“What’s the thing?” I call after him. In response, Devon raises his hand in the air, but he doesn’t turn around.
Screw it.
What the hell does Devon know?
I’ve waited all night. The obligatory parts are over. Pictures, toasts. Only thing left is the cake cutting. But in the meantime . . .
Cole takes his grandfather by the arm, moving toward the bar. Leaving my mystery woman very much alone as she reaches for a wine glass sitting on the edge of the bar.
With every step toward her, my fingers ache with the need to touch her. It must be something about the ambiance. Or the music. Or a few beers under my belt.
Or maybe just the fact that she’s smokin’ hot. But not in a flashy way at all.
Something about this night, this moment, intensifies the very air between us.
“Hi.”
Brilliant, Tris. How many years have you been dating girls, and that’s the best you can do?
“Hi.”
Her voice is smooth. Not sweet, or deep, or any other extreme. Just smooth, like a stream without any rocks to disturb it.
“I saw you with Papa Donovan. You know him?”
Everyone in Bridgewater knows him.
“He was a friend of my father’s.”
“Was?”
Her smile flees. “My dad died two months ago.”
Jesus, I’m off to a spectacular start.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.
She smiles graciously. “Thank you.”
I want to take a swig of beer, to mask the pause. But I don’t. Instead, I watch her for a cue, knowing conversational pauses are ok. Expected, even, when someone is struggling with what to say. Or whether or not to elaborate on a sensitive topic with a stranger.
“How do you know Papa Donovan?”
So she doesn’t want to talk about her dad.
“Cole is one of my best friends. I’m surprised we never crossed paths before, if he’s a good friend of your family.”
Her eyes widen as if she’s surprised by that, reminding me of Devon’s reaction earlier.
Cocking her head to the side, she sticks out her hand.
“Evie,” she says.
I take it, the contact broken much too quickly for my taste as we shake. “Tristano. Though most people call me Tris.” My hand drops. “The only two people who call me Tristano are my mother when she’s mad or my sister when she’s . . .” I think about it for a second. “Well. Mad.”
Her laugh is just like the rest of her. Beautiful.
“I’m a friend of Chari’s so . . . I know who you are.”