by Jo Michaels
Her mind replayed every moment with Tristan as the water sluiced down her body, and she turned every touch over and over in her head, micro analyzing them, wondering if she should’ve done anything differently. Goosebumps assaulted her as the spray turned frigid, chasing her out and into her towels. Still shivering, she ran into her mom in the hall, cup of coffee in hand, dress on, and looking like a million bucks.
“Good morning!” Even her smile was radiant.
“Good morning. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Simone grinned in return.
“Take your time. We don’t have to be there for an hour.”
“I thought maybe we could go to Tuck’s for breakfast first. If you’re feeling up to it.”
Yvette’s smile widened, and she winked, giving her daughter a little nudge. “You bet, kiddo. In that case, you better hurry.”
Twenty minutes later, they sauntered into the diner and sat in a booth near the back.
“Hey there, Yvette,” an older gentleman said as he put the menus on the table. “Didn’t expect to see you in here today.”
“Hi, Ralph. It was a surprise for me, too. My daughter insisted.” Yvette nodded at Simone. “This is Ralph. Ralph, this is my daughter, Simone.”
“Nice to meet you, young lady,” he said with a grin.
“Pleasure.”
“I’ll give you ladies a moment to decide. In the meantime, I’ll bring coffee.” Ralph walked away slowly, a hitch in his step.
During the whole exchange, Simone craned her neck, scanning the restaurant. Finally, she sighed and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Something wrong?” Yvette asked.
“Nah. I’m suddenly not that hungry.”
She chuckled. “He’s here, just not out front at the moment. Now, sit up and decide what you want to eat.”
Ralph returned with the coffees and pulled out his notepad and pen. “Y’all ready?”
Simone ordered eggs over medium and grits; her mother asked for the pancakes with a side of bacon.
Once the man walked away, Simone leaned forward and whispered, “Is there any way you can go get him?”
“Who? Ralph?” Yvette’s eyes twinkled.
“Mom! No!”
“Be patient, honey. He’ll come to you.”
“He won’t even know I’m here.”
Tristan spun through the doors, six plates balanced on his arms and in his hands.
Simone’s breath caught. Each time she saw him, he looked better. She watched as he carefully set the plates in front of a group of patrons, straightened, and smiled. Then, he turned on his heel, and his eyes widened as they locked with hers. Ten strides later, and he was standing at her booth, grinning.
“Good morning, ladies. You both look very lovely.” Though he addressed both Yvette and Simone, he was only looking at one of them.
Instantly, her face warmed.
“Didn’t think I’d see you today,” he said.
“Well, we needed breakfast before church, and I know, personally, this place has the best eggs in town,” she responded.
“Mind if I join you?” That question, he directed at Yvette.
She motioned to the bench beside her daughter. “Not at all.”
Simone moved over to make room, and a thrill shot through her when his leg brushed the bare skin of her calf.
Food arrived shortly after, and she offered some to Tristan as she shoveled it in.
“I ate when I got here.” He turned toward her, his face too close, his smell too potent. “I just wanted to be near you.”
Rather than respond, she tucked into her food.
Tristan kept everyone chuckling with stories about past patrons.
She finished, wiped her mouth, and lifted her head to say something to him.
Their eyes caught, and no one else existed in the world.
Yvette cleared her throat. “It’s time we got going. It was good to see you. Hope to have you around at the house again soon.” She tossed a twenty on the table and slid out of the booth.
With a shake of his head, he rose and helped Simone to her feet, holding on to her hand all the way to the door.
She was rewarded with a quick peck on the cheek and the promise of the following evening.
During the service, she only half listened to the pastor’s sermon. Something out of Hebrews and the great self-sacrifices made by Moses. Simone’s mind was fully on Tristan. She floated through her day at work with her mind stuffed full of the pink clouds of blossoming love, her eyes keeping a constant watch on her backpack under the register.
Yvette ended up with a job at the firm where she’d worked before she was diagnosed with cancer; she’d quit Tuck’s Diner and vowed to move to a better apartment within a few months.
Simone said she didn’t care where she lived, as long as it was close to Tristan.
They’d been out on too many dates to count, seeing each other nearly every day, and getting to know more about one another at each outing. Her favorite days were spent at Gretchen’s, helping Fran do setup and teardown or scampering off to lend a hand at stocking shelves in the pantry with donated goods. Simone’s life was finally becoming something she was proud of.
Tristan still refused to kiss her, but she was growing more comfortable with the idea of waiting. It didn’t stress her out nearly as much as it had at first. His stories about exes that cheated and broke his heart—every single girlfriend he’d had, actually—made his reluctance to jump into anything new easier to stomach. That damage, somehow, made him even more perfect, but she did wonder often if, and how, it would start rearing its ugly head in their relationship. It was one thing to say someone has trust; it was something entirely different to truly give it.
Simone wondered why anyone would cheat on a guy like Tristan when he’d first come out with the information, and her mouth ran away with asking outright. He told her it was probably because girls tended to take advantage of the nice guy who treated them well, secretly desiring the quintessential bad boy. All that information had been imparted when she’d pressed him about the girl he was arguing with at Gretchen’s.
His reasoning had made Simone laugh at the time, but once she turned it over in her head, she saw that Tristan was speaking from a place of pain, not fact, and she’d vowed silently to not be another thing he’d have to get over.
It had been about six months since that first awkward night out. They’d made it through Tristan’s twenty-third birthday, and Yvette was making good on her promise of better living quarters. She’d just signed a lease on a brand-new, two-bedroom apartment across town—much closer to Buy-Right—that was in a much better neighborhood and didn’t have bugs.
Simone had asked Tristan to help with the move. As she waited for him and his crew—consisting of two buddies he’d known since high school—she worried her thumbnail with her teeth. He’d told her she was coming to his house to meet his parents that evening, and her nerves were jangling like wind chimes in a hurricane.
Never in her life had she dreamed of meeting someone’s parents because she’d never had reason to. Her anxiety was so high over the whole thing, she was sure she’d toss cookies at some point during the day. What if they hate me? Will they make Tristan stay away from me? Can I handle being dumped like that? Those were the questions she agonized over as she sat on the stoop and stared at the parking lot.
When Tristan’s truck pulled up and she saw the two huge guys stuffed in the front seat, she groaned and put her head on her knees. It had never occurred to her that she’d also be meeting his two best friends for the first time that day. She was sure they’d be exactly as hard to get approval from as his parents would be.
An internal pep talk had her rising to her feet and sprinting toward the vehicle. Tristan stepped out, and she launched herself into his arms, squeezing him as tightly as she could. He swung her around, put her on her feet, grabbed her hand, and turned toward his buddies. “Guys, this is Simone.”
Both the boy
s grinned and wagged their fingers in her direction.
“This tall, gangly fellow is Peter,” Tristan said.
Peter was thin and tall with nearly white-blond hair and startling, hazel-green eyes. He grinned and tipped his head at her, and she gave him a little wave in return.
“And this meathead is Troy, but we all call him Junebug. I’m sure you remember the awesome tales.” Grinning, Tristan gestured to the other guy.
Simone sized him up. Every story she’d ever heard—and there were a lot—had given her a mental image of a largish, shorter fellow with a round face and squinty eyes. She was glad to find she hadn’t been far off the mark. He had a huge smile, and his hands were shoved in his pockets. It made him look open and vulnerable, and she relaxed instantly.
“Nice to meet you.” He moved around the truck and extended a hand.
When she grasped the fluffy paw, she smiled. “Nice to meet you, too.” Tension that had been building in her neck snapped and dropped away as he moved her hand up and down. One meeting done, one to go. She wondered how she’d ever be able to lift boxes or furniture with the weight of the parents firmly on her shoulders.
“Simone! Tristan! What are y’all doing? Get those boys up here! We have a house to move!” Yvette yelled from the door of the apartment.
Simone’s face warmed. “Guess we need to get going. Sorry, guys.”
They all walked down the sidewalk, her and Tristan trailing a little behind the other two, hands clasped.
“Have I ever told you how cute you are when you blush?” he whispered.
“Every day.” She glanced up at him and grinned.
It took them until nearly sundown to move everything out of one apartment, into the truck, and then into the new place. When the last box was unloaded and dropped in the living room, Yvette appeared with a wad of twenties and handed them to the boys.
“Thank y’all for the help.”
Peter and Troy tried to refuse, but she demanded they take the cash. When she tried to hand some of it to Tristan, he shook his head and told her to give it to the others.
“We’re practically family, and this is what family does for one another,” he said.
Simone wasn’t sure what love felt like, but she was positive it had to be the way she felt when she thought about Tristan. He’d become her sun, moon, and the very air in her lungs. If he was going to introduce her to his parents, she made up her mind to tell him about the book. Soon.
Parents! It flashed through her head, and her palms got sweaty.
He turned away from Yvette and grabbed Simone’s elbow. “We need to get going. Are you gonna change? I’m gonna run these guys home. I told Mom and Dad we’d be there by eight.”
“Yep. Pick me up in half an hour?”
After a nod and a quick kiss on the cheek, he ushered his friends out.
Her nerves ratcheted into overdrive, and she ran for the bathroom to throw up.
One of Simone’s older Sunday dresses was what she thought would be best to wear when meeting Tristan’s parents, and Yvette had curled and styled her daughter’s hair by the time he returned. Because she figured it was best to go sans makeup as much as possible, she’d only swiped on some lip gloss and a touch of mascara.
Yvette was the one who answered the door when he returned.
He laughed when he walked in and found Simone on the couch with her face in a brown bag. His chuckling only made her breathe harder. She was trying not to yak again, but meeting his parents outstripped every scary thing she’d ever done. It was even beating out the panic that set in every time she thought of losing her mother—something Simone didn’t think possible. When she heard him snicker, she lifted her eyes to his and widened them, trying to convey the level of nervousness bouncing around in her guts.
It seemed he got the message because he sat next to her and rubbed his hand up and down her back, all traces of mirth gone from his face.
“Hey there. In through the nose and out through the mouth.” His free hand cupped her face and turned it toward him until their eyes met. “You’re gonna be fine. They’ll love you. Even if they don’t, I don’t care. This isn’t the catalyst of our relationship. Nothing that happens today changes anything. Okay?”
Surprisingly, his words took the stress down a few million notches, and she was able to remove the bag and speak. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. If I didn’t think you were ready, I wouldn’t be taking you.” Smiling, he moved his eyes down to her shoes and then up to her face. “You look amazing, too. Very modest.”
“Like I’d let her out of the house in anything less than appropriate. I know what I’d be looking for if I had a son and he was bringing a young lady home to meet me,” Yvette said. “Helping her not screw this up is the least I can do. After all, it’s my fault she’s been so sheltered.”
Simone smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mom.” Tristan winked. Standing up, he held out a hand to help Simone to her feet as well.
When she put her hand in his, a sheet of calm covered her, washing her clean of stress from head to toe. She nodded and threw down the bag. “I’m ready.”
After telling her mom goodbye, Simone grabbed her backpack purse and walked to the truck, grasping Tristan’s hand so tightly she was sure he’d have permanent indentations by the time they got there. All the way to his house, he chattered on about how much his friends liked her and what they said when he was driving them home.
She was grateful to him for filling the silence so she didn’t have to talk, afraid she’d get sick again if she were forced to do more. One of his hands stayed on her knee the whole time.
It took about twenty minutes to get to his house, and he maneuvered around the many turns in the driveway like a pro. When they crested the last rise, her mouth fell open, and she sat forward in the seat. Rolling hills with a white fence along the entire perimeter gracefully showcased a small, ranch style home with a red roof and a huge front porch with white columns. Several horses ran to the edge of the glade and followed Tristan’s truck up the driveway. When he stepped out, one of them snorted and pawed the ground.
Glossy black with a stark-white mane and tail, the stallion’s nostrils flared as he watched his master.
“I’ll be right there. I have to assist the lady,” Tristan said with a chuckle. He moved to the passenger’s side, opened the door to help Simone out, and then he leaned in and grabbed something from the glove compartment.
“Watch this.” With a wink, he walked toward the powerful animal with one hand extended and the other grasping hers, pulling her along.
When the horse’s lips flapped together and his neck stretched as far as it could, she giggled. A moment later, crunching sounds came from his mouth. Other horses muscled their way in, each one flapping their lips at Tristan.
She watched, fascinated at the way he caressed the noses and necks of the creatures, murmuring in their ears about being good horses, and her heart melted. Anyone who could command such affection from such a naturally wild animal had to have a kind heart. While she’d seen the depths of his goodness, it was something else altogether to experience it like that.
A grin was plastered on his face when he turned, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. “What did you think?”
“That was fantastic!” she exclaimed.
“Want to meet them?”
“Oooooh! You think it would be okay?” While nervous about getting so close to such a big animal, she allowed herself to be pulled closer to the fence.
Tristan gently tugged her in front of him, wrapping her up from behind, putting his hands on top of hers. “Like this.” He guided her palms up and over the black stallion’s forelock, letting her rub his satiny ears before moving her hands down his neck. She wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced anything quite so intimate. When the animal’s skin twitched, she let out a tiny squeak and pulled away a little. “It’s okay. He’s just ticklish,” Tristan said, lift
ing her hands back to their previous position.
“I’ve never seen a horse with this coloring. Is he unusual? What’s his name?” she whispered as she stroked the horse’s stark-white hair, finding it coarse and wiry.
“He was struck by lightning when he was a gelding. It turned his hair white but left the rest of him undamaged. It was so weird. Anyway, his name is King Louis. Those beauties”—Tristan gestured at the three mares—“are Queen Anna, Princess Virginia, and Lady Dottie.”
They were identical as far as Simone could tell. “How do you differentiate?”
“Look at their hooves.”
Each had a white hoof on a different leg, and she nodded. “What was that you were giving them?”
“Peppermints. They love them. I do it every time I drive in. They come right to me.”
“You’re like the horse pied piper.” Her hands fell away, but she didn’t move. Every inch of the back of her body was touching his, and it made her heart race in the most delightful way. She tingled each time he breathed out, the air floating through the tendrils of hair at her nape. How she wished he would turn her around and kiss her. Letting the fantasy take hold, she closed her eyes and inhaled, getting a huge whiff of aspen and horse.
A high whinny pulled her out of her daydream, and she scanned the fields to find the source.
On the other side of the driveway, a tiny, silvery horse ran back and forth along the fencerow. It jumped a few times as if to say, “Look at me!”
Laughing, she asked, “And who’s that little one?”
“We call him Prince Quicksilver. He’s the son of Louis and Anna, and boy, is he a fast one.”
“Can we pet him?”
“Of course. You wanna give him a mint?”
Buds of fear and excitement rolled over Simone as she nodded.
Once again, Tristan guided her hands, but that time, he did it from beside her. “Keep your hand flat.”
She splayed her fingers.
“That’s it.”
When the colt took the confection off her palm, there was barely a brush of his bristly lips. He crunched happily, snorted, and tossed his head up and down.
