Page 41 of The Professor's Wife

He nodded, unlocking the passenger door and sliding it open with a click. “Been living out of this for the last while. She’s got everything I need.”

I stepped closer, peering inside. “This is definitely not like the kidnapper van with tinted windows I was imagining last night.”

He shot me a half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

The interior was surprisingly spacious. A small kitchenette hugged one wall, complete with a mini sink and stove. A fold-out bed was tucked neatly in the back, covered in a gray blanket and a couple of mismatched pillows. Another guitar leaned against the wall beside a stack of books. Everything was tidy. It was minimal. Chosen specifically to occupy this space.

“You’re really organized,” I said, stepping in slowly.

He shrugged. “You have to be. When your whole life fits in a van, clutter becomes your enemy.”

I ran my fingers along the edge of the counter. “It’s cozy.”

“It’s freedom,” he said, watching me closely. “I go where I want. Stay as long as I like. No rent. No rules. Just the road.”

I turned to face him. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”

His eyes flicked away for a moment. “Sometimes. But I meet people. I play music. I keep moving. That helps.”

I nodded, absorbing his words. “You’re brave.”

“Or stupid. Depends who you ask.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the slight bounce beneath me. “Do you usually show people your ride, Tristan?”

He was strangely solemn. “No.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

The air shifted. My breath caught. I wasn’t sure what to say—didn’t know why I had even asked. I looked away, pretending to study the books stacked beside the bed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “I just…I want you to know I’m not playing games. I don’t…I don’t do this, either.”

I nodded slowly, thinking of last night and how close he had come to unraveling. “I believe you.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The van felt smaller now. Warmer. Charged. Never comfortable, but not in a bad way, which shouldn’t have made sense, and yet…the tension I felt around Tristan didn’t make me want to pull away.

“So, how do you entertain yourself in this van?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Do we have a cool screen you flip down from the roof or something?”

“No screens,” he said.

“Just your phone?”

He ran his teeth over his bottom lip, letting out a light laugh. “No phone.”

I let that answer sit for a moment. “Nothing at all?”

He motioned toward the front of the van. “I have a radio and an old MP3 player wired into the speakers. That’s as far as my gadgetry goes.”

Lost for words for a moment, I sputtered, “How does anyone reach you? What happens if you have an emergency?”

“There are phones you can use in most places, and I’m careful.”

“What if you broke down in the middle of nowhere?”

“I know my way around this van.”