Page 95 of Wanting a Family Man

“Trystan? Ari can see you now.”

He clicked off his phone and walked down to his agent’s office.

Things were falling into place with his pitch. If this latest round of calls went well, he’d be off to the Arctic Circle in a week. Thankfully, all the research had been done before he had cut things short this spring. Everyone seemed to agree the threat of approaching winter added sufficient drama to make the show interesting.

He only needed to get into the bush for five or six weeks to get enough footage in the can. Then he would need another few months of post-production, but he could do a lot of that remotely.

Say, from Florida.

I won’t wait for you…

Wait, he silently pleaded.Wait a little.

*

Cloe was offher crutches, but still limped to keep some weight off her foot. It had been a full month since she had injured it. Her ankle was mostly healed, but it got tender by the end of the day, since she walked around so much, assisting customers.

The salon was a lively place. The back was a house of mirrors, with a dozen chairs for hair, plus another dozen mani-pedi stations around the perimeter. The music was always blasting a lively hip-hop over the buzz of conversation and bursts of laughter. Chemical smells hung in the air, the phone rang constantly, and customers came and went all day, causing the door to ping each time.

The front was a shop of shelved products artfully arranged on the walls, in the window, and on circular tables in the middle of the room. Cloe always had at least one other receptionist working with her and rarely had a chance to sit down.

She didn’t mind, though. Everyone was nice and funny, and staying busy kept her from missing Storm too badly.

And from missing Trystan.

“This is the natural beeswax,” Cloe said as she offered the tub to the customer she was helping. “Are you at all interested in colored waxes? This is the blue that Ebony put in my hair yesterday.” She pointed to the product.

The customer’s gaze lifted to study the well-defined curls at the top of Cloe’s fresh taper cut. Ebony hadn’t charged her, provided Cloe let her express herself when she had shaved a flowing design into the sides. Cloe loved it so it was a win-win.

“Maybe I’ll take both, see which one I like better.”

“Great.” Cloe started making her way back to the counter only to realize a man was waiting there, watching her approach.

She almost dropped what she was holding. A sensation like a firework shooting skyward zipped through her, leaving her breathless.

“Oh my God. Trystan.”

“Hi, Cloe.” He looked exactly like himself in a black T-shirt and jeans, jaw freshly shaved, sunglasses hooked in his collar. How was that so incredibly, effortlessly sexy?

“I got this, babe,” her coworker said with a cheeky wink as she took the products from Cloe’s limp hands. “You go talk to Oh my God Trystan.”

Cloe limped a few steps toward the chairs in the waiting area, but a pair of teenagers were already sitting there, both watching them with curiosity. Anyone who could see them was clocking them, wondering who this god of a man was.

“Why didn’t you text me that you were coming? How did you even know where I work?” she asked.

“You had Tiffany’s things delivered here. And I…” He winced slightly. “I didn’t want you to tell me not to bother coming. Are you seeing anyone?” He seemed to brace himself.

“No.” It came out as a breath of both surprise and disbelief. She could barely see men as men. They were immediately overshadowed by her memories of him.

“Would you like to have dinner tonight? What time are you finished work? I can come back and get you.”

“That’s that guy from that show,” one of the teenagers said. “The one my dad watches.”

“Sure, um…” Cloe tried to focus on Trystan and not how people were reacting to him. “I finish at five, but—” She couldn’t wait another two hours to find out what he was doing here. “Aren’t you supposed to be filming?” There’d been a whole text chain wishing him well before he went off-grid. “Why are you here?”

His mouth opened. Nothing came out until he said on a gust of emotion, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh?” She had hoped he was here to see her. To say something like,Be with me. She didn’t know what she wanted him to say. Well, yes, she did.Tell me you love me. But that’s not what he’d said, and her skin was itching because none of this made sense.

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