Chapter 20

20

DIANNA

D ianna placed another cookie sheet in the oven and brushed some stray strands of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. She still couldn't believe she'd blurted the information about her condition. It wasn't something she even spoke of freely with her family. It was something that she'd stumbled upon on her own and kept to herself.

In fact, she didn't even know if her family was aware that she had several of the characteristics of a person with Autism. She wouldn't be surprised if they brushed it off either. That's what a lot of people seemed to do.

From her experience, a neurotypical person usually viewed someone like her as a person with bad manners. She was blunt and could say things that hurt others—however unintentional. She'd learned from an early age how to keep her thoughts to herself, though public figures were praised for their ability to tell things how it was.

Somehow Tristan was different.

She'd been worried early on with all his talk about needing to help Mathew become something he wasn't. The way he wanted Mathew to conform to everything society wanted him to be.

However, lately Tristan had seemed to come to understand that Mathew didn't need to conform in the way he wanted him to. Were there certain expectations that everyone needed to follow as a society? Of course. Did that mean that Mathew needed to constantly seek approval from everyone? No. He needed to learn how to advocate for himself, and he needed to understand when there was a time when speaking was important and a time when he could decline to comment.

Those were the biggest issues she noticed with him besides his inability to cope when things went south for him.

She glanced up when Tristan materialized back in the kitchen. He didn't look nearly as happy and content as he had earlier. Though she wasn't as great at reading expressions as she wished she was. The tension in the room had elevated when Mathew got past the point of patience.

It got her thinking that maybe Tristan viewed those situations like they were threats—like he needed to contain whatever explosion was about to take place.

Tristan didn't say anything as he moved closer to her, step-by-step. He stopped about a foot before her and reached for her hands.

It was a gesture that she'd both loved and dreaded before she'd found herself in this relationship. Unnecessary touching was a pet peeve of hers. Now, she found she enjoyed any way he showed his affection.

Tristan rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands. "I don't think I'll ever get to be as good as you are with him." His voice sounded almost sad—like if he were an instrument, he was speaking in a minor chord.

Her brows creased. "It's not a competition."

A shadow passed over his expression. "No, it's not. But…"

"But what?" She tilted her head, giving her better access to view his face. "Are you upset I stepped in?"

"Of course not. I love that you're so good with him. And now that I know why, it just makes me feel…" He shrugged. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm glad you were able to diffuse the situation before he had a meltdown."

"It just takes a different approach. You'll get better at it."

"I've been at it for seven years," he said without humor. "How much longer do I have to practice before I start seeing results?" Tristan dropped her hands and smiled at her. His eyes didn't match the way the corners of his mouth quirked up. She'd seen that look before with her sisters but had never really understood what it meant until now. He was trying to put on a brave face even though he didn't feel like doing so. She could only remember a handful of moments when she'd had to do the same, and it had been incredibly difficult.

She should probably say something to comfort him. But the words escaped her. There was nothing she could tell him that would make him feel better other than what she'd already said. The oven dinged, offering her an excuse not to fumble over any wrong words she might say to ruin the evening.

When she pulled the cookies from the oven, she turned around to find him over by Mathew's artwork. He picked up a piece of paper and stared at it with a pointed focus. His eyes flitted to her, then back to the paper.

She grabbed her spatula and began removing the cookies from the tray. Whatever Mathew had drawn must have been…

Her head snapped up and heat burst from her chest up onto her face like a volcano. She'd been drawing before dinner. And she'd left her sketch on the table.

Tristan's eyes locked onto her and he flipped the paper around, showing it to her. "I didn't realize you could draw this well." She'd only managed to block in his face before she completed his eyes. But just the pair of eyes was enough for him to know exactly what she'd been drawing.

Her blush deepened and she let the spatula clatter to the stovetop before she darted around the island and to his side. She grabbed the drawing and took a look at it. "It's not even that good."

He attempted to reach for it, but she spun away from him. Tristan laughed. "You can't be serious."

She shook her head. "Okay, well, it's not done."

"But it's me, right?" He laughed again, attempting to grab the picture.

Dianna stepped backward. "You weren't meant to see it."

"Why not? It's amazing." His features sobered. "Really, Dianna. You're very good. Have you ever considered doing it professionally?"

She clutched the paper tighter. "You don't think I should keep working for Shane?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I'm beginning to see what you mean when you say you look at things differently. I think you could do both." Tristan slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. His touch immediately melted the stiffness from her body. He dipped his head closer to her ear, his whisper sending goosebumps up and down her arms. "Have I told you that I think you're amazing?" He pressed a kiss to the sensitive area beneath her ear.

Dianna sucked in sharply and the paper slipped from her fingers. The fluttering in her chest seemed to be speaking its own language—one she couldn't understand. These flutters, the goosebumps, and every tantalizing thought that tripped through her mind only fed the thrill she experienced.

Tristan's warm breath was far more scintillating than she expected. Her whole body reacted to it, from her lightheadedness to her quaking knees. He brushed gentle kisses along her jawline before finding her lips. This kiss was sweeter than the first, a way for them to explore this new-found feeling they shared.

For the first time, she allowed herself to give in—to step outside of the box she had built around herself. It had taken more effort than she'd expected, chipping away the walls that protected her heart. It wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. But then again, being with Tristan felt a lot easier than she expected.

Dianna broke off their kiss, her heart hammering more than it should. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his shoulder. It was suddenly making a lot more sense why her sisters were so happy in their relationships. What had appeared to be something not worth any amount of risk, was now something she valued.

Beneath her cheek, she could feel the quick thudding of Tristan's heart as it beat in time with hers. Was this experience something that would continue even after they got married?

Marriage.

Only a week ago, that thought would have made her laugh.

Now it sent fresh, excited tremors through her body.

But that excitement quickly waned, and she hid her frown into his shoulder. She really shouldn't be thinking about something so serious. They weren't from the same town. She couldn't assume that Tristan would want to stay here after the holiday. And to even consider the possibility that he would expect her to move to the city caused new waves of anxiety. She'd never left Copper Creek. This was her home and the only place where she fit.

Tristan moved to take a step back, but she clung to him with a firmer grip. His arms moved around her, holding her steady. "You okay?"

She nodded into his shoulder. He was too perceptive. He'd know something was wrong if she didn't push past her darker thoughts. Though she wasn't ready, she released him and quickly turned toward the cookies. "I'm going to pack these up and put them in a container. Mathew can decorate them tomorrow."

"I'm sure he'll love that."

Tristan shifted behind her. When she chanced a glance over to him, she found him scooping up the paper she'd dropped. It wouldn't do any good to try to get it back. He grinned at her.

"I might have to commission you to draw one of Mathew."

"I haven't even finished that one."

He placed the paper on the coffee table. "I don't need one of myself. But I'd gladly take one of you or Mathew."

At first that warmth that continued to make an appearance had driven her anxiety through the roof. But the more that she experienced it with Tristan, the more she looked forward to it. Being with Tristan was like she had been transported to another world where even breathing felt different. What was absolutely surprising was that Tristan didn't even have to touch her to make it happen. He could give her a look or say something sweet, and all at once, it was there again.

Together they finished cleaning up. Side by side and not talking. That was something else she liked about him. He didn't feel the incessant need to fill the void with unnecessary words. She hadn't thought about it before, but that was something she had abhorred expecting in a relationship. Sometimes she simply liked to have her nose in a book or a quiet space to draw.

Her gaze locked onto Tristan's a few times as they worked. When they were done, Tristan jerked his head toward the living room. "You want to stay for a little while? Or do you have to get back for something?"

Dianna shook her head. "I don't have to get back for anything." Unlike that morning, this time she didn't want to leave. It felt like if she did, she'd be missing out on something.

Tristan held out his hand and tugged her toward the couch. "We could watch a movie, or you could draw some more."

"Do you draw?"

He gave her a funny look. "Why do you ask?"

"I just figured that since Mathew enjoyed it, he probably got his interest from someone else."

Slowly, he shook his head. "No. But now that you mention it, his mother liked drawing. They were only doodles, but that's how she spent her time when she had to wait for something." The tone of his voice shifted. She was getting better at reading him, and bringing up his ex wasn't something he liked to do. Great. She probably destroyed all the progress they'd made.

"I'm sorry," she murmured as he pulled her to sit beside him.

"Whatever for?"

"I know you don't like talking about her."

He draped his arm around her. It only felt natural to rest her head against his shoulder. His fingertips trailed up and down her arm and he didn't speak for a few moments, making it clear she was right in her assumption. Finally, he put words to what must have been on his mind. "It's not that I don't like talking about her. She'll always be a part of my life—one that has shaped who I am and who Mathew is."

"But it was a time that caused pain."

"Sure, but those moments are still meant to help us grow. It's why I push Mathew so much. I know it's hard, but I also know he's capable of being what I know he needs to be."

She couldn't help it. That statement left a sour taste in her mouth. It wasn't up to Tristan to decide what Mathew should and shouldn't be. Tristan needed to guide his son, but he couldn't force Mathew to be something he wasn't destined for. She had a firm belief that every individual person had something special to add to this world.

But Mathew was young. He still needed that guidance and his father was doing a pretty good job at it, even if he was a little misguided. His love for his son couldn't be questioned, and that was more important than anything.

Dianna didn't know how, but she knew that Tristan would continue to grow just as Mathew did. They were both going to be okay.

"Does Mathew ask about her?"

Tristan went silent once more. Had that question been off-limits? Probably. Even though he said he didn't mind talking about her, it was clear he did.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine." His voice was strained. "He's been asking about her a lot more recently, but I think it's only because he feels like there's something missing in our family." His arm tightened around her. "His classmates at school have two parents. It's only natural for him to wonder if she'll come back into his life or get replaced." He grimaced. "I'm sorry, that probably sounded a little heartless."

"I don't think it sounds heartless at all. You said she left when he was really little. She hasn't raised him. You've done that all on your own." She shifted so she could see his face better. "You can't replace something that was never there to begin with."

"But you can fill a void that should have been full in the first place." He gave her a pointed look that fueled the fire within her. He couldn't be suggesting that she was the one who could fill that emptiness, could he?

Every thought that ran through her mind told her she should push him away, tell him he was just moving too fast.

But her conversation with her sister had seemed to flip a switch. She'd spent nearly every single day with this family since their arrival. She'd seen good and bad, and she knew what she'd be getting herself into.

The fact that Tristan might actually want to invite her to be part of this wonderful family only spurred a sensation of excitement. She offered him a small smile. "You make a good point."