My breath goes short in my chest. Images of what that might mean flash in my head. Hot and heavy and dark images that aren’t even close to what he means. “Sure.”
“I’m going to stick around for this group, because I’m curious about how it’s going. But after that, he’s all yours.”
I make a face. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not right yet. I don’t feel it. Closer, but not there yet.”
Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk back toward the participants. “Noted. But like we always say…”
“All data is good data.”
“That’s right,” he grins. We stop in front of Tristan. “You remember Tristan?” When I look at him, asking him if he’s serious, he laughs. “Of course you do.”
I finally get the chance to look at him then, and his gaze scorches me. “I could never forget,” I say, more breathless than I intended. Reaching out, I extend a handshake. “It’s good to see you.”
When his skin touches mine I have no control over the goosebumps that cover my body. “The pleasure is all mine,” he says. His voice has always done things to me, and now is no exception. It’s like rich chocolate, promising delicious pleasure and satisfaction.
“Shall we get started?” my dad asks.
I pull my hand away from Tristan’s, knowing that I’m going to feel his hand on mine for hours. “Of course.” It only takes a few minutes to introduce myself and explain the scoring and comment procedures to the participants of the focus group. Though the speech that I’ve had down since I’ve started working here, I mess up. Twice. Because I can feel Tristan’s eyes on my back and it’s all I can think about.
But I get the first round of samples out to the participants and try to focus on tasting. This is a good time for me too, to figure out what’s going on with this flavor. Dad and Tristan are tasting too.
This group will have four variations. Three that I’d prepped beforehand and the formula I just made in the lab. The first one is overwhelmingly orange, and though everyone likes it, that’s not the point of the flavor. The second one is too much basil, to the point where it borders on being a savory flavor. The third one I think is the closest to where I want it to be, and probably what I’ll move forward with in my experimentation.
It’s the fourth variation—the new one—where disaster strikes. “I just finished with this formula,” I tell the group. “So it will not have had time to chill all the way down. For that reason, it will be a little more liquid than the rest of the samples. I apologize for that.” No one seems too bothered.
After distributing to the testers, I grab some for the rest of us. This whole time I’ve only been able to hold on to my feelings by not making eye contact with Tristan, and I continue to do that as I hand him one of the little paper cups after I’ve given Dad his.
But Tristan’s hand folds over mine as I hand it to him, and he steps closer so that I’m the only one who can hear. “The last time I saw you you were wearing an equally beautiful dress,” he whispers. “And I vividly remember that there was nothing underneath it.”
All the blood rushes to my face at once, and I take a step back, unintentionally ripping my hand from his. Ice cream mixture goes flying, and lands right on my dress. Fuck. “Oh dear,” I say, pulling away and still not meeting his eyes. I’m not going to admit why I’m so flustered. I guess I don’t have to ask him whether or not he remembers that night. I know that I’ll never forget it.
“I should get this out,” I direct the statement to my father. “I don’t want this to stain.”
He nods. “We’re nearly done. I’ll make sure a copy of the data goes on your desk.”
“Thanks.” I escape the room without looking back. Because if I look back at Tristan I’m going to want to stay and ask him why he brought it up. Ask him why he’s back? And why he’s looking at me like that when the last thing I remember him doing was telling me that we couldn’t be together and then disappearing for four years.
Thankfully I can get the custard out of my dress without too much trouble. I like this dress, and I wasn’t expecting it to be the victim of ice cream today.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I take a deep breath. No matter what my body and mind tell me, no matter that every cell in my being wants to grab onto Tristan and never let go, I’m not the same girl that I was four years ago. And I don’t know why he’s here. He left.