the atmosphere shifted.
Conversations dimmed. Heads turned.
His voice was low and magnetic, curling around the lyrics like velvety smoke. It wasn’t just the music; it was his presence. He didn’t just sing the song. He inhabited it.
I sat there, absorbed, in my new dress and sandals, feeling like someone else.
Someone softer.
Someone less tainted.
And Tristan…he was incandescent.
He sang “Golden” by Harry Styles, but it was different. Slower. With just the guitar, every word that fell from his lips felt intimate and raw.
Shivers ran down my spine. I felt my skin pebble with goosebumps, the urge to shut my eyes overwhelming. I wanted to block out everything else and focus only on the sound and feel of his words.
I wasn’t the only one.
His voice pulled people in, but it was more than that. It was the way he looked at them. The way he looked at me. Like he was offering something sacred. Like he was unraveling something inside himself and letting us watch.
I was smitten.
Completely absorbed in the way he magnetized the world around him.
When his eyes found mine mid-song, I felt it again—that quiet ache in my chest. The one that whispered: This is what it feels like to be wanted.
And for a moment, under the fairy lights and the hush of the crowd, I let myself believe I deserved it.
But I didn’t.
Not at all.
After his final song, the applause was generous. A few women lingered near him, smiling too brightly, asking his name and complimenting his voice. One even touched his arm, laughing at something he hadn’t said.
But Tristan’s gaze kept flicking toward me. If he’d given them even an ounce of attention, I might have felt jealous, but I didn’t. Not since that gas station where he ignored those other women. He didn’t care for them. Not when his eyes followed me with such intensity.
He packed up slowly, then walked over to the pub’s manager—a stout man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a clipboard tucked beneath one arm.
He’d been outside more than once during Tristan’s performance, looking delighted as the crowd swiftly became customers.
He and Tristan exchanged a few words, and I caught the manager nodding before clapping Tristan on the shoulder.
When Tristan finally made his way toward me, the women watched him go. One of them called out, “You should come have a drink with us!”
He didn’t even glance back.
Instead, he stopped in front of me, his eyes warm. He looked me over slowly, like he was memorizing the dress he’d chosen and the way it fit me.
“You’re so beautiful, Daze.”
I smiled. “You said something like that earlier.”
“I mean it more now.”
There was a pause. A charged silence. I licked my lips, searching for words…and composure.
“You were wonderful,” I finally said. “Just…amazing.”
“So long as you think so.”
“Everyone thought so.”
He’d received so many donations that his guitar case was overflowing. He quickly scooped up the money as he packed away his guitar, tucking it away without counting it as we headed out. He didn’t look like he cared to, either.
“You’re flushed,” he said just then.
“It’s hot.”
Plus, he made me squirm beneath his attention.
He made a thoughtful sound before throwing the strap of the guitar case over one broad shoulder.
We didn’t head straight back to the van.
Tristan took my hand and led me down the street, past the boutique, the dress still clinging to my skin in the heat.
We weren’t in any rush. I liked that we could roam in the places we stopped.
Every town felt the same, but there were neat little treasures hidden around every corner.
“This is addictive,” I admitted quietly. “The traveling, the new places…”
I could feel his eyes on me. “How does it make you feel?”
I took a deep breath. “Alive.”
And I was dead, I wanted to add.
I’d been dead for a long time.
“I gotta admit, Daze, it wouldn’t be half this intense without you.”
I smiled. “Is that right?”
He looked unusually solemn as he gave a stiff nod. “It is.”
My cheeks burned. He wanted to say more, but he held back, frowning as he looked away, his eyes distant.
We turned onto a quieter path, one that sloped gently downward and was lined with wildflowers and the occasional bench.
The air grew cooler as we walked, the sun dipping low enough now to cast golden streaks across the pavement.
Then I heard it.
The soft lap of water against stone.
A lake.
It was tucked behind a row of trees, hidden from the main road. The surface shimmered like glass, catching the last of the sunlight. A small dock jutted out, weathered and empty.
Tristan let go of my hand and walked ahead, kicking off his shoes. He stepped onto the dock, then turned to me, his eyes bright with mischief.
“Come on.”
I hesitated. “Are we…?”
“Just our feet,” he said. “Unless you want to start peeling off that dress. I wouldn’t object.”
I rolled my eyes, biting my lip to stop myself from grinning. He sat at the edge of the dock, rolling up his jeans. His feet dangled over the side, his toes skimming the water.
I joined him, slipping off the sandals he’d bought me. The wood was warm beneath my thighs as I sat beside him and dipped my feet into the lake.
The water was blissfully cool.
I let out a sigh, leaning back on my hands. “Okay, this was a good idea.”
He turned his head toward me, his beautiful profile lit by the fading sun. “You were overheating.”
“Was it that noticeable?”
“I notice everything about you.”
The words settled between us like a hush.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.
I already knew he was perceptive. I felt bare every time he looked at me. Watched, but not in a greedy or disturbing way. He studied me, wanting to know how he could comfort me.
I still didn’t know how to process that sort of attention.
We sat like that for a while, our feet in the water and the silence stretching comfortably between us. Then Tristan leaned back beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“I used to come to places like this when I needed to think,” he said. “Or not think.”
“Which one are you doing now?”
He looked at me. “Trying not to think.”
“About what?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, he said, “About how badly I want to kiss you.”
My face burned. “You’ve already kissed me. In places I can’t even say out loud, even.”
He let out a laugh. “So? That doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”
“How much do you think about it?”
“Since meeting you? Every fucking second.”
“So why don’t you do it, then?”
His stare was tender, but the heat in his eyes intensified as he looked down at my mouth. “I want to. I don’t want to assume that you do.”
I swallowed and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “You have permission to assume I want to.”
Tristan nodded thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving mine. I felt like I was burning under his gaze. He didn’t rush. On the contrary, he moved like someone savoring the moment. The anticipation was electric.
He shifted closer, inch by inch, until his knee brushed mine and his breath mingled with mine in the warm dusk air. His hand found the edge of the dock beside me, steadying himself, but he didn’t touch me yet. His eyes flicked down to my mouth again, then back to my eyes, searching.
I could feel my pulse in my throat.
He finally tilted his head and closed the last bit of space between us. His lips met mine softly, tentatively at first, like he was asking again with every brush of his mouth.
But then the kiss deepened, and the tension that had been building all day unraveled in a slow, exquisite release.
It was full of heat and reverence. His mouth moved against mine like he was rediscovering me, like every kiss before this had only been a preview. And even though I’d kissed him so many times already, it felt like the first time.
Every time did.
My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him as the world fell away. The lake lapped gently beneath us, the trees swayed in the breeze, and the sky turned a deeper shade of violet—but all I could feel was him.
When we finally pulled apart, breathless and quiet, he rested his forehead against mine and whispered, “I swear, every time I kiss you, it feels like I’ve been holding my breath for years.”
I smiled softly and whispered back, “Then breathe, Tristan. I’m right here.”