Page 233 of The Professor's Wife

Actually, he looked kind of bored.

My heart jumped into my throat when his gaze swept over me and moved to the table beside mine—

Then snapped back.

My entire body tightened when our eyes met.

His playing broke apart on a wrong chord.

A few people laughed softly, finding the mistake endearing. Others glanced toward me with open curiosity.

Tristan looked away and went perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

One hand rose to rub along his jaw. He appeared buried in thought while I wasn’t thinking at all.

I had barely breathed, taken off guard by his reaction.

Finally, he leaned toward the microphone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I realized I was playing the wrong song.”

Several people objected, telling him he should have continued.

He let out a quiet chuckle and cleared his throat.

Then he looked down at his guitar.

His fingers moved slowly at first, almost uncertainly, before gaining confidence.

His eyes returned to mine and held.

I burned on the spot as he began a tune I knew very, very well.

Allman Brown’s “Sweetest Thing.”

The melody carried images of heat, ocean air, moonlight moving across water—and a woman made to sound morebeautiful than everything surrounding her. Jesus, his voice was full of yearning.

I fidgeted, though I couldn’t look away.

Everyone was watching us now.

My body tightened beneath the attention, but inside, I felt featherlight.

Reborn.

Full of sudden longing.

When he reached the chorus, his voice deepened around the declaration at its center. He stared straight into my eyes as he sang it, leaving no room to pretend his choice had been accidental.

This was the kind of attention you couldn’t explain away.

Tristan was singing to me, his gaze never wavering.

The hair along the back of my neck suddenly prickled.

I glanced behind me, my flight response ready. I expected to see Oliver, but I didn’t find him.