A Lot Like Perfect

by Kat Cantrell

  Except he’d never have invited her up to his rooftop refuge without the bet. She was on borrowed time and not as brave as he’d claimed, which had the odd effect of making her want to prove him right.

  She could do this. She had to.

  Six

  “Maybe it would be easier to tell me what Tristan likes,” Aria said in response to his question after a long enough pause that Isaiah had started to wonder if she’d heard him. “Instead of trying to shoot in the dark by talking about what I like.”

  Sure. That made sense. But he already knew everything about Marchande. It was Aria who’d intrigued him so unexpectedly that he still hadn’t quite figured out what had hit him. Which didn’t make his sudden fascination with her okay, especially not when she’d come to him expressly with the goal of getting his friend to ask her out. She’d trusted him with this task, yet here he was veering off into la-la land like this was a date, and he had every right to dig into the personality of a woman who interested him.

  He didn’t. Not only did he have no plans to stick around, she was reserved for Marchande, who absolutely deserved to have a great woman like Aria. Besides, the heaviness in his chest served as a reminder that he had a lot of stuff going on inside that left no room for a woman. He wasn’t aiming to fulfill Serenity’s prediction. Quite the opposite.

  Isaiah shut off the music. It was too sensual anyway, particularly in light of what they were supposed to be doing up here on this roof.

  “Tristan likes…” Women. Isaiah bit it back. While that was true, it wasn’t a flattering quality of his buddy’s or at least he wasn’t the right guy to spin it in a positive light. “Fire.”

  Also true. And safer. For everyone.

  Aria’s expression grew intrigued. Of course. Because Marchande not only had women falling at his feet, he was also a genius with fire as well as anything that created a spark. Not to mention explosives. When the man talked about his field of expertise, everyone listened, especially women.

  “Tell me more about that,” she said. “I can learn about fire. Does he do magic tricks with it?”

  “Yeah, the best kind,” Isaiah said flatly. “He has some sort of savant ability to control the flame, especially when it comes to the conditions, like how windy it is. I’ve seen him make a whole building disappear during a typhoon.”

  Isaiah, on the other hand, was lucky if he could gauge the wind enough to shoot straight at five hundred yards. Though he’d never been truly jealous of Marchande. Until now. It made him feel petty and small.

  “A whole—building?” Her voice veered between fascination and disbelief. “That’s better than any magician I’ve ever seen, including David Copperfield on TV.”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s way better than that guy. The main difference being that it’s an illusion on TV. Tristan is the real deal. We’re talking major destruction of property. It’s his specialty. That’s why we call him Le Torch. Nod to his French ancestry and all.”

  He left out the part where Marchande’s nickname had actually come about because of his reputation with the ladies. It was a nice bonus that it fit his skill set too.

  “Wait. You mean the building doesn’t come back?”

  “No.” Not even when the intel about which building to destroy was wrong. “That’s what we did in Syria. Took out al-Qaeda strongholds. The goal was to ensure everyone inside died and that the place couldn’t be reused. We were good at it. Quick and efficient.”

  Too efficient.

  While the village he’d had a hand in destroying in Syria haunted him, Marchande had been the one to bring a chunk of a building down on top of Rowe. Isaiah knew both men had been severely affected in ways the rest of them couldn’t begin to fathom. Though he’d tried to reach out to them both. And failed.

  His mood soured considerably, which was a shame because he’d been enjoying this interlude with someone who hadn’t been a part of the worst experience of Isaiah’s life. But the universe had a way of bringing things around full circle and definitely he’d needed the reminder that he didn’t deserve to relax.

  “What’s your specialty?” she asked and the question snapped over him like a net, pinning him in place.

  “Isn’t that the million dollar question?” he muttered, struggling to drag air into his lungs. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

  She didn’t press him on it, thankfully, or he’d have to decide whether to admit that his role usually came afterward, when everyone needed to reconcile the circumstances of the op. He’d been good at providing a sounding board, encouragement, hope. Isaiah was the one who glued everyone back together so they could do it all again the next time.

  Or at least that had always been the case in the past. After al-Sadidiq? Nothing. He’d curled up in a ball and let his grieving brothers be crucified on the altar of politics and diplomacy.

  And there was no one to glue him back together.

  “Let’s move on,” he suggested and she nodded without commenting on how tight his voice had gotten. A blessing.

  “So far, I know that Tristan likes dance music and fire. What else? Does he read? What TV shows does he watch?”

  That hadn’t exactly been the subject he’d hoped to move on to, but really, what else could they conceivably talk about if he insisted on staying away from conversation about his past life as a SEAL? Besides, he had one job here and Marchande was it. “I’ve never seen him pick up a book. He’s always said the best stories are already in his head and that reading just puts him to sleep.”

  Aria made a noise of disgust. “I’d like to know what books he’s tried to read. I’ve read my share of books that kept me up until way later than I should have been awake but I’ve never had a book put me to sleep. He’s obviously doing it wrong.”

  “Funny, that’s what I told him.” Isaiah had to grin at her choice of words. “Even as a kid, I loved the idea that so many worlds lived inside the covers of every single book on the shelf at the library.”

  “Library day was the best.”

  Aria’s happy sigh reverberated in his own chest as if she’d breathed on his behalf, forcing his own lungs to react. The sensation was so foreign, yet so cleansing that he immediately wanted her to do it again. “You used to like going to the library?”

  “Still do,” she corrected freely. “There’s one in La Grange and the librarian is about a hundred years old, but she’s always been there. She orders books she thinks I’ll like and puts them on hold until I can get into town to check them out. I’ve racked up hundreds of dollars in fines over the years because it’s so hard for me to get a ride all the way out there to return the books, but she clears my account on the sly.”

  Yeah, he knew all about lack of transportation. The foster parents he’d collected over the years could almost never be bothered to drive him to the library, so he’d had to find inventive ways to get there, which didn’t always correlate with a due date. A couple of times, he’d ended up returning the books to the library in a new city entirely, hoping they would have the resources to mail the books back to where they belonged. He sure hadn’t had the money to do so.

  “My library card was my most prized possession,” he admitted, thrown back suddenly to the days when breathing in the smell of the library was enough to center him. “I saved every penny I could scrape together so I could buy a wallet to carry it in, and it went right behind the clear plastic where your driver’s license is supposed to go. I wanted to see it.”

  “A library card is like a ticket to anywhere you want to go in the world.”

  Maybe he should be more shocked that once again, they were on exactly the same wavelength. But honestly, the real shock lay in how long it had taken to circle around to the conversation he’d really rather be having.

  He glanced over at her as she lounged on the blanket staring up at the sky. The moon had risen enough to cast a river of silver over her hair that was so beautiful, he couldn’t look away. Beautiful in a purely aesthetic way of course. He got the
same lump in his throat when he saw the ocean crashing on the shore or a horse galloping through a meadow.

  The last thing he should do was engage her on a personal level again. But he couldn’t stop himself from stepping up to the glass and trying to peer inside Aria. “You like to travel?”

  “Only in books,” she said with a hint of mirth. “I can’t say if I’d like it in real life since I’ve never been more than seventy miles from home. And in case you’re wondering, that’s the distance to Austin.”

  Yeah, he figured that out pretty quickly, and while Austin wasn’t bad as cities went, it sure wasn’t the be all, end all. “If you like to travel, you should have that chance. I got to do that a lot during my stint in the Navy. In some ways, that’s one the hardest things about not being a sailor anymore.”

  “What, being stuck in one place?” She wrinkled her nose as she half rolled to face him. “I could totally see that. I would hate to finally break out of here, only to wind up back where I started.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly what he’d meant. Moving from place to place had been a way of life since birth. He’d never felt “stuck” anywhere. Most of the time, circumstances had forced him to go before he was ready.

  What the Navy had afforded him was a team to go places with. That’s what he’d always enjoyed about books as a kid. Each of the thousands of worlds between the pages had come readily inhabited with people, communities, culture—something to belong to. Then he’d found that in real life. Only to lose it.

  Well, he hadn’t lost it. He knew exactly where the rest of his team was. What he’d lost was the right to be a part of it. The real killer would come when he finally moved on this time without his unit. Because that day was coming. He should do more to prepare for cutting himself out. Get himself excited about the idea of adventure and new horizons. He did like that part too, so he wouldn’t exactly be faking it.

  “Yeah, being stuck in one place would be pretty tough,” he said, well aware that it was a bit of a generic response that didn’t begin to cover what was going through his heart.

  “Tell me what it’s like to have the freedom to go wherever you want,” she instructed him lightly. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

  “You can go wherever you want right now. Can’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Not unless I want to walk. I’ve never even gotten my driver’s license. No need, right? And you can walk a long way in Texas and never get anyplace much different than where you are now. So it never seemed like a good use of my time.”

  “I’ll take you somewhere,” he offered impulsively. It might do them both good. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Hawaii.” No hesitation, as if she’d been waiting a million years for someone to ask that question. “Then Italy. Maybe Spain after that but it’s a tossup between that and Greece, so either would be fine.”

  Biting back a laugh, he held up his hands. “Whoa. I was thinking more like Dallas. Houston. Or New Orleans even. Something within driving distance.”

  “Oh. Well any of those would be fine,” she said cheerfully enough that he believed it. “I thought we were talking bucket list stuff. I didn’t think you were actually serious. Does Tristan like any of those places?”

  As if she’d stuck a pin in his lungs, they deflated. Of course he should have had Tristan in mind all along. In fact, it wouldn’t be out of line to tip off his friend that he’d have a sure yes if he invited Aria on a road trip. “New Orleans. He always appreciates the chance to show off his French.”

  Marchande’s language skills had gotten them into a fight more than once at train stations in France, so odds were good New Orleans wouldn’t be any better. Surely he’d be on his best behavior with a lady present though.

  “Where do you think you’ll go next?” she asked, completely veering off topic again instead of following the breadcrumbs he’d laid for her toward Tristan.

  Worse, that simple question had a lot of layers and he wished the answer could be both honest and easy. It was neither, but conversation went both ways, so he could at least give her a partial answer. “Wherever the next great adventure takes me.”

  That was what should be on his mind. If he planned to unstick himself from his teammates, he had to embrace the positives in moving on.

  Plus, there was Serenity’s prediction to consider and how she’d advised him on this very roof to slow down a bit. If he did that, her vision had promised he’d find love, not his mojo. A soul mate would only remind him of all the reasons he didn’t deserve something good and pure. Not yet anyway. Maybe one day. No reason to tempt fate by holing up in a town that wasn’t in the long-term cards for him.

  “That sounds so lovely.” Aria sighed with a little lilt that hurt his chest.

  Before he left, he’d do his best to help her get the attention of the man she wanted and then go behind the scenes to make sure Marchande knew how to make Aria happy, which Isaiah had just spent a very enjoyable evening learning about. It was the least he could do.

  Seven

  The next evening, Isaiah, Tristan and the rest of the guys trooped into Ruby’s for dinner like they always did, but this time, Aria had a heightened awareness that she’d spent the previous evening on a secret date-that-wasn’t-a-date with Isaiah. They’d connected in a way she’d never experienced. He’d made her feel important, special. Like they both belonged to something that no one else did.

  When he smiled at her like he was recalling the nice things about it too, her skin prickled.

  It shouldn’t feel so delicious and kind of naughty, should it?

  “You gonna head over and see what the boys are in the mood for tonight?”

  Aria blinked and focused on Ruby. Also known as her boss. Ruby cocked a brow and jerked her head toward the tableful of SEALs in the corner booth, her expression mildly inquisitive. In reality, that was the perpetually thirty-nine-year-old’s way of saying stop dilly-dallying and get back to work.

  “Yes, ma’am. I am. Going to.”

  Ruby cackled and leaned on the worn counter, forgotten coffee pot dangling from her hand. “You’ve got it way bad, don’t you honey.”

  She didn’t bother to tack the question mark onto the end of that sentence since Aria’s crush on Tristan had made the gossip rounds several weeks ago. Mostly she didn’t mind the jokes and pretty well owned up to the truth because there was little point in lying about it when everyone could clearly see that she had no shame when it came to her favorite SEAL.

  Except this was the one time she hadn’t been mooning over Tristan Marchande. And the one time she’d have to play it off as if Ruby had guessed one hundred percent correctly about her absentmindedness. “Sure thing. He’s a hottie, no doubt.”

  No one could know that she’d enlisted Isaiah’s help. If nothing else, it didn’t feel sporting toward the bet to stack the deck, but that excuse didn’t begin to cover the other, very confusing thoughts that crowded into her brain about the man helping her. Thoughts that she couldn’t explain away. Dreams about seeing the world that she’d put aside, but he’d surfaced so easily. She’d rather not open that up for inspection to anyone just yet.

  Good time to hightail it over to the corner booth.

  She wound through the half-full restaurant, checking on Farmer Moon on the way and nodding at Lennie Ford, the antique store owner who took up an entire booth bench seat all by himself.

  When she got there, Tristan winked and treated her to his megawatt smile, the one that usually made her weak in the knees. Today seemed to be an exception.

  “Hey, there’s my best girl,” he said. “You’re looking extra lovely today. Did you do something different with your hair?”

  “Not a thing.” Aria couldn’t help but return his smile despite the lack of knee-weakening behind it. Probably something was wrong with her, not him. Maybe she was coming down with a cold. “But aren’t you sweet?”

  The first time they’d had this exchange, she’d nearly come out of her skin right there
in the middle of Ruby’s Diner. A man like Tristan had called her lovely. Sometimes she was still surprised that her bones hadn’t melted. But then he’d said nearly the same thing with a minor variation the next day, so she got the drift. He flirted by default.

  She didn’t mind. When he complimented her in that whiskey smooth voice, anything sounded nice, even on repeat. She just didn’t quite swoon over it anymore. Probably when he asked her out on a date, he’d surely find a different script. Or ditch the lines that sounded practiced and have a real conversation. Like the kind she’d had with Isaiah.

  A shiver rocked her shoulders out of nowhere.

  That conversation…it had been everything. Isaiah was so different than anyone she’d ever met. He’d not only had some of the same yearning she’d had as a child to get out and experience the world, he’d done it. She shouldn’t find that so fascinating. Or so blindingly attractive. She’d wanted to ask him more about the things he’d seen. Poke at his adventurous spirit and examine how he’d gotten the courage to be the one who left instead of waiting around for someone else to do it to him.

  But they weren’t supposed to be learning about each other. He was helping her with Tristan. Only. She should focus on that. Studiously, she avoided Isaiah’s gaze and trained hers on Caleb instead.

  “Hey, Aria,” Caleb said with a nod. “You see Havana around, you tell her I’m coming by at eight to take her out.”

  “Sister’s keeper in my job description today?” she teased. “Did you lose your fiancée somewhere?”

  “She’s not answering her cell phone,” he grumbled good-naturedly, scrubbing at his overgrown whiskers that her sister had told her on the sly was her favorite thing about her soon-to-be husband. “Not sure why she has the thing if she’s not going to use it.”

  “Maybe she lost it,” Isaiah suggested with a light shrug, drawing her gaze automatically.

  He did that kind of thing a lot—jumping in to guide the conversation toward a more positive note. Normally Aria was so focused on Tristan, she didn’t pay as much attention to anyone else, but Isaiah’s voice had been stuck in her head all day. Hearing it again took her right back to last night. Also known as the thing she’d been trying to avoid thinking about. She glanced away.