Noah behaved the same way, so he didn’t contradict Tristan. “Nothing wrong with serial dating, man, but I wasn’t talking about your sex life. I meant getting back in the musicbiz.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. Noah was persistent, if anything else. “Give up, Baby Face. Notinterested.”
Tristan couldn’t suppress a lopsided smile at his friend’s fake loud sigh. Noah insisted, “You can’t stifle your natural talent forever. The band needs you.Ineedyou.”
Tristan chuckled, “What band? It’s just a handful of guys goofing around for the sake of it. Get over yourself. I’ve got work to do here. You know, atourrestaurant, while you play rock star.” Noah’s laughter was contagious, so Tristan joined him. “Talk later,bro.”
Ignoring Noah’s protests, Tristan hung up and returned the cell to his back pocket. Whatever good effects bartending brought earlier, Noah’s call put a serious dent on them. Tristan didn’t sulk in past grief. He didn’t dwell in past wounds. It had taken him a painful, long time to get over the damage caused by one Izzie Anderson. He preferred to keep her away from his mind. Those stupid recent tabloid headlines weren’t helping him achieve that. They had brought back the insomnia,instead.
Shaking his head, he shoved the lurking memories to the darkest corner of his mind, together with Noah’s tempting suggestions. Tristan didn’t want fame and fortune. Not anymore. He had had his days under the bright lights and they had ended in pitiful misery. He was better off away from thespotlight.
It changes people. It destroys them, if they letit.
Still, memories kept resurfacing as he refilled the bowls on the counter with peanuts. He glanced out of the panoramic windows overlooking the narrow strip of sand, the sight of warm waves of the Atlantic Ocean washing the beach made his heart less heavy. That view still worked its magic, after all thoseyears.
Fifteen years ago, when he hit rock bottom and was eager to get away from Los Angeles, Tristan thought a trip to a foreign country would make for a good change in scenery. Thanks to Noah, who had moved to Brazil to go to graduate school and try to rekindle his relationship with a Brazilian ex-girlfriend, Tristan decided to take a break in a quiet tropical setting. It was supposed to be only that, a quick break. He fell in love with the place and the people, though. When Noah suggested they opened a restaurant together, Tristan jumped at the chance, investing most of hissavings.
The rest of his savings, he invested in the stock market. That didn’t turn out so great, when the market crashed, and he was still struggling to recover fromit.
As for staying and opening Chez Nous Bistro, he had no regrets whatsoever. Best decisionever.
Hidden away in the southernmost tip of Florianópolis island in Santa Catarina, Tristan found a small stretch of white sand framed by tropical forest. Matadeiro Beach, accessed only by water, or a narrow trail through the wilderness from the neighboring Armação Beach, was worth the effort. His wounded soul found healing in contact with the generous locals, mostly fishermen and their families, and the breathtaking views of emerald sea, blue sky, and whitesand.
The fact that few people knew Izzie Anderson in his new neighborhood played a decisive role in Tristan’s decision to stay. However, he rarely revisited that fact, preferring to simply enjoy living in a place where people knew him as the tall American restauranteur, not the loser who once had loved and trusted a certain popstar.
* * *
Halfway through the extra shift,Tristan had forgotten all about self-doubt, debt, and nightmares. He was having a blast when Ricardo, the night shift’s bartender, arrived. The tall man had an imposing figure with his wide shoulders and powerful arms, but smiling countenance, framed by sun bleached hair that curled softly over his forehead and ears, gave off a good vibe. Surfer vibe. Well, Ricardo was a local surf champion, so the impression wasaccurate.
“Did I miss the tweet where you fired me,boss?”
“Nah. Just having fun and messing up your stuff. Maybe having funbecauseI’m messing up your stuff?” Tristan finished washing the glasses and folded the dishcloth neatly on the counter behind him, after wiping his hands on it. “Bar is all yours. I’ll be in the office, if anyone needsme.”
Weaving his way through the tables in the main room, Tristan had to stop at every other one to greet the early birds that gradually filled therestaurant.
“Lovely place you have here. Congratulations,” praised an elderly man Tristan had never seen before at Chez Nous. Judging by his accent, Tristan figured he was fromLouisiana.
“Thank you, sir. Is everything okay over here?” Tristan glanced at the elegant lady sitting across from the man as he inquired so that she feltincluded.
“Just perfect, son,” shedrawled.
“Escaping from the cold winter backhome?”
The silver-haired gentleman stroked the lady’s hand, and she squeezed his in return. The glance they exchanged spoke volumes before the man had a chance to speak. He dragged his ocean blue eyes from the lovely woman’s face to Tristan’s, then explained, “Celebrating fifty glorious years. Never a dullmoment.”
“Impressive.” Tristan fought the nagging sting in his chest and kept smiling. “I don’t know many couples who’ve been married thatlong.”
“Oh, no, son. We met fifty years ago, been married thirty,” the womancorrected.
The man chuckled. “I wasted about ten years. But, I’ve been making up for it ever since. Right,dear?”
“Yes, hon,” she agreed, her dark green eyes reflecting the light of the small floating candles in thecenterpiece.
“Congratulations again. Enjoy yourmeal.”
Another couple of feet toward the office, and he heard a familiar voice to his left. It was Mario, a regular client, calling out in his thick Brazilian accent, “Tristan, my man. Good to see you.” The bespectacled, middle-aged man raised a glass of red wine ingreeting.
Tristan nodded in response, still fighting to keep a smile on his face. The interaction with the tourist couple annoyed him, yet he wasn’t willing to analyze the reasons why. He couldn’t believe he was jealous of their obvioushappiness.
