“You called me Lizzie.” His eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “It’s just…no one called me that except for Steven.”
“Sorry,” he said, nodding a little. “It slipped out.”
“No, no. I like it.” I’ve missed it. I gave him a small smile. We stared at each other, standing still as if the soles of our shoes were super-glued to the floor. My eyes traveled to the small unfinished tattoo on his left hand, and I forced myself to take it in, instead of his stare; sometimes it was too much looking him in the eyes. “I like it.”
“Then I’ll keep saying it.”
Knock number four.
“You should probably…” Tristan’s head nodded in the direction of the door. I shook my head and agreed, rushing to open the door to Sam, who was giving me the biggest smile and holding a bunch of flowers in his hands.
“Hey, Elizabeth.” Sam smiled, stretching his hands out to me with the flowers. “Wow. You look beautiful. These are for you. I was sitting out here, and realized I didn’t bring you anything, so, I don’t know. I just picked them from the front of the house for ya.” His eyes moved to Tristan, who was standing a few feet from us. “What’s that asshole doing here?”
“Oh, Sam. This is Tristan. Tristan, Sam,” I said, introducing the two. “Tristan’s house is being painted, so he’s staying with Emma and me for a few days.”
Tristan held his hand out toward Sam with his beautiful smile. “Nice to meet ya, Sam.”
“You too, Tristan,” Sam said warily.
Tristan patted him on the back, his wolfish grin in full force. “Oh, no need to be so formal with my name. By all means, call me asshole.”
I giggled to myself. What a jerk.
Sam cleared his throat. “Anyway, sorry about the flowers. I should’ve thought to grab some from town but—”
“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” Tristan said, knowing he was making him feel extra levels of discomfort. “How about you come on in and take a seat in the living room while Elizabeth and I find a vase or something to toss the flowers in?”
“Oh, okay, yeah, sounds good,” Sam agreed, allowing me to take the flowers from his grip. “Careful,” he said. “They have thorns.”
“I think I can handle it. Thanks, Sam. Take a seat and I’ll be right back.”
The moment I stepped into the kitchen, Tristan was already giving me a smartass grin. “If you keep looking at me like that, I will beat you up, Tristan. This doesn’t mean it’s a date.” He snickered. I narrowed my eyes. “It doesn’t!”
“He stole flowers for you from the front of your house. It’s much more serious than I thought. He loves you. That’s like a Bonnie and Clyde type love.”
“You’re an ass.” He started filling up a vase with water for the flowers. As I passed them to him, a thorn landed in my finger and I cursed under my breath as blood started to appear. “Crap.”
Tristan took the flowers, tossed them into the vase, and then took my hand in his, examining the small bit of blood. “It’s not too bad,” he said, grabbing a rag and holding it against my finger. My stomach was building with butterflies that didn’t have a place in my life. I tried my best to ignore them, but the truth was, Tristan’s touch was nice, gentle, and wanted. “Stalker Sam was right about one thing, though,” Tristan said with his stare on my finger.
“And what’s that?”
“You do look beautiful.” Our hands stayed together, and he stepped in closer to me. I liked how close he was. I loved how close he was. His breaths were heavy. “Lizzie?”
“Yes?”
“Would you be mad if I kissed you? And by kiss you, I mean you, not the memory of Jamie.” His eyes studied my lips. My heart was pounding against my ribcage as he moved in closer and brushed a fallen piece of hair behind my ear. Our hands stayed attached for a second longer before he cleared his throat and pulled away from me. A wave of embarrassment filled his eyes. “Sorry. Ignore me.” I blinked a few times and tried to shake the nervous feeling away. It wouldn’t leave. He knotted his hands together before resting them on the back of his neck. “You better get back to your date.”
“It’s not a—” I started to say, but when I noticed his lips turning down a bit, I dropped the subject. “Have a good night.”
He nodded once. “You too, Lizzie.”
I stared up at the podium where Tanner was speaking about why Needful Things should be closed down. It made me sick to my stomach listening to him tear into Mr. Henson, who was sitting a few rows back at the town meeting. Mr. Henson didn’t seem fazed by Tanner’s words at all, though. He just sat and smiled.
I’d never truly seen that side of Tanner—the business driven side of him. The one who would say and do pretty much anything to get his way, even if that meant throwing a nice old man under the bus.
It left me with such a taste of disgust.
“Tanner has some great reasons why Mr. Henson should give up his store. He says it’s a waste of space since nobody ever goes into the place.”