I ease up into a sitting position. “You’re probably right.”
“How are you doing?” he asks, his brow creasing with concern. “Four meetings in one day is a lot, especially when it’s on top of your classes.”
“Yeah, I’m buggered,” I agree.
Tristan had suggested I spread the meetings over the course of a week or two, so as to not overload myself. In this instance, I’d decided it actually was better to get them all over with in one go. It’s not like I had the option of backing out at the last minute when people were booked in to physically show up at my door.
“I’m still glad I did it this way.” Which I can say with a straight face now it’s over. Two hours ago I would have vehemently disagreed with my current self. “It was kind of like pulling off four band aids really slowly, as opposed to ripping them off one at a time, but with loads of stress-inducing anticipation in between. You know what I mean?”
He nods. “Makes sense.”
Feeling better, I pick myself up off the floor.“You want to stay for dinner?” I’m not sure why I keep asking the question. He never declines. “I can tell you about the other meetings while we eat, and then maybe we can hang out, watch a movie or something.” We’ve always stuck to the pretence he’s staying for business reasons before, but I’m too tired to pretend.
Tristan’s mouth opens as he stands, but he doesn’t speak. Like maybe he wants to accept but isn’t sure if he should. “You don’t mind me spending so much time here?” he asks. “Outside of class, I mean?”
A wry grin springs onto my face as I step forwards to take hold of one of his hands. “Pretty sure you know I don’t.”
His smile is barely there, buried under layers of shouldn’t and can’t.
But I can. And after my win against Brent, I’m feeling bolder than usual.
Another step puts me well and truly inside Tristan’s personal space. He doesn’t move away, which I count as a good sign. I have to have faith he still wants me, or I’ll never be able to do this.
Gathering up all my nerve, I press my lips to his in a series of light kisses. Not moving too fast, not putting any pressure on him to respond. He barely breathes as I kiss him, but then his lips part the tiniest fraction, and he kisses me back.
I resist the urge to go deeper, despite my craving for more of him. He’s wary of this thing forming between us and I don’t want to scare him into another retreat.
When we part, his gaze roams my face. Then, he leans in for one more lingering kiss, like he’s showing me he can take the initiative, too. It’s a good thing to know, but for now I’m happy to take the lead.
Which is new for me. I don’t think I’ve ever been the aggressor in a relationship before. But, somehow, I know it’s what Tristan needs. That makes it easier.
Humming in satisfaction, I take him with me as I start for the stairs. “I don’t feel like cooking tonight,” I say, casually. “Let’s get pizza.”
His hand squeezes mine. “I want to get the pizza,” he says, gruffly. I pause to glance back over my shoulder. Does he think I’m so flat-strapped I can’t spring for takeaway? When he sees my frown, he shrugs. “You’ve cooked for me so many times now. I’d like to return the favour, but I’m a terrible cook so…”
The way he says it makes me think it’s more about providing nourishment than it is money. I’ve definitely nourished him, if the way he’s filling out his suits better is an indication. It makes me wonder what he ate before he met me, what he probably still eats when we’re apart. “All right,” I agree. “You can feed me.”
With a satisfied smile, he follows me up the stairs into the living room.
An hour later, we’re on my couch digging in to a deep-dish supreme and garlic bread. I’ve opened a cheap bottle of red wine in celebration of today’s success. I’m sure it’s not anywhere near the quality Tristan’s used to but he toasts with me anyway, and drinks without flinching.
I tell him about the people who came to see the studio. Two have already signed up, settling on days and times easily since I have so many free slots. The third is thinking about it, but I’m expecting her to say yes. As for Brent, with any luck I’ll never hear from him again.
It’s all good news. The extra income means the worst of my financial woes will be cleared up in the short-term. Now I’m also psyching myself up to take on more students, things could be even better long-term. All this and we haven’t even released the new app yet—though Tristan has lined up someone to start working on it soon. It’s stressful, doing so much at once, but it’s exciting to think of what could potentially happen in the future—as long as I keep following Tristan’s plan. I try not to think too far ahead. So I don’t scare myself into quitting the whole deal. One step at a time.
We clean up from dinner and put on a movie while we finish the last of the wine. I settle in close to Tristan on the couch, my arm pressed against his and my hand on his knee. I want him to get used to the warmth of my touch. To accept it as something I wish to give, like the food I’ve cooked or the trust we’ve nurtured.
He sits rigidly at first. Not leaning in to the contact, but not pulling away either. After a while, though, he begins to relax and his hand curls around mine.
By the time the movie is done, my head rests on his shoulder. I tilt it back to gaze up at him. He looks down at me. Our faces are close, our mouths mere centimetres apart.
“I should go.” he says in a low murmur. Except, he doesn’t try to get up. He doesn’t even look away from me.
“Do you want to go?”
He swallows, his head moving slowly from side to side. “What I want isn’t important.”
Lifting a hand, I touch his cheek. “It’s important to me.”
