Page 18 of The Professor's Wife
The invitation.
And with it, the point of no return.
He drew in a sharp breath. For the first time all evening, I had managed to catch him completely off guard.
Then his mouth curved into a heart-stopping smile.
“Your room, then,” he whispered.
CHAPTER THREE
I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The air was still, but I felt Tristan behind me like a pulse—his presence warm and quietly potent. He didn’t crowd me. He lingered at the threshold, letting me claim the space first. When I turned to him, he didn’t move. He waited, like he needed my final permission.
“You can come in,” I said. My voice was low, but it still felt loud in the quiet room.
He crossed the threshold, his expression unreadable. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, but his lips stayed sealed. I turned away, trying to settle my nerves. I set my purse down on the mirrored dresser, my gaze flicking to the untouched queen bed.
It looked too pristine.
Too expectant.
What are you doing, Daisy?
“You just checked in?” he asked, gently placing his guitar against the wall.
“This afternoon,” I confirmed.
His eyes scanned the room, thoughtful. “Where’s your stuff?”
I hesitated. “I didn’t pack anything.”
He leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into his pockets. He didn’t react immediately. He absorbed my words like they were pieces of a puzzle. Tristan was deliberate. He let the silence stretch with ease while I waited for his questions.
“It’s a nice room,” he said finally.
My shoulders relaxed. I exhaled. “It’s not bad.”
“You think the bed’s comfortable?”
I glanced at it, cheeks warming. “I don’t know. That bedspread is breaking some laws.”
He chuckled. “It’s pretty vintage.”
The floral pattern screamed nineties. The whole room felt like a time capsule. One I had lived through and still had memories of.
I looked back at Tristan, wondering. “How old are you?”
His smirk was slow, teasing. “Twenty-six.”
Oh, boy.
I wrung my hands together. “You look older.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Must be all the sun.”
