Page 257 of The Professor's Wife

I turned back toward the bar, trying to piece together how he could’ve slipped past me in seconds. His voice suddenly came from behind me.

“We suffer more in imagination than reality.”

My spine straightened. I spun around.

Oliver stood there, hands in his pockets, expression mild. Like we were two acquaintances bumping into each other at a grocery store instead of two men who had no business being in the same place this early in the morning.

That blank face was gone. His eyes were lively, his smile brilliant as he looked me in the eye with so much focus.

“The good Samaritan,” he said, as if greeting an old friend. “Forgive me for forgetting your name.”

“I don’t mind Samaritan,” I said with ease.

Still smiling, he replied, “I do. What’s your name again?”

“Tristan.”

“Ah, Tristan.”

“And you’re—”

“Oliver.”

“Oliver.”

“That’s right.” His stare was intent. I couldn’t move as he watched me carefully, saying, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

I shrugged casually. “Scoping out new places to play. Thought this place might be worth a try.”

His eyes flicked to the guitar case. “Ah. Of course.”

He didn’t sound convinced. He didn’t sound unconvinced either. He seemed… curious.

He stepped closer, and his gaze swept over me, judging me. It was the same way he’d looked at me outside the restaurant. Except now there was something sharper behind it.

“Did you follow me?” he asked lightly, like it was a joke.

I didn’t blink. “You think highly of yourself.”

He smiled at that. “Can’t be too sure these days. Have you seen the derelicts around? Sprouted up like weeds.” Before I could reply, he chuckled. “I’m not calling you a derelict. You didn’t pocket my money, and my wife praised your singing. Do you remember that?”

“I do.”

“Do you remember my wife?”

I didn’t answer right away. My mind was sluggish. He talked fast, and I felt like I was being dissected. One fuckup, and he’d know something was off.

“I remember her,” I finally said.

His smile broadened. “Of course you do. Who can forget my wife? She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

I didn’t reply. He didn’t wait for one.

“Did you order anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Have breakfast with me. I’ll get us a table.”