Monica blushed and stepped to the counter, placing her usual order. He followed and ordered the same. There was a recognized silence between them as they waited for the drinks—a lingering glance, the faintest smile, all telltale signs of flirting. Even though all she could do was compare this man to Rob, Monica was flattered.
“Can you believe how people freak out when it rains?” he finally said.
“I know, right? It’s like I want to scream at them, ‘It’s just water!’”
He laughed wholeheartedly, his dimples deepening, further softening his face. Their order was called and they retrieved their cups from the counter.
“So you must not be from here?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m from Tacoma. What gave it away?”
“You’re wearing a raincoat, an item that none of us locals even own.” She twisted the cup nervously in her hands. “So you should be an expert, right? I hear the sun never shines up there. People have vitamin D deficiencies and it, like, rains every day?”
He shook his head and grinned at her. “It’s not quite that bad.”
“Well, thanks for the coffee…” Monica paused waiting for his name.
“Evan.”
“Evan,” she repeated. “I’m Monica. Thanks again, and good luck out there. Try to stay upright for the rest of the day.”
“You too,” he countered, raising his cup and grinning triumphantly at her retreating form.
Josie let Tristan’s statement sink in. Her crazed eyes could almost see the words breeze across the room and enter her head. He’d said them so matter-of-factly, so interestingly, as if reciting more of his random facts.
“You’re telling me that Dean Moloney, crime lord, wants me dead? Not only that, but he’s asked you to do it?” Josie screeched.
“Yes,” Tristan answered calmly.
“Why me? Who is this other person looking for me? Do you know him? Does Moloney know that you know me? He couldn’t possibly.”
“I’m not sure if he’s connected us to each other yet. We were just kids back then. But I bet this has something to do with your amnesia. We can assume that he may be responsible for your father’s death and your disappearance. Would you be willing to try hypnotherapy to recover your memory?”
“Been there, done that. Nothing has worked.” Tristan watched Josie’s grip tighten on the edge of the kitchen counter. Her elbows were locked, her shoulders high and tense while her head hung down between them. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.
The words poured from her mouth and circled the drain before slipping away.
“We,” Tristan corrected.
“What?”
“What are we going to do? I think I should go back to New Orleans and see what I can find out, but I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Take me with you,” she offered, turning to face him.
“Absolutely not! The chances of anyone recognizing you are low, but if they did, word would spread fast. Then you’ll be on his turf. You’ve got to stay here. Not to mention I’m not exactly on his good side. If Moloney finds out I’m there…” He trailed off.
“I want to help. I can’t sit around while you run off risking your life, Tristan!”
“Just don’t leave the four walls of this apartment. I’ll talk to Alex and have him keep a closer eye on you while I’m gone. Whoever is looking for you hasn’t found you yet, so it’s best to just stay put. It’s eighteen hundred seventy-two miles from here to New Orleans. If I leave in the morning, avoid big-city traffic, and maintain the average highway speed limit, I can make it there by Tuesday evening.”
“Shit,” Josie muttered, slumping down into one of her wobbly kitchen chairs.
Tristan watched as she absorbed the bad news. He knew it would be rough on both of them, but he was almost relieved not to have to deal with it on his own anymore. Josie curled into herself, the tips of her fingers rubbing at her temples.
He’d never been around someone who made him feel so whole and inadequate at the same time. She brought out the best and worst in him. She made him question everything he’d ever known and still he wanted to crawl at her feet to serve her every need.
When he’d said good-bye to her as a child, he never imagined he’d get a second chance. Now was the time to make things right, to build her up and tie her to himself. They would never get back the years they missed, but they could start over if she’d only surrender.
Pulling her to the sofa, Tristan wrapped his arms around her. She climbed into his lap and tucked her head beneath his chin. Her fingers dug into his skin relentlessly, feeling like if she let go, he would vanish.
Tristan’s eyes roamed over the meager apartment and he couldn’t help but cringe at all the drawings carved into the walls and doorframes, the paint and ink signatures on every surface.
“The drawings in your bedroom are one thing, Josie. You’ve got to stop marking up your apartment. You’ll never get your security deposit back.”
“Who says I paid a security deposit? I may have negotiated my way out of that.”
Tristan looked down into her eyes.
“I am very persuasive when I need to be. I have my methods.” He flinched at her implication. “Besides, I like it. Maybe I’ll never leave. When I die, I’ll be so famous that people will come to visit this place. It’s like a big memorial.”
“You will not die in this shitty apartment. I promise,” Tristan said.
“You don’t know that, Tristan. You can’t make that promise.”
“Promises are my best intentions.”
“Then promise to say nice things and tell stories when I die,” she said.
Tristan pushed that thought from his mind. It would be a cruel and terrible punishment to lose her after just finding her again.
“I remember the day of your memorial at school. It was so humid that it felt hard to breathe. It was the second week of school and everyone had already fallen right back into their cliques.”
Tristan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let that day play out against his eyelids. So clearly he could envision the sympathetic teachers, the looks from his peers.
“They asked me to say a few words and, at first, I refused. I was angry and knew that these people didn’t know you like I did. Then I figured I wanted them to know you better, so that I wasn’t so alone. I stood in front of the assembly and told them who you were and what you meant to me.”
Josie reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. The vibrant ink that ended and wrapped around his wrist was such a stark contrast to her pale, clean canvas skin. They were contradictory and stunning together.
“‘McKenzi Delaune was my best friend. We met when we were seven years old. She was smart and witty and the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. You all knew her as the shy girl who studied during lunch and never joined clubs, but she was so much more than that.
“‘McKenzi climbed trees. She wrote secrets in a purple diary kept between her mattresses. She loved old black-and-white movies. She always danced around her living room with her mom, blasting music so loud that it shook the windows. Most of all, McKenzi loved to draw. Sketches of family and celebrities covered her walls. Sometimes she made up entire stories to go with her pictures, stories about dragons and aliens and superheroes. Every story had a common theme, happy endings. McKenzi believed in fairies and heaven and love. I hope that wherever she is now, she’s been reunited with her family and has found her own happy ending.’”
Tristan’s throat became tight and restricted with the words that he’d spoken as a teenager. Josie remained still on his chest, her breathing slow and steady. For a moment, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.
“I can’t believe you remember that speech,” she said softly, sitting up so that she could see his face.