by Liz Gavin
Problem was Tristan wasn’t sleeping well. Aside from the distraction Bruna turned out to be, he wasn’t getting much sleep, even when he didn’t respond to her booty calls. Or didn’t make some of his own. Insomnia had been a thing of the past until a couple of months ago. Family issues mixed with bad investment decisions triggered old demons. He convinced himself the sleepless nights had nothing to do with recent tabloid headlines. He made a point of ignoring those anyway. He steered clear of gossip as much as humanly possible.
No. I’m worried about money. That’s all.
Pulling himself out of the bleak thoughts, Tristan grabbed a cloth to clean a spotless bar counter. Moira ran a tight ship and was borderline OCD with cleanliness.
“Two Caipirinhas, table five,” Ana handed Tristan a slip of paper that he stuck to the counter as he pulled the ingredients and started mixing the drinks. “Hey, too bad Moira’s kid is sick, but I’m glad you’re covering for her. I never get to see you, boss.”
“How’s college treating you?”
“Getting there, boss.”
“Good for you. High schools need more awesome teachers like you.”
“It’s elementary, but that’s okay.” Her long, tanned fingers thrummed the counter as she waited for the drinks. Then she smoothed the front of her white button-down shirt and tucked it into her black mini-skirt. The elegant restaurant logo was embroidered in golden thread in the black apron she wore over the skirt. “Moira told me Mrs. Oliveira couldn’t take Dani to the doctor. It sucks. Depending on others,” Ana clarified.
Moira paid a neighbor to babysit the kids and the generous elderly woman would even take them to doctor appointments whenever she could.
“Tell me about it. The poor woman had something scheduled today and couldn’t change it, so Moira needed to take Dani to the doctor.”
“And you just waltzed in to save the day.”
He shrugged. “Not a big deal. Glad to help.” He put the two glasses filled with a greenish mix of lime juice and cachaça, the Brazilian sugar cane liquor, and lots of ice cubes on Ana’s tray. “There you go.”
“Thanks, boss.” With a million-dollar smile and another wink, she swirled and flounced towards table five, attracting many approving stares as she went.
Tristan was a night owl, which made the late shift perfect for him. His partners gladly let him take charge of closing time. Although today was an exception, he was glad to cover for Moira since bartending would keep his mind busy. It was something he loved doing, but rarely had a chance to. Focusing on preparing the drinks kept the problems at bay. Maybe the ghosts from his past wouldn’t haunt him and he would sleep better tonight.
Answering his cell phone, Tristan tucked it on the crook of his neck holding it in place with his shoulder, while he mixed drinks for another order. “What’s up, loser?”
“That’s how you greet your business partner and lifelong friend?” Noah Cartwright’s amused retort was buried under loud guitar riffs.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Home, rehearsing. Where the hell are you? I’ve banged on your door so hard it stung my hand.”
Tristan smacked his forehead. “Shit! Totally forgot, dude.”
“I kind of figured that one out, man,” Noah chortled. “Clicking and swashing sounds, muffled voices. Bet you’re at the bistro. A bit early, isn’t it?
“Covering for Moira. Listen, I’m sorry I forgot about rehearsal, but it’s not like we’re going to perform any time soon.”
“One day I’ll drag you to the dark side, kicking and screaming if I have to.”
“Been there, done that, didn’t do much for me.”
“What the hell are you babbling about, Big T? You made a shitload of money with your lyrics and I’m not talking only Izzie Anderson.” That name still stung Tristan and Noah should have known better. He must have heard Tristan’s sharp intake of breath because he kept talking. “Anyway, that’s all in the past. She moved on. You moved away to another country.”
“Not that simple,” Tristan replied, tight-lipped.
“Hey, it’s me you’re talking to, dude. I was there. I know how bad it was. I’m just saying you shouldn’t dwell. It’s been fifteen fucking years.”
“I haven’t been living like a monk.”
“Nothing wrong with serial dating, man, but I wasn’t talking about your sex life. I meant getting back in the music biz.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. Noah was persistent, if anything else. “Give up, Baby Face. Not interested.”
Tristan couldn’t suppress a lopsided smile at his friend’s fake sounding sigh. Noah insisted, “You can’t stifle your natural talent forever. The band needs you. I need you.”
Tristan chuckled, “What band? It’s just a handful of guys goofing around for the sake of it. Get over yourself. I’ve got work to do here. You know, at our restaurant, while you play rock star.” Noah’s laughter was contagious and Tristan joined him. “Talk later, bro.”
Ignoring Noah’s protests, Tristan hung up and returned the cell to his back pocket. Whatever good effects bartending brought earlier, Noah’s call put a serious dent on them. Tristan didn’t sulk in past grief. He didn’t dwell in past wounds. It had taken him a painful, long time to get over the damage caused by one Izzie Anderson. He preferred to keep her away from his mind. Those stupid recent tabloid headlines weren’t helping him achieve that.
Shaking his head, he reminded himself he was better off away from the spotlight. It changes people. It destroys them, if they let it.
Still, memories kept resurfacing as he refilled bowls on the counter with peanuts. He glanced out of the panoramic windows overlooking the beach and his heart felt less heavy. Fifteen years ago, when he hit rock bottom, Tristan was so eager to get away from Los Angeles, he thought a foreign country would make for a good choice. Thanks to Noah, who had traveled to Brazil pursuing an ex-girlfriend, Tristan decided to take a break in a quiet tropical setting. Best decision ever. Hidden away in the southernmost tip of Florianópolis island in Santa Catarina, Tristan found a small stretch of white sand framed by tropical forest. Matadeiro Beach, accessed only by water or a narrow trail through the wilderness from the neighboring Armação Beach, was worth the effort. His wounded soul found healing in contact with the generous locals, mostly fishermen and their families, and the breathtaking views of emerald sea, blue sky and white sand.
* * *
Halfway through the extra shift, Tristan forgot all about self-doubt, increasing debt and past or present nightmares. In fact, he was having a blast when Ricardo, the night shift’s bartender, arrived. The tall man had an imposing figure with his wide shoulders and powerful arms, but his smiling countenance, framed by sun bleached hair that curled softly over his forehead and ears, gave off a good vibe. Surfer vibe. Well, Ricardo was a local surf champion, so the impression was accurate.
“Did I miss the tweet where you fired me, boss?”
“Nah. Just having fun and messing up your stuff. Maybe having fun because I’m messing up your stuff?” Tristan finished washing the glasses and folded the dishcloth neatly on the counter behind him, after wiping his hands on it. “Bar is all yours. I’ll be in the office, if anyone needs me.”
Weaving this way through the tables in the main room, Tristan had to stop at every other one to greet the early birds that gradually filled the restaurant.
“Lovely place you have here. Congratulations,” praised an elderly man Tristan had never seen before at Chez Nous. Judging by his accent, Tristan figured he was from Louisiana.
“Thank you, sir. Is everything okay?” Tristan glanced at the elegant lady sitting across from the man as he inquired so that she felt included.
“Just perfect, son,” she drawled.
“Escaping from the cold winter back home?”
The silver-haired gentleman stroked the lady’s hand and she squeezed his in return. The glance they exchanged spoke volumes before the man had a chance to speak. He dragged his ocean blue eyes from the lovely wo
man’s face to Tristan’s, then explained, “Celebrating fifty glorious years. Never a dull moment.”
“Impressive.” Tristan fought the nagging sting in his chest and kept smiling. “I don’t know many couples who’ve been married that long.”
“Oh, no, son. We met fifty years ago, been married thirty,” the woman corrected.
The man chuckled. “I wasted about ten years, but have been making up for it ever since. Right, dear?”
“Yes, hon,” she agreed, her dark green eyes reflecting the light of the small floating candles in the centerpiece.
“Congratulations again. Enjoy your meal.”
Another couple of feet towards the office and he heard a familiar voice to his left. It was Mario, a regular client, calling out in his thick Brazilian accent, “Tristan, my man. Good to see you.” The bespectacled, middle-aged man raised a glass of red wine in greeting.
Tristan nodded in response, still fighting to keep a smile on his face. The interaction with the tourist couple annoyed him, yet he wasn’t willing to analyze the reasons why. Stopping beside the hostess, he peeked over her shoulder and checked the reservations for that night.
“Looking good, huh?”
“Booked solid until the end of the month. Good job with that TV commercial. Most of the ladies calling in asked, and I quote, if the ‘drop-dead-gorgeous guy’ from TV was the owner and if the six-pack was real or photoshopped.”
Karen Razzini moonlighted at Chez Nous’s greeting podium at night, but her day job was as the restaurant’s bookkeeper. Nelson Razzini, her brother, was Tristan and Noah’s Brazilian partner and old friend. Although the restaurant working environment was informal, as it was typical of the Brazilian culture, Karen’s status as longtime friend warranted her getting away with that kind of comment.
Still, Tristan’s cheeks burned and Karen taunted, “Aww, how cute is that? You’re blushing. Get out of here and let me do my job.” Karen nodded towards the door as it creaked open before adding in a low voice so that only he could hear, “You’re too much of a distraction.”
His delighted chuckle died out and the twinkle in his eyes vanished, when he lifted his head to welcome the newcomers.
“You!” He didn’t try to disguise the accusatory tone as he growled, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Of all the trendy restaurants, in all the south of Brazil, Izzie Anderson walks into mine.
It’s been almost fifteen years, but her betrayal cut through Tristan just as much as the day she told him she was pregnant. And that the baby wasn’t his.
This is not the end of Tristan & Izzie’s story.
* * *
Knight’s Edge Series of standalone romance novels:
Tristan – Book #1 Knight’s Edge Series (exclusive to Tropical Tryst boxed set in Kindle Unlimited)
Read chapter 1 in the Sneak Peek section.
Aidan - Book #3 Knight’s Edge Series – March 2018
Duke – Book #4 Knight’s Edge Series – March 2018.
II
Sneak Peek 2
Synopsis
He’s an atheist.
She’s a high priestess.
Yet they were meant to be.
A childhood trauma turned Detective Brandon Winters into an atheist and the tough reality of his job leaves no room for illusions about the afterlife. Or past lives, for that matter. He puts no stock in those weird dreams he often has. They are, after all, just that. Dreams. Nothing more. So when skeptical Detective Winters saves a teenager, he’s just doing his job. Little does he know, his lack of faith will be put to the test and turn his world upside down.
Regina Quinn knows for a fact that the afterlife exists. She knows souls are reborn multiple times and that Samhain, aka Halloween, is the day when the veil between the worlds gets thinner. As High Priestess of her coven, business woman and protector of her family, she has no time for romance. A passionate one-night-stand with a stranger shouldn’t change that. Or should it? Will Regina risk it all for a fling with the hot Detective Winters? That would go against all she’s ever known about herself, yet she feels like she’s another woman when she’s with him. What kind of powerful bonds connect their souls?
Wiccan Fire (Carmel Coven Book #1)
Sneak Peek Chapter 1 - Regina
Thomas Quinn, a widower for fourteen years, had aged gracefully. At least, that was his oldest daughter’s opinion, as Regina eyeballed him sitting at her kitchen counter. His mane of curly red hair of youth had turned a venerable wavy silver that glowed under the dim light coming from the dining room. His dark green eyes sparkled with intelligence and sensibility in a tanned face marked by wrinkles, probably resulting from his ever-present laughter and constant squinting of eyes against the sunlight when painting outdoors.
She shook her head to get rid of the sudden flux of memories invading her mind and tried to focus back on the task at hand: weaving a flower wreath for her middle sister Sophia.
“What?” Her father inquired. His acute perception became annoying at times.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Don’t have to. Spill.”
Regina stopped stalling and let her lips curve up in a broad smile she had been trying to stifle. Gazing up at her father, she wiped a stray lock of raven black hair from her eyes and confessed. “It’s just that I remembered that one time I insisted you took me with you to Carmel Point.”
Knitted eyebrows showing his confusion, Thomas asked, “Which time? You loved going there with me.”
“Yeah, but the folks at the Tor House Foundation got really mad at you when you showed up with a nosy four-year-old in tow.”
Thomas’s roaring laughter was contagious. “Oh, that was a riot! What was I thinking, right?”
“In your defense, Sophia was a loud, colicky newborn and mom had her hands full. She needed me out of the house.”
“Right, right. But, I had just landed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity when the foundation commissioned a painting for the following year’s Garden Party and allowed me access to the property to draw my sketches. They never do that. Bringing a curious, fearless little child with me wasn’t the smartest move. I guess I hoped your rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes would win the staff over. In fact, it worked. They were all over you.”
“Because I was a handful!” Regina chuckled. “I can still see Mrs. Whittier, that poor assistant, in high-heels and a pin skirt chasing after me as I ran through the gardens. I mean, I didn’t disrespect anybody. I wanted to explore the gorgeous gardens and tall stone structures. Things I had only seen in movies and fairytale books.”
Thomas nodded as he sipped from his steaming cup of hot cocoa. “I can see the appeal. Problem was that I got sucked into some other dimension when I was drawing or painting. Still do. To the point I get oblivious to my surroundings, so I should’ve known I wouldn’t keep an eye on you.”
“You probably thought the army of dolls you took with us would keep me busy. Too bad they paled in comparison to a real-life fairytale kingdom.”
When the door to the backyard opened to let Sophia Quinn in, the chilly air invaded the kitchen making Regina shiver and Thomas cuddle the warm cup in his hands.
Peeling off her heavy wool coat and scarf and draping them on the nearest chair, Sophia seemed miserable. “When will it ever get warm? Seriously? Today is April twenty-fifth, but it’s still freezing outside. Gina, I’m telling you, I won’t be Maiden anything if temperatures don’t get higher,” her middle sister informed her as she took the stool beside their father, hunching over the counter top.
“Looking at you and how tall you’ve turned out to be, I sometimes forget your age. Then, you act out like this and I’m reminded,” Regina fought to keep her temper in check. She had obligations to fulfill and Sophia wasn’t helping.
Thomas intervened. “Come on, you two. I don’t want to hear an argument. Sophia, don’t huff. I know you two very well. You promised to be back an hour ago and Regina has been working on your wreath becau
se of that. She’s got her plate full as it is, you know.”
Sophia sounded embarrassed when she apologized. “Sorry, sis. I didn’t mean to be a brat. I don’t see what the big deal is with the May thingy. And I do hate cold weather.”
Letting a deep sigh out, Regina shook her head at her sister, more disappointed than upset. “I get you never cared to learn the lore. I even understand you not wishing to follow in mom’s and grandma’s footsteps in the coven. But, I thought you’d be able to pick up some basic knowledge helping me out in the store, at least. As long as you don’t draw your information solely from Facebook, I’m cool with that.”
As if to lighten her sister’s mood, Sophia playfully stuck out her tongue. “Gee, you’re so old. Nobody’s on Facebook anymore.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean. What do you tell customers when they ask about the Beltane jewelry line, for instance?”
Winking, Sophia taunted, “That you’re a crazy hag who designs weird stuff for the sake of it.”
Throwing a handful of dry twigs at Sophia, Regina didn’t hide her smile. “You are a brat. Now, I know you don’t mean any disrespect when you say stuff like ‘May thingy’, but others might not. Please watch your tongue around members of the coven or even random customers at the store. We don’t want to offend them.”
“No worries, I’ll behave. I know how sacred Beltane festival is. It’s just that it’s not a festive time for me, that’s all.”
Thomas draped an arm around Sophia’s shoulders, tugged her against his wide chest and kissed her chestnut hair.
Regina wanted to kick herself in the shin for forgetting their mom had collapsed during a Beltane ceremony, never to recover. “I guess I could’ve been more sensitive too, So-so.”
At the sound of her childhood nickname, Sophia sat up straight and regained her normal disposition. “Two can play this game, Little Miss Poop-a-lot.”
