17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

The dinner Tris cooked for us was absolutely delicious. If I’d been home as I originally planned, I would have simply made a microwave meal. It wouldn’t have been worth the effort to cook a fancy dinner just for myself. I ate until I couldn’t possibly fit in another bite—even if someone paid me!

But something is not right with Tristan. He didn’t say much during dinner and was silent as we bustled around, wrapping up the remaining food. The clatter of dishes was a stark contrast to his stillness. Ever since Jake called, he’s seemed a bit off, like something is weighing heavily on his mind. Tris’s usual playful demeanour is gone, replaced by a withdrawn and subdued silence.

For the past hour, I’ve been lying on the couch, listening to him clean and mutter to himself as if he’s the only one in the room. The cabin is now sparkling clean, almost unnaturally so, and it makes me wonder if he’s trying to avoid me.

Turning my head from where I’m lying on my back, I see Tris attempting to lift the basket near the fireplace, which I had already loaded with firewood.

“Whatcha doin’?” I ask in a gentle tone, afraid that a louder voice might make him jump.

“Oh... um... I was just gonna... get some more... you know... wood,” he mumbles, avoiding my gaze.

Yep, there’s definitely something wrong. I shift onto my side, propping my head on my hand, and study him. “It’s full. You can’t get any more in there.”

He squints at the basket, his brow furrowed in displeasure, before letting it go. “Yeah... Okay. You’re right. I’ll check if the bathroom needs cleaning.”

Just as he turns, I grab his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Is everything okay?” I glance up at him. He looks adorable in a red-and-white candy cane short set, the stripes making him look like a little piece of holiday cheer.

With his eyes downcast, he refuses to look at me. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Not sure who he’s trying to kid, I counter, “If you’re so great, why won’t you look at me?”

Those blue eyes, so sad, look at me then. “See?” He fakes a smile, trying to appear cheerful. “I’m fine.”

His hand tugs against mine, but I hold him tight, refusing to let go. Not so fast.

“Tristan,” I say, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, his shoulders slumping as he casts his gaze back down at the floor.

“Come here.” I pull my hand away from my head and pat the sofa. “Lie down with me.”

His hesitation makes me worry even more because my Tristan would have eagerly jumped at the chance to be close to me. My Tristan . While he’s not technically anything to me, I’m beginning to entertain the idea of wanting him to become something more.

He sighs and lies down with his body facing mine; a silent truce reached. I pull him closer, our bodies pressed tightly together, as I intertwine my leg with his to keep him close. With my free hand, I rub gentle circles on his back, inhaling the warm, comforting scent of his skin. The orange-scented shampoo wafts up from his hair and envelops me as he presses his face into my chest. His curls brush against my face, getting caught in the rough, prickly stubble that has grown since I’ve been here.

After a few minutes, his body relaxes, and the tension that had been knotting his shoulders melts away. My fingers move slowly up and down his back, easing him until his breathing calms.

“What’s going on?” I ask carefully. “And don’t say nothing.”

His hand tightens around my shirt, and he takes a deep breath. “Was it Jake? Are you upset that he’s getting married?”

Pulling his head back to look at me, he furrows his brow, creating deep creases in his forehead. “What? No ! Jake getting married is the absolute best news! It’s just...” He lets out another long, weary sigh. “It’s stupid, really.”

“Nothing you say is stupid. Tell me.”

“I just… I just want the same thing Jake and Lewis have, that’s all,” he says, his voice tight with longing. “I’m lonely.”

My heart breaks into a thousand pieces. The impact of those two words is so forceful that it feels like someone has punched me in the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs. Tristan is lonely. I realise now that my knowledge of him has been limited to the brief, cheerful interactions I’ve witnessed during phone calls with Jake. He always came across as energetic and carefree.

Being with him in such close confines, I’ve come to see that Tris has many sides: the caring side, the empathetic side, the kind, generous, and loving side, and the side that shows he has an honest heart. Then there’s the unsure, unworthy side to him, the one that whispers doubts in his ear, the one that makes him second guess himself. Then comes the mischievous side. A man who is fiery and sexy, assertive yet submissive. A brat . But I never thought he’d be lonely.

The realisation strikes me with a jolt. I wasn’t just fond of my little fox; I was genuinely starting to care for him. Every part of him.

“Lonely? What do you mean? You’ve got Jake and Lewis. Your mum. I’m certain you have coworkers who appreciate your hard work, and I’m positive the visitors to the shelter adore you.” And you have me .

“You’re right. I do have all that, and during the day when I’m busy, that’s enough. But then, at night, I go home to an empty flat, and the silence is deafening. No one to ask me about my day. No one to cook for. No one to cuddle. Not since Mum...” He stops talking.

I didn’t realise what I was saying when I mentioned his mum. Even though my mother has a tendency to meddle, I’m fortunate to still have her around. I can’t fathom the emotional turmoil of having a mother physically present but mentally absent. My fingers dig deeper into his back as I squeeze him tighter.

“I just want someone to love me.” His soft, whispered words pierce my heart. “Spending time with you has shown me I crave something more meaningful than just random hookups. I want a relationship that’s full of depth, one that will make me laugh, cry, and grow. I want to go on dates and feel the romance of making love to my partner on a rainy night with the window open. Lazy nights on the sofa, with a warm blanket and a bowl of popcorn, watching films and dreaming about our future. I’m afraid I’ll have none of that.”

He sniffs, his tears leaving damp patches on my shirt, “So yeah, Jake’s news upset me a little, but not in the way you think,” he whispers.

Tris wants everything I consciously make an effort to avoid. I enjoy meeting people through apps and having fun dates. If we end up back at their place or a hotel, I always make it clear I’m not looking for anything serious. The idea of a relationship has never held any appeal for me. But a little voice inside me, like a persistent itch, keeps whispering that Tris is the one who could change everything.

My heart races at the way he’s looking at me. We’re so close. “I’ve not kissed anyone since Jake’s birthday three years ago,” I confess. Wide-eyed, he looks at me but says nothing. “I... everyone else just... wasn’t you.” His breath hitches. “What are you doing to me, Tris?”

Everything goes quiet; the crackling fire, the wind outside, and my breath. They’re all suspended in a moment of perfect bliss, almost as if the world has stopped to celebrate this perfect moment. Our lips meet again. My stomach lurches, and a rush of warmth and excitement floods my body like butterflies taking flight. It’s like everything has come full circle; the missing piece of my heart has finally been found. My hand finds the nape of his neck and my fingers trace the curve of his skin as he opens for me.

His taste is even better than I remembered, a perfect blend of sweetness and something uniquely him, a taste that lingers on my tongue. I reclaim his mouth, our tongues intertwining in a passionate dance. A whimpering sound vibrates in my mouth. I can’t tell if it’s coming from me or him. We kiss slowly, lingering on each other’s lips, the passion building until it explodes, desperate and hungry. Then, we pull back, the fire still burning, and resume our slow, sensual dance. Even though we are both clearly aroused, our deep connection keeps us from doing anything more than enjoying the intoxicating kiss.

The hours melt away as we lie there, our lips swollen and pulsing, the warmth of our bodies pressed together, our hands intertwined in each other’s hair, gentle fingers tracing soft strands. Both our cocks softened, knowing that we would not be taking this any further.

We lie there, our lips brushing, taking precious moments to catch our breath, but the pull of the kiss is too strong, and soon we’re lost in it again. It’s like a sweet nectar for our souls, a taste we can’t get enough of. Feeding off each other into the night. I realise, with unwavering certainty, that I won’t be able to give Tristan up. I belong to him, and he belongs to me. All my preconceived notions about commitment go out the window. I plan to confess my feelings to him in the morning, and I really hope he feels the same. Something tells me he does. He has to. When he confessed he was lonely and wanted someone special in his life, I got the distinct feeling he was talking about me.

Please, let him be talking about me.