Page 47 of The Professor's Wife

He turned the music down. “We’re going to stop at a campground in a few hours. We’ll cook up some grub and then bum around.”

He bit his bottom lip, his eyes lost in thought now. “It probably doesn’t sound all that appealing, does it?”

“Why not?”

He didn’t look at me. “You seem like the wine-and-dine type of woman.”

My smile weakened as I simply replied, “No, I’m really not.”

At that, he glanced at me, curiosity in his eyes.

I looked away from his probing gaze, determined not to let the past fester in the present.

It didn’t belong here.

Against all odds, this was my time.

My chance to do something grand despite the fracture in my soul.

Grief didn’t belong here.

We pulled into the campground just as the sun began to dip behind the trees. The air was cooler now, tinged with pine and woodsmoke. Our camping spot was away from the other families and RVs, with just enough privacy to make it feel like we were in our own little world.

Tristan hopped out and opened the back of the van, pulling out two folding chairs and a small cooler he had filled with drinks before we left town.

Unsure what to do, I stood awkwardly beside him.

He hauled out a big black bin full of supplies, his biceps straining with the movement. I glanced up at him, my cheeks burning when I found his eyes on mine.

“What do you need help with?” I quickly asked, keeping my gaze averted from his impressive physique.

“Just follow my lead, Daze. You can’t go wrong.”

Inside the box were larger pots, pans, and other cooking supplies. He pulled out a cast-iron pan, and I helped him set up dinner. Music flowed softly from the van’s speakers, easing what remained of my nerves.

He looked like he had done this a hundred times before.

It startled me how at ease I felt with every soft and heated look we exchanged.

Like I wasn’t in his way.

He lit a small portable stove and cooked sausages and eggs, passing me a plate with a crooked smile.

We ate in comfortable silence, though I couldn’t stop sneaking looks his way. I tried to gauge his mood, to read his expressions when they changed even slightly. Then, exhausted, I stared into my plate and didn’t look at him again until I was finished.

After dinner, we settled into the chairs side by side, looking up at the sky. The stars were beginning to show, scattered like sparkles across the velvet void.

“Look at that,” Tristan murmured.

I followed his gaze.

The stars were endless, scattered across distances my mind couldn’t comprehend. Beneath them, I felt small, but not insignificant. Just briefly relieved of the belief that my pain was the whole world.

Up there, it became something the universe could swallow whole.

“I used to think the stars were lonely,” I said quietly, reflecting. “But now I think they’re just waiting to be seen.”

Tristan turned to me, his expression unreadable.