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“I understand.”

Graham stared at me for a long moment, and even though he’d backed off, I could tell he was internally fuming. “I’ll see you back at the apartment,” he muttered, then climbed into his car and drove off.

The tightness in my chest only started to loosen as Graham’s car pulled away, but it didn’t disappear completely. It lingered, like my body hadn’t quite caught up with the fact he was gone. Tristan was still beside me, although he was no longer touching me. But I was still aware of how close he was, the warmth of him lingering where his arm had been around my shoulders. He didn’t move away immediately, like he was giving me a second to steady myself.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, dipping his head slightly as his eyes moved over my face, assessing.

There was something intense about the way he looked at me, like he wasn’t just checking but was actually seeing me in a way I wasn’t used to. A way that made my cheeks heat. His brow was still faintly furrowed, jaw tight, concern lingering. Everything about this just felt so awkward.

“I’m fine. Thank you for … that,” I said, a beat passing before I added, “How do you know my name?”

“We’re in the same art class. Also, Tara told me. She’s a friend of my sister.”

He finally shifted properly then, bending down to pick up my backpack where it had slipped from my shoulder earlier. For a second, he held it before sliding the strap carefully back into place for me, his thumb grazing along my neck. The brush of his hands was quick, controlled, but I was suddenly very aware of it. Very aware of him.

Right. Tara. The girl from the café. I was still mortified by my desperate behaviour after she interviewed me that I almost hadn’t bothered to send her my CV. I’d cracked in the end and sent it, my desperation winning out over my self-respect. It didn’t matter anyway. She was never going to hire me after my messy pleading. Probably thought I was trying to emotionally manipulate her into giving me the job. Ugh, I could never go back there.

“You overheard me yesterday, didn’t you?”

Tristan’s expression sobered as he nodded. “I take it that was your sister’s boyfriend?”

My shoulders slumped. “His name is Graham, and he’s a real … piece of work. You wouldn’t believe what he did to her while they were together, and now she’s taken him back. It’s just …” I caught myself. “Sorry, you don’t need to hear this. Thank you for stepping in. And for pretending to be my boyfriend. Graham might be a little less of a prick if he thinks I have someone.”

Tristan’s expression gentled. “You know you can always—” Before he could finish, the rugby coach began shouting at him from the sports pitch.

“Balfe! Get your arse back here!” he yelled, and Tristan shot me an apologetic look. “I have to get back to training.”

“That’s okay. Thanks again.”

He looked like he was about to say something else, but then changed his mind and instead ran back to the sports pitch. My heart continued to flutter in my chest during the entire walk home. I stopped by the library to grab some books on the way—and also to avoid going back to the apartment where Graham might be.

To my relief, he was still out when I got back. I shut myself in my room, studying and doing homework until Sloane got home from work. Together we made tacos for dinner, and Graham arrived back right as I was setting the table. I had to resist scowling when he swept Sloane into his arms and captured her lips in a kiss I had no interest in witnessing. I kept my head down and focused on filling a glass with water. I wore an oversized grey hoodie and baggy sweatpants, and I didn’t fail to notice Graham’s thinly veiled sneer when he looked my way. He hated my appearance, and I felt a little whoosh of triumph at that.

Sadly, my triumph deflated when a sneaky expression crossed his face.

“Has Erin told you about her new boyfriend yet?” he asked, and my sister immediately lit up with interest.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “We met at school.”

“Some posh rugby boy,” Graham went on. “I think moving to this fancy town has given our Erin notions.”

I resisted the urge to flip up my middle finger. He really was pissed about this. I should’ve gotten myself a fake boyfriend sooner.

“Rugby, eh?” Sloane waggled her eyebrows. “What’s his name?

“Tristan. We’re in art together.”

Her eyebrows paused their waggling to shoot into her forehead. “What’s his second name?”

I stiffened. “Uh …”

“Because my co-worker, Danny, said the hotel owner has two sons, Derek and Tristan, and that the younger one plays rugby.”

“Yes, he’s a Balfe, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? Does he know your sister works at the hotel? Because if this goes south, I could end up losing my job, and we really can’t afford for that to happen.”