“Like what?” Totallynotme stalling. Nope.
She rolls her eyes. “Like Ollie does whenever we go someplace where there are balloons, and he spends the whole damn time convinced they’re all about to pop and scare theshit out of him.”
“Because it’s all too fucking perfect. And,” I drop my face in my hands, yanking at the hair on my forehead to distract myself from the totally stupid way my eyes are going all stinging and hot. “Because there’s shit I want way more than I should.”
Not that I’m gonna let myself think again about what that shit is. Let alone tell her.
“Oh, Tristan, hon.” She wraps her arms around me, and I squeeze back, careful not to smoosh her belly too hard. “Why is that a bad thing?”
“Because,”shit,whydoes my throat have to go all tight and chokey?“What if he can’t ever—”love me“—doesn’t ever feel the same way?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
Because no one’severloved me.
“You listen to me.” Reagan pushes back from our hug and glares up at me like she’s just read my mind. “That man loves you, Tristan. And even if he didn’t, he’d have every damn reason to.Annndthat means him not loving you would make him an idiot, which you and I both know he is not. If having a fucked-up past means that someone doesn’t deserve to be loved, then what the hell is Noah doing with me?”
“Everything okay in here?”
I look away from Reagan’s full-on death stare to find Mitchel standing on the other side of the counter, eyes bouncing between the two of us.
Instantly, my heart rate spikes and my hands go all shaky, but instead of pissed, the guy looks like he’s trying to pick between worried and amused. Thank fuck, ‘cause really, he’d have every right to be pissed off to walk in and catch his twoemployees having a totally intense, not-remotely-related-to-work heart-to-heart in the middle of their shift.
“Yup.” Reagan doesn’t even look at Mitchel, just keeps scowling at me. “Except for the fact that Tristan’s too blind to see how freaking awesome he is. Or to notice that his boyfriend’s madly in love with him. As he has every reason to be.”
Mitchel’s lip twitches. “Too busy to make me a mocha then?”
“Never too busy for you, boss.” Reagan grins. “So long as you tell Tristan that everything I’ve just said is right.” Her eyebrows rise expectantly.
“You are freaking awesome, Tristan,” Mitchel deadpans. “And your boyfriend is madly in love with you. Now can I please have my mocha, Reagan?”
“Extra chocolate?”
“Extra chocolate.” He turns back to me before glancing up at the wall where the remaining four of the canvases I’ve brought him hang. “You have a couple more paintings you can bring in tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Yes. Thank you.” Fuck but it’s still weird wrapping my head around the fact that people actuallywantmy art. This’ll be the third round of paintings I’ve brought in to sell.
Which means I need to get my ass in gear and actually get to work filling those new canvases I bought last week. Since Jesse took me to Pike Place, I’ve finished a couple paintings for the shop, but every chance I’ve gotten, AKA whenever I’m in my apartment paintingwithoutmy sunshine there, I’ve pulled out my real project.
For the first weeks after Jesse turned my world upside down, strolling through the door here with his too-good-to-be-true-but-turns-out-to-be-true-after-all Jesse-ness and burning theshit out of me with that latte the two of us dumped down my front, all I’d wanted to paint was him. He was all I’d been able to see in my head every damn time I’d pulled out my easel. And the more I got to know him—fuck, the more I got tolovehim—the worse it got.
I gave in after that day at Pike Place, and now the painting’s almost finished. Still don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do with it, but whatever. Maybe just keep it hidden, pull it out and stare at it every once in a while.
Just like with the real Jesse, I’m kinda obsessed. He’s just so fucking bright and beautiful and perfect. My sunshine.
“Mocha for you, boss.” Reagan pushes past me to pass the drink across the counter to Mitchel, jarring me out of my head and back into the real world. “Don’t mind Tristan spacing out on you just now,” she waggles her eyebrows. “He’s been like thatallllday ‘cause he and Jesse—”
The look I shoot Reagan is enough to shut evenherup.
“Well then.” Mitchel presses his lips together like he’s barely not laughing, making it totally clear that Reagan didn’t need to finish her sentence for him to get the gist.
He’s about to go, probably ‘cause he doesn’t want to hear whatever’s gonna come out of Reagan’s big mouth next any more than I want him to, when he stops and turns back toward the counter.
“Almost forgot. Did that guy come back, Reagan?”
No idea what he’s talking about, but there’s something about his tone and the way his eyes have gone tight that I don’t like one bit.
“Shit, Tristan.” Reagan spins around to face me, looking actually uncomfortable for once. “I forgot to tell you. Yesterday, when I was filling in with Mitchel, some guy came inasking if you worked here.”
