Instead of taking inspiration from the characters in books, this was her chance to be like Isaiah, to move forward instead waiting around for things to happen, like the inevitable round of people who mattered to her leaving again. “Okay. Thanks. It’s a good plan.”
“Great. Don’t forget to wear your prettiest dress,” Isaiah said, which got stuck in her craw sideways, probably because she was already out of sorts and a comment like that didn’t help.
“Why, because he can’t like me as is?” she shot back. “I’m not the dress up type.”
Isaiah held up his hands, as if to say I surrender. “Then wear an ugly dress. Or don’t wear a dress at all. You’re going to slay him no matter what you put on because you’re an amazing woman.”
“You’re just saying that,” she mumbled strictly because her brain had turned into oatmeal. That was the first time a man had called her amazing with so much sincerity. Tristan had said something like that once after she’d brought him a plate of fried chicken, but it had a lot more oomph coming from a man who didn’t treat flirting like an Olympic sport.
“I’m not,” he insisted. “You’re fearless, you have impeccable taste in music and your hair reminds me of a sunrise. What’s not to like?”
Geez. Heat climbed through her cheeks and she ducked her head, busying herself with wiping away invisible crumbs on the counter. What was she supposed to say to that? Thank you. She should say thank you.
The words got stuck in her throat. No one had ever said anything nice about her hair color, which was a washed out shade of red. Havana had gotten their mother’s bright red and Ember’s had come out this gorgeous strawberry gold that was a perfect mix of their mother’s and father’s colors.
Her hair reminded Isaiah of sunrise, when the sky was full of more subtle colors. That was a perfect, wonderful way to say it wasn’t splashy like her sisters’, but still nice.
“Sorry,” she croaked. “I don’t handle compliments well.”
?
?You don’t say. Don’t worry,” he told her with a smile. “I’m here for you. I’ll keep saying things like that so you can get used to it. Helps that it’s nothing but truth.”
Isaiah pushed away from the counter and strolled back to his friends with his hands stuck in his back pockets as if nothing monumental had happened. Which from his perspective, was true. She was the one still standing there like she’d been turned to stone.
While her body felt frozen in place, her brain seethed with stuff she couldn’t sort fast enough. She was such a dork around Isaiah, arguing with him about going to the movies and whether he’d inadvertently tried to push a makeover on her. That’s why he’d taken off so quickly. Why would he stick around? Why would anyone? She certainly hadn’t been enough to keep her sisters home and nothing had changed.
That’s why it was so important to prove she could accomplish something noteworthy like a date with Tristan. It was a message to herself about her own self-worth. And she couldn’t even do a simple thing like take a compliment from a man. She had a lot of work to do to earn this.
Eight
It took three days to actually organize the pseudo-date and by the time Isaiah got everyone on the right page, he was exhausted. Putting together a simple movie excursion had required battlefield precision.
Cassidy had oddly held out, refusing to accompany Aria to the barn where they were supposed to be helping Tristan and Isaiah do the renovations. Finally, Aria somehow figured out how to drag her there and after some awkward exchanges that ensured Isaiah had no future as a double agent, a spy or anyone who had to lie for a living, he’d gotten her to agree to go to the movies.
Only to get grief from Le Torch about it—the guy who had turned dating into an art form. After a lot of pleading, Isaiah wore down Marchande enough to wheedle a yes out of him with the stipulation that Isaiah had to pay.
He wished he’d saved his breath. The silence in the SUV as he drove toward Bastrop had icicles hanging from it.
Isaiah glanced at Marchande, who had taken the front passenger seat. His friend watched the passing terrain as if fascinated by the scrub oak and miles of rocky dirt. Usually Tristan was the chatty one, charming everyone with his natural affinity for people. Not so much today. Something was stuck in his craw, but Isaiah hadn’t been able to get whatever it was out of him.
Not a new problem. Marchande had become somewhat of a clam lately.
“It’s nice to take a break from the barn and get away, isn’t it?” Isaiah remarked and winced at what passed for cheer in his voice. It was a little false. Maybe no one would notice.
Tristan’s facial muscles barely twitched as he said, “Bien sûr, Elmer. Whatever you say.”
More silence from the backseat where he could see Cassidy in the rearview mirror, also staring out the opposite window, similarly mute. Aria perked up, bless her, and snatched Isaiah’s cue, probably because she’d gotten tired of the weird tension too.
“I was just telling Cassidy that we’ve been slacking on our duties toward the schoolhouse,” she said brightly in a voice that matched his in the fabricated spirit department. “Monday, we’ll be there bright and early to get some work done.”
“Maybe I’ll find another assignment then,” Tristan muttered under his breath.
“Why, because it’s actual work?” Cassidy piped up from nowhere. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Tristan stiffened, his fingers digging into the center console near Isaiah’s arm. “Because the barn’s only big enough for me or your attitude. Not both.”
What was Marchande’s problem with Cassidy? A year ago, Isaiah would have known every nuance of what was going through his friend’s mind. Of course, that had been a necessary part of being a cohesive strike unit. Without synchronization, they’d fail. And Isaiah had taken his role as the mediator, sounding board, and general gluer back together of the men he considered his family very seriously.