“We grow out of nicknames sometimes.” So lame, but it’s all I can think of to say. Until… “I’ve ended up with a nickname. My students use it to embarrass me.”
Lifting her gaze, Ursula pastes on a look of interest. “What nickname is that?”
I pull a face to show what I think of the moniker. “Siren Sam.”
“Oh?” A hint of amusement sparks. “How many men have you lured with your song?”
My face flushes with warmth. Maybe this wasn’t the best topic for distraction after all. “One?” My glance darts to the still empty doorway.
Her eyes widen as she lifts a hand to cover her mouth, then she laughs out loud. “I see. Well, I think it’s a wonderful compliment. To be elevated to the status of a Greek myth? It’s quite a feat.”
“Huh.” My back straightens and I grin. “I never thought of it like that. Maybe it is pretty cool.”
After a moment, Ursula sobers. “I’m genuinely glad you joined us, Sam. I don’t always see much of Tristan… Tris,” she adds with a soft smile. “It’s my fault. I’ve made mistakes. Failed to be there for him when I should have been. But I’m glad he has you.”
I hope he has me. I’m not sure after tonight. His mother might like me, despite my social ineptitude and clumsiness, but I feel like it’s his dad I need to impress. I doubt almost setting the man’s house on fire did much to accomplish my goal.
“Happy birthday to you…” Craig’s voice erupts from the doorway and Ursula and I turn to see him carrying the cake through the doorway. Tristan is close behind him. Ursula joins in the singing, but I can’t do anything but stare at Tristan.
His face is pale, but his gaze on me is intense. I stand as he approaches and pulls me into a tight hug. I hug him back, grateful to even have the chance to touch him.
He turns his head and presses a kiss to the side of my neck before drawing back enough to place his lips beside my ear. “I love you,” he whispers in a gruff tone.
Gasping, I back away so I can see his face. “You what?”
The laugh that escapes him is raw with emotion. “I love you, Sam,” he says again, louder this time. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner, but it’s true. I love you, so much.”
“I love you, too.” I launch myself back into his arms, and we both laugh as we hold each other.
“All right, you two,” Craig says in an affable tone. “Enough of that. It’s time to blow out the candles before they melt all over the cake.”
Still smiling, Tristan presses a quick kiss to my lips before turning back to the table. He puts out the candles with a single breath and then cuts us all slices of cake. He even eats it, his eyes straying my way between bites.
“Happy birthday, Tris,” Ursula murmurs quietly, watching him with a small grin.
His head snaps up to look at her. He swallows hard before nodding. “Thanks, Mum.”
TWENTY-SIX
______
TRISTAN
“Thank Christ, you’re here.”
I’m halfway up the front steps of Sam’s house when I look up to see a woman fall against the open door with a dramatic sigh. Thick, black hair tumbles in disarray around her shoulders, as if she’s spent hours on the verge of tearing it out. “Maybe you can talk him down off the ledge, because I’m fresh out of ideas.” A perky smile springs to her face as she thrusts a hand towards me. “I’m Yolanda, by the way. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Tristan. You, too.” I manage a brief handshake, but I’m already making my way into the house. Sam’s been increasingly preoccupied with the upcoming television interview lately, but when I left for work this morning he seemed fine. “Where is he?”
“Living room,” she calls from behind me.
I find Sam sitting on the edge of the couch with a pen in hand. Piles of notepaper are spread out on the coffee table in front of him. His neat handwriting covers every visible piece of paper, and post-it notes in a variety of colours stick out of the piles in all directions.
He glances up at me, wild eyes flashing in surprise. “Is it six already?”
“It is.” I approach him slowly. “What’s all this?”
“I’m going to be on television next week.” Every word is enunciated with extra emphasis. “Live TV, Tris. There are no take backs on live TV.” Panic threads through each panting breath as he stares at his piles of paper. “I have to be prepared.”
