Page 82 of The Professor's Wife

He checked the map only once before we left, and it was refreshing to see him use it. These days, it was cell phones and GPS directing the way. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it without the extra help.

I held the map open on my lap, trying to contain a grin.

“What?” he asked, catching the amused look on my face.

“I feel like a pirate with an old map on my lap,” I said. “This is so old-school.”

He chuckled. “The world feels bigger this way.”

I nodded. “It really does.”

Within the hour, we were approaching the nearest town. The sign said the population was thirty thousand and counting, so it would have everything we needed.

We pulled up in front of a grocery store, and Tristan unearthed his reusable shopping bags. We went inside, catching the eyes of several people, and I wondered what they saw.

We must have looked like hippies, and it didn’t bother me. Not at all.

Tristan wore a loose, plain shirt and board shorts. His sandals were worn, and his hair was wild and free. His skin had darkened beneath the blond hair on his arms. His eyes stood out against his tan, reminding me of opals whenever they caught the light.

Where he looked good, I must have looked utterly ridiculous.

Because both my dresses needed washing, I wore one pair of his shorts, the drawstring pulled so tightly that they bunched around my waist. They were still so baggy that I had to roll them down at the top, and they reached well below my knees.

I wore one of his plain shirts, but I had tied it in a knot so it ended at my waist. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a crop top.

Actually, never.

For years, my wardrobe had been conservative and classy.

My hair was down, and while it was combed, it was still wild. I hadn’t used a straightener or hair dryer since leaving my life, and there were no hair products in that camper. Tristan had a men’s two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, so I smelled a lot like him.

I even used his razor, though he didn’t appear to care at all if I was prickly.

Tristan loaded up the shopping cart until it looked like it was about to burst. It was going to be expensive, and I felt the first prickle of panic.

Tristan was a wild man. He could have survived on a quarter of the food in that cart for weeks. Instead, he was loading up on everything he could think of, much of it expensive, girly products.

“Tristan,” I said. “Please stop. You don’t need this stuff. Don’t get it because of me—”

“My lifestyle choice doesn’t mean I have to go without,” he cut in, staring down at me with a half smile. “I live the same as everyone else, Daze, except I’m on wheels. I’m grabbing shit I know you need, and it would be helpful if you took over because I haven’t the faintest fucking clue what sort of tampons you’ll need when the time comes, all right?”

I laughed nervously, lowering my voice so the passing shoppers wouldn’t hear. “This stuff is expensive, Tristan.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So…”

I didn’t want to say it, but I was aware of how little Tristan appeared to have, given his lifestyle choices.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. Looking down at me, he murmured, “I noticed a couple of decent-sized pubs with great patio space. I’ll busk this evening.”

I hesitated, but I didn’t want to push him. I simply gave a stiff nod and picked out the essentials I needed.

My heart dipped as we went through the checkout. I studied Tristan’s face as the total flashed on the screen and the cashier read it aloud. I didn’t stop looking as he glanced at the number and pulled out his wallet.

I watched his demeanor, trying to detect whether he had stiffened or grown upset, but he seemed relaxed. When he glanced my way after handing over the cash, he smiled, and it reached his eyes.

I hardly smiled back, too busy clenching my hands tightly to keep the tremors out.