by Kat Cantrell
“Or refuses to be tied to her phone,” Hudson, the taciturn one of the group, said. He’d dragged a chair from another table and flipped it around to sit in it astride, a habit he’d formed the first day in Superstition Springs and had yet to change. “If so, that makes me like her even more.”
“Everyone’s well aware of your allergy to cell phones.” Caleb rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother, Rowe, who always sat so eerily still that you might wonder if he’d passed into another life right before your eyes. “Remember the time he threw mine in the Persian Gulf because I’d been arguing with the lady at the base for thirty minutes?”
“She wasn’t listening to you,” Rowe reminded him loyally. “It wasn’t your fault she couldn’t do her job. Stillwater just doesn’t like conflict.”
“That’s not true,” Hudson corrected in his lethally calm voice that gave credence to his nickname. “I don’t like conflict I can’t resolve with a Bowie knife and a locked room. That piece of garbage got chucked because it’s proven that cell phones degrade white matter in the brain and your brother has so little to spare.”
“You’re such a comedian,” Caleb said and glanced at Aria apologetically. “Sorry, they get off track too easily these days. Going soft in their old age. I’ll have the usual.”
She nodded and went around the table for the rest of the orders, skipped over Tristan’s crystalline blue eyes easily, but then somehow got tangled up in Isaiah’s unusual gaze when she got to him.
“I can’t decide,” he said with a laugh that turned his brown eye a fascinating shade. And then all at once, he slid from the booth, crowding into her space. “Let me walk with you back to the counter while I think about it. That way I won’t hold up everyone else’s food.”
She had no choice but to do exactly as he’d outlined, particularly since the other four men promptly forgot her existence in favor of the deck of cards Caleb had just pulled out. They played Hearts almost every night. Why, when Caleb always won, she hadn’t yet figured out.
“You never have trouble deciding,” she said out of the corner of her mouth and nearly yelped when Isaiah’s arm brushed hers, sensitizing it almost beyond bearing. Automatically, she covered the area with her palm, but that only captured the heat that had gathered there.
“I’m not really having trouble,” he admitted without shame, his voice skimming through her to fill all the emptiness inside, the same way it had last night. “You can get me a hamburger and fries.”
Isaiah slid into one of the swivel chairs at the lunch counter as Aria skirted it to take her customary place behind the expanse of Formica, praying it seemed normal and not like an escape. With half of her attention on the weird prickly thing going on with her skin, she went to work writing up the corner table’s order on the pad of paper, then handed the slip to Ruby through the window to the kitchen.
“I wanted to talk to you about Tristan,” he said as soon as she turned back to face him. Which she’d dragged out an extra five seconds in hopes of settling her suddenly jumpy nerves. “I have a plan that isn’t fit for prying ears.”
Sounded like a really good subject change that she could latch on to. The sooner she got Tristan to ask her out, the sooner she could forget how much she wanted to hang out with Isaiah on the roof again instead. That was safe. A known.
She needed to be bold if she hoped to change the way her sisters thought about her. Bold like the heroines of her favorite books. It had been a long time since she’d thought about how inspiring those girls had always been, doing their own thing and setting off on adventures. Isaiah had awoken that too.
“Do tell.”
“You and Cassidy come by the barn tomorrow to work on the interior stuff. I’m going to suggest we cut out early and go to the movies in Bastrop. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to hang out with Tristan, no strings. You can talk to him and I’ll be there to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
It sounded perfect. She and Isaiah could wrangle Tristan into a double date that he wouldn’t even label as such and move forward with this bet at the same time. Isaiah and Cassidy would have an opportunity to get closer too, a bonus he’d no doubt considered now that he was all clued in that she had a thing for him.
A little too perfect. Aria hated the whole idea.
What was wrong with Isaiah and Cassidy together? Nothing. And everything.
“The point was to get him to ask me out,” she reminded him and tried to make the squicky feeling in her stomach go away.
“I know. How is he going to do that without a chance to see you in a casual setting? Here and at the barn, you’re always working. This way, we’ll all be relaxed, and I’ll be there to ask leading questions so he can get to know you a little. If nothing else, it’s a chance to get out of town.” He eyed her suspiciously. “Why don’t you sound thrilled with this?”
Because…she didn’t know why. It sounded great, like an adventure. He’d been listening to her last night, well enough to have devised a plan he thought she’d like. It couldn’t have been an accident that he’d come up with this idea after hearing that she felt kind of stuck here.
That was part of the problem. She might want to get out of this place and see things, but she had responsibilities. Serenity needed her, for one, and so did Ruby. Aria didn’t get to jet off the moment things got rough, like her sisters had done. “I have to be here early tomorrow.”
“So we’ll go the next day. Unless you flat don’t want to. This is totally your call.”
Ugh, she was being silly. Which made no sense when she’d asked Isaiah for help. Here he was, delivering on his promise in a huge way. And in return, she could finagle a way for Cassidy and Isaiah to have some alone time, even though he’d brushed off her help, probably because he was nice enough to not care about reciprocation. She cared though. It was only fair that he get something for his trouble. There was no reason to feel weird about helping Cassidy get on the radar of a great guy, same as it wasn’t weird for Isaiah to help her with Tristan.
Instead of taking inspiration from the characters in books, this was her chance to be like Isaiah, to move forward instead waiting around for things to happen, like the inevitable round of people who mattered to her leaving again. “Okay. Thanks. It’s a good plan.”
“Great. Don’t forget to wear your prettiest dress,” Isaiah said, which got stuck in her craw sideways, probably because she was already out of sorts and a comment like that didn’t help.
“Why, because he can’t like me as is?” she shot back. “I’m not the dress up type.”
Isaiah held up his hands, as if to say I surrender. “Then wear an ugly dress. Or don’t wear a dress at all. You’re going to slay him no matter what you put on because you’re an amazing woman.”
“You’re just saying that,” she mumbled strictly because her brain had turned into oatmeal. That was the first time a man had called her amazing with so much sincerity. Tristan had said something like that once after she’d brought him a plate of fried chicken, but it had a lot more oomph coming from a man who didn’t treat flirting like an Olympic sport.
“I’m not,” he insisted. “You’re fearless, you have impeccable taste in music and your hair reminds me of a sunrise. What’s not to like?”
Geez. Heat climbed through her cheeks and she ducked her head, busying herself with wiping away invisible crumbs on the counter. What was she supposed to say to that? Thank you. She should say thank you.
The words got stuck in her throat. No one had ever said anything nice about her hair color, which was a washed out shade of red. Havana had gotten their mother’s bright red and Ember’s had come out this gorgeous strawberry gold that was a perfect mix of their mother’s and father’s colors.
Her hair reminded Isaiah of sunrise, when the sky was full of more subtle colors. That was a perfect, wonderful way to say it wasn’t splashy like her sisters’, but still nice.
“Sorry,” she croaked. “I don’t handle compliments well.”
�
�You don’t say. Don’t worry,” he told her with a smile. “I’m here for you. I’ll keep saying things like that so you can get used to it. Helps that it’s nothing but truth.”
Isaiah pushed away from the counter and strolled back to his friends with his hands stuck in his back pockets as if nothing monumental had happened. Which from his perspective, was true. She was the one still standing there like she’d been turned to stone.
While her body felt frozen in place, her brain seethed with stuff she couldn’t sort fast enough. She was such a dork around Isaiah, arguing with him about going to the movies and whether he’d inadvertently tried to push a makeover on her. That’s why he’d taken off so quickly. Why would he stick around? Why would anyone? She certainly hadn’t been enough to keep her sisters home and nothing had changed.
That’s why it was so important to prove she could accomplish something noteworthy like a date with Tristan. It was a message to herself about her own self-worth. And she couldn’t even do a simple thing like take a compliment from a man. She had a lot of work to do to earn this.
Eight
It took three days to actually organize the pseudo-date and by the time Isaiah got everyone on the right page, he was exhausted. Putting together a simple movie excursion had required battlefield precision.
Cassidy had oddly held out, refusing to accompany Aria to the barn where they were supposed to be helping Tristan and Isaiah do the renovations. Finally, Aria somehow figured out how to drag her there and after some awkward exchanges that ensured Isaiah had no future as a double agent, a spy or anyone who had to lie for a living, he’d gotten her to agree to go to the movies.
Only to get grief from Le Torch about it—the guy who had turned dating into an art form. After a lot of pleading, Isaiah wore down Marchande enough to wheedle a yes out of him with the stipulation that Isaiah had to pay.
He wished he’d saved his breath. The silence in the SUV as he drove toward Bastrop had icicles hanging from it.
Isaiah glanced at Marchande, who had taken the front passenger seat. His friend watched the passing terrain as if fascinated by the scrub oak and miles of rocky dirt. Usually Tristan was the chatty one, charming everyone with his natural affinity for people. Not so much today. Something was stuck in his craw, but Isaiah hadn’t been able to get whatever it was out of him.
Not a new problem. Marchande had become somewhat of a clam lately.
“It’s nice to take a break from the barn and get away, isn’t it?” Isaiah remarked and winced at what passed for cheer in his voice. It was a little false. Maybe no one would notice.
Tristan’s facial muscles barely twitched as he said, “Bien sûr, Elmer. Whatever you say.”
More silence from the backseat where he could see Cassidy in the rearview mirror, also staring out the opposite window, similarly mute. Aria perked up, bless her, and snatched Isaiah’s cue, probably because she’d gotten tired of the weird tension too.
“I was just telling Cassidy that we’ve been slacking on our duties toward the schoolhouse,” she said brightly in a voice that matched his in the fabricated spirit department. “Monday, we’ll be there bright and early to get some work done.”
“Maybe I’ll find another assignment then,” Tristan muttered under his breath.
“Why, because it’s actual work?” Cassidy piped up from nowhere. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Tristan stiffened, his fingers digging into the center console near Isaiah’s arm. “Because the barn’s only big enough for me or your attitude. Not both.”
What was Marchande’s problem with Cassidy? A year ago, Isaiah would have known every nuance of what was going through his friend’s mind. Of course, that had been a necessary part of being a cohesive strike unit. Without synchronization, they’d fail. And Isaiah had taken his role as the mediator, sounding board, and general gluer back together of the men he considered his family very seriously.
Right now, he had no clue how to dig into Tristan’s psyche and the lack of communication between them stretched out until Isaiah could almost taste the abject failure that laced everything he’d tried to do lately.
But he had a different job to do here. One that shouldn’t be as much of a challenge. And part of the reason he’d agreed to help Aria had to do with this feeling like the team had been divided, with Isaiah on one side of the yawning expanse and everyone else on the other. This was his chance to connect with Marchande outside of the team, one on one. Get things back on an even keel.
He’d sucked at it so far.
Granted, he’d only briefly tried once as they’d been working side by side at the barn. The backbreaking work hadn’t left a lot of room for chatter, not to mention that reaching out took energy that Isaiah didn’t have to spare. That, if anything, probably had more to do with his cluelessness when it came to the dynamics of the personalities in the car. Which meant he’d stepped into a minefield by organizing this outing and now he had to figure out how to dance.
“Did Tristan suddenly develop an allergy to hard work?” he asked lightly in the direction of the back seat. “I need to know if he’s going to start sneezing and reaching for the tissues in the middle of helping me secure the classroom dividers.”
“Ha, ha.” Tristan’s eye roll came through loud and clear without visual confirmation. “The only allergy I have is to women who make snap judgments without bothering to get facts. I’m good with everything else.”
“Snap judgments?” Cassidy’s voice bristled with sarcasm so thick that you could practically wrap it around you like a coat. “That implies that I might be wrong, and I really don’t think—”
Cassidy bit off the rest of her words so suddenly that Isaiah glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure she hadn’t leaped from the Yukon via the window or something. He watched in the mirror as Aria glared at her friend and jerked her head toward the front seat, mouthing something that was too hard to catch and drive at the same time, so Isaiah let her handle that half of the battle.
His half would have to wait until a more opportune time, like when the subject of Tristan’s animosity wasn’t four feet away. The second the coast was clear, he’d pull Marchande aside and get some answers about out what had crawled up his friend’s backside.
Because sorting out where to step in this minefield that he’d unwittingly thrown together sounded exactly like what he’d hoped to do on this group date. Wearily, he focused on driving. That was the extent of what he could handle right now.
Once he’d found the movie place with Aria’s excellent directions, he parked and they spilled from Hardy’s SUV. Marchande ate up the concrete with his long legged stride as he outpaced Isaiah and the women easily. About half way across the parking lot, he seemed to realize this wasn’t a one hundred meter dash and slowed down to wait for them. Then he carefully kept to Isaiah’s left side, presumably since Aria and Cassidy were on the right.
Isaiah sighed. There were women present and Marchande wasn’t even flirting with either of them, which was about as unlikely an event as the sun not rising in the morning. What was he supposed to do with that?
What he’d promised he would, of course. A bit desperate, he scrolled through his mental Aria file in search of something he could use to break the forty-foot wall of ice that had formed. “Hey Marchande, tell Aria about that last trip to Hawaii. That’s the place she most wants to visit.”
Tristan shot him the side-eye. “We spent fourteen hours in the water wearing seventy pounds of gear.”
Aria lifted a brow, clearly trying to figure out the punchline, which Marchande did not deliver.
Cretin. He wasn’t even trying to be charming and before today, Isaiah has assumed that was one part of Marchande’s DNA that would never fade. There was a running joke that he’d be chasing the nurses at the assisted living facility even after he hit ninety.
“But we went to the beach that one time,” Isaiah reminded him. “That was nice.”
“You were there. You tell he
r,” Marchande muttered with an eye roll.
“You’ve been to Hawaii?” Aria elbowed Isaiah good-naturedly. “You didn’t bother to mention that during the original conversation. What was it like?”
“It was a lot of work.” Now he sounded like as much of an idiot as Marchande, but she’d thrown him for a second with the light accusation, as if she’d really gotten twisted up over the fact that he’d held out on her. “We went for a training exercise at the base in Pearl Harbor a while back. It wasn’t a vacation.”
“Oh.”
She seemed disappointed, but that last thing he’d wanted to do was make it sound like he’d led some kind of glamorous life while trying to play up the sour puss on his left. “Tristan’s been a lot of places on vacation though. He likes to travel.”
“That sounds interesting,” Aria commented brightly, clearly recognizing her cue again, which gave Isaiah a brief spurt of warmth inside despite all the ice. “Where have you been?”
Tristan shrugged with a tiny glance in Aria’s direction. “Je ne sais pas. Lots of places. South of France. Brief stopover in Prague. It’s easy to get around Europe when Stuttgart is one of the main pass-throughs for SEALs.”
“That’s in Germany?” Aria asked.
“Ouais.”
And just as Isaiah started breathing a little easier, the conversation ground to a halt, as it generally did when Tristan switched to French—which he had done on purpose. Of course. Because leading four adults through the rigors of a normal conversation had suddenly turned into a feat of epic proportions. He gave up and slunk to the counter to get tickets for everyone. Thank goodness he’d picked the movies for this excursion, where they could sit in silence on purpose. Imagine if he’d planned something monstrously difficult for this ill-fated outing, like eating a meal.