CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE #2
For a long moment, he said nothing.
One hand rose to rub along his jaw. He appeared buried in thought while I wasn’t thinking at all.
I had barely breathed, taken off guard by his reaction.
Finally, he leaned toward the microphone.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I realized I was playing the wrong song.”
Several people objected, telling him he should have continued.
He let out a quiet chuckle and cleared his throat.
Then he looked down at his guitar.
His fingers moved slowly at first, almost uncertainly, before gaining confidence.
His eyes returned to mine and held.
I burned on the spot as he began a tune I knew very, very well.
Allman Brown’s “Sweetest Thing.”
The melody carried images of heat, ocean air, moonlight moving across water—and a woman made to sound more beautiful than everything surrounding her. Jesus, his voice was full of yearning.
I fidgeted, though I couldn’t look away.
Everyone was watching us now.
My body tightened beneath the attention, but inside, I felt featherlight.
Reborn.
Full of sudden longing.
When he reached the chorus, his voice deepened around the declaration at its center. He stared straight into my eyes as he sang it, leaving no room to pretend his choice had been accidental.
This was the kind of attention you couldn’t explain away.
Tristan was singing to me, his gaze never wavering.
The hair along the back of my neck suddenly prickled.
I glanced behind me, my flight response ready. I expected to see Oliver, but I didn’t find him.
It didn’t mean he wasn’t there.
Stupid, Daisy.
I had mistaken a few unpunished minutes for courage.
I had walked into the restaurant feeling almost brazen, as though lowered alarms and a crowded patio had somehow placed me beyond his reach.
But now every doorway looked like somewhere he might appear, and every stranger seemed capable of turning toward me with his eyes.
Uneasy, I looked back at Tristan.
His brows had drawn together, as though he could sense what I was about to do.
I didn’t want to leave, but the fear was too great to ignore.
I looked away, not wanting to see his reaction.
Then I stood and abandoned my table, hurrying out of the restaurant.
His song stopped immediately.
I didn’t turn around.
I kept my face down, terrified I had made a terrible mistake. Oliver might already be at the clinic, asking where I was.
My stomach turned at the thought of waking in the cabin the next morning.
Was this worth it, Daisy? he would ask.
Sweat broke across my face as I hurried down the street toward the clinic. My ribs ached because I hadn’t had any real exercise in so long.
I wrenched the clinic door open, panting hard.
I stood there with my hair plastered against my sweaty skin, looking frantically around the waiting room.
At every face.
“Are you all right?” the receptionist asked.
I swallowed, trying to catch my breath.
“I…I was worried I missed my turn.”
“You’re not even close, hon.”
I walked farther into the waiting room and spun around, searching every patient.
Then I returned to the desk.
The receptionist was watching me warily now.
I schooled my panicked expression. “Did my husband come asking for me?”
She shook her head. “No one has asked.”
“No suited man came through? Tall and broad with jet-black hair?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
The look she gave me was almost pitiful.
“Are you truly all right?”
I could have burst into tears right there, but I swallowed hard and managed a nod.
“I’m all right.”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“Honey, do you feel safe at home?”
The question was sudden.
I sputtered for a moment. “Yes…”
But the answer came out breathless and uncertain. She looked so caring. So inviting. She continued to watch me in that soul-crushing way.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t ready to,” she said. “But if you need somewhere safe to go, there are people who can help.”
It couldn’t be that easy.
No way.
I stepped back and shook my head adamantly.
“I…I just want to get my blood done.”
She nodded and smiled tenderly.
“All right. Don’t worry, though. It’s still a long wait. We’ve had several urgent pediatric cases come in, and the clinic closes at four. I’m concerned we may not reach everyone today.”
As though summoned by her words, a baby began to cry.
I looked toward the mother calming the child in her arms. Then I looked away quickly, trying to steel myself against the sound. The crying. The crowded room. The fear that Oliver might appear at any moment.
Sensory overload tightened around me.
“I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me…”
I turned and left the clinic again.
Outside, I pressed my back against the brick wall beside the entrance and shut my eyes. I drew in several deep breaths, trying to calm myself.
I’m scared.
This had been such a terrible mistake.
Once Oliver discovered I wasn’t pregnant, he would know I had made it all up. He would calculate when I was truly due. All hell would break loose.
And I wasn’t strong enough for another punishment—
“Daze.”
The familiar voice made my eyes fly open.
His broad figure was blurred for a moment. My vision swam with tears, but I held them back, and within seconds, he became clear.
“Tristan,” I whispered, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
His guitar case was slung across his back, and a leather satchel crossed his wide chest.
He glanced briefly at the clinic entrance before looking back at me.
“You took off.”
“I’m waiting to be seen,” I explained. “I thought I’d missed my turn…”
His expression dropped. “Are you sick?”
I took a moment to answer.
It would have been easy to tell him I had stopped at the restaurant while I waited for the clinic.
But it didn’t feel right.
Because it wasn’t true.
I shook my head. “No. I’m not.”
Was that relief in his eyes?
His gaze pierced mine. “Do you want company while you wait?”
“It’s so busy, I doubt I’ll be seen.” I smiled apologetically. “You were busy singing, and I distracted you, and now you’re away from everyone—”
“They’ll always be there,” he cut in quietly, looking solemnly at me. “You won’t.”
My smile faded.
The sun burned.
His stare burned hotter.
I swallowed thickly. “Tristan, I’m married.”
Something dark flickered across his solemn expression. His jaw tightened as he forced a nod.
“I know that.”
I didn’t know what else to say. He seemed bothered as he exhaled slowly, deep in thought. The seconds passed between us, heavy and cloudy, and suddenly I wanted to move a little closer to him. To really look at him.
I wanted to see the sunlight reflected in his eyes. To trace the hard line of his jaw with my gaze and take in the pale stubble surrounding his full mouth. I wondered how soft his hair would feel beneath my fingers.
Maybe he sensed what I wanted because he moved a little closer. I tilted my head to keep looking at him.
His eyes were lighter in the sun than they had appeared the night before. His hair was dirty blond and wild, though not unkempt, and pale stubble shadowed the hard line of his jaw.
Tristan was heartbreakingly handsome. Coupled with his magnificent voice and the intensity behind every look, it was no wonder I had risked so much to see him again.
I had risked a lot.
Minutes ago, I had been close to crumbling and returning to what I knew. But staring at Tristan now, feeling his eyes on me, the pull toward him made its own kind of sense. The consequences hadn’t disappeared. They had only moved far enough away for me to keep going.
“Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” he asked.
My heart jumped at the invitation. “I would like that.”
“Anywhere in mind? I’m not from around here.”
I could hardly think. My voice was weak as I admitted, “I don’t really know, either.”
He continued watching me as though he were trying to decipher something. “Do you want someplace quiet or loud?”
“Quiet,” I answered quickly.
Private, I wanted to add, but I wasn’t bold enough.
“There’s a restaurant at my hotel,” he said carefully. “It has booths in the back. It’s dim.”
“Okay.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground. “Okay.”
He began to walk, and I followed beside him.
Out in broad daylight, I found it difficult to relax. I glanced around us, watching every car and every person we passed.
The foreign feeling of being outside hadn’t faded.
If anything, I felt more awkward and out of place.
If Tristan noticed, he didn’t say anything.
We passed the restaurant where he had been singing.
Two blocks farther downhill, we reached the large hotel.
It certainly wasn’t some cheap backpacker lodge, as Oliver had speculated.
I didn’t say that aloud, but it made me curious about Tristan.
Though not as curious as I was about why he had spoken to me the night before while I waited for Oliver to pay.
If his hotel had been only two blocks away, he hadn’t needed to sit outside the restaurant looking as though he were waiting for a cab.
You know why, Daisy.
The answer was in the way he looked at me.
He had waited outside for the same reason I had returned to the restaurant.
I looked at Tristan again, filled with a longing I couldn’t understand.