Page 84 of The Professor's Wife

I simply nodded.

A few moments of silence passed before I felt the gentle brush of his fingers along my skin. He leaned closer and planted a kiss against the side of my head.

“Promise me, Daze.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I promise I won’t wig out.”

“No matter what, we try to keep our promises, right?”

I nodded again. “Yes.”

He took my hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of my palm. I opened my eyes and looked down at our entwined fingers.

Another wave of tears formed as the grief of my former life slammed into me.

I counted ten tiny breaths and pushed the memories away for now.

A minute later, we were back on the road.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NOTES FROM THE DARK:

There are truths that only reveal themselves when the lights go out. Night peeled him open in ways daylight never dared. I should have kept my eyes shut.

We were parked at a gas station when Tristan’s attention went from the map to a vehicle that had pulled up alongside us. It was a sleek, newer-model van with solar panels glinting on the roof and a decal of a black bear on the back window. It was parked crookedly off the gravel shoulder, half in the shade and half in the sun. I recognized the look on Tristan’s face before he said anything; his eyes narrowed, then widened, like a memory had just punched him in the chest.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “Forrest.”

The man who stepped out was tall, lean, and tanned. Around Tristan’s age, his hair was black and cut short, and his posture was cocky and confident. He grinned when he saw Tristan, a look of genuine happiness.

“I thought you were heading to the island,” Forrest said, clapping Tristan on the back.

“Change of plans,” Tristan replied.

I felt the weight of that sentence. Tristan didn’t look at me when he said it, but Forrest did. He studied me like I was the reason for that change of plans.

And I was.

His smile remained, but it cooled a fraction.

“This is Daisy,” Tristan said. “Daisy, this is Forrest, a longtime friend who also took to the road.”

“Nice to meet you,” I offered, trying to sound casual.

Forrest nodded slowly, looking me over with hard brown eyes. “Likewise.”

“Where’s the missus?” Tristan asked, a teasing lilt in his tone.

“Not a missus yet!” a light voice called out.

A pretty woman popped out of the van with a bottle of iced tea and a sunhat that looked like it belonged in one of those magazines with the posh beach outfits.

“He hasn’t proposed,” she whined. “I thought this was the summer he’d propose, Tristan!”

“Tania.” Forrest rolled his eyes.

Tania gave Tristan a friendly hug before extending a hand toward me. “I’m Tania.”