A Lot Like Perfect

by Kat Cantrell

  Yeah, he was a saint, wasn’t he?

  He spun her slowly, giving her time to acclimate to the new direction. She did so flawlessly, catching on to the rhythm much faster than he’d have expected. The waning light provided just enough illumination to see each other but not much more than that. It was kind of a blessing, taking some of the tension out of their nearness for some reason, like a twilight filter that muted any weirdness.

  The song swelled around them as he caught her back up in his arms, holding her a little closer than was expressly necessary, but in his defense, she’d never danced before. She might trip and fall. That wouldn’t do.

  “Her voice is so beautiful,” she said wistfully. “I wish I could sing. I’m tone deaf.”

  “Ironic much?” he teased. “With a name like Aria, you should be belting it out.”

  “Yeah, well. The fact that I can’t is one of Ember’s favorite jokes.” She seemed to be a good sport about it though. “Besides, that would be like me questioning why you can’t spout prophecy.”

  “Point taken.” He was definitely not in the same category as his biblical namesake, and prophecy wasn’t his favorite subject right now. “We’ll pretend our names have nothing to do with who we are and move on.”

  She went quiet for a moment and he imagined she was concentrating on the moves, but then she said, “Why ‘If the Stars Were Mine’? For the theme song, I mean. Why not ‘I Put A Spell On You’? That might play to the quirkiness of the community that Caleb hopes to capitalize on.”

  “Perfect.” Why hadn’t he thought of that? Easy answer—because he was still not on his game yet. But she’d filled in his gaps and he didn’t mind that at all. “Where do you stand on the otherworldly aspects of this place?”

  “What, you mean in relation to Havana and Caleb’s plan to tease out the supernatural part of the town?” She shrugged, and he felt the movement under his fingers. “I think it’s brilliant. The residents love their oddities and that’ll motivate them to make it work.”

  As she was one of the longtime residents, he couldn’t help but ask. “What’s your oddity?”

  “The fact that I don’t do feminine things isn’t enough of a clue?” she said with a wry laugh. “Havana’s always after me to do something with my hair or clothes, but that’s just not me.”

  “What? You do feminine as well as anyone.” Case in point, the moon had peeked over the horizon in the opposite direction of the sun, lighting up her hair with an ethereal fire that caught in his throat.

  She smiled. “How do you always know what to say?”

  Because it was easy when it was the truth. Mostly. The truth he’d like to be speaking he shied away from, though.

  “I almost never know what to say,” he mumbled and even that was a lie. A lot of times he knew what he should say, but didn’t. For example, he should be talking about the plan to draw tourists to Superstition Springs. He should not, under any circumstances, tell Aria how beautiful she was.

  “Is that why you wanted help on working through ideas for Caleb?”

  No, that had been because he suffered from a lack of confidence, a severe case of the waffles, plus myriad other issues. But this was one of the times when he didn’t want to think about the consequences of his brokenness. “I told you. I thought we’d be a good team. Why do something by yourself when you can do it with someone else?”

  She nodded. “That’s true. I’ve never thought about it like that.”

  “That’s because you’ve never been a part of a cohesive unit like I have,” he said automatically. Except he wasn’t anymore and that was a hook through the gut he could have avoided if he hadn’t been distracted by Aria.

  “Yeah.” Her voice grew wistful again and her thumb moved against his shirt in a little circle that heated instantly. “It’s hard to come by here. But it sounds wonderful. What was the best part about it?”

  “Having a niche,” he said. “A place that was mine.”

  Which wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all, not to her. It was too personal. Revealed too much.

  But it was pure truth. The camaraderie, the guys having his back, working as a highly trained team—that was all great. But he’d liked knowing there was a unique spot that only he could fill. His job had been to keep the team unified and he’d lost his way.

  “I can see why you’d like that.”

  He swallowed. “It was hard to lose. Really hard. I’m still not sure where my place is now.”

  A part of him felt as if the announcement should have come out with a little more fanfare. A drumroll. Something to mark the occasion of owning the damage that Syria had done to him way down deep inside, where he couldn’t touch it. There was nowhere to hide and no way to paint that picture with any less bleak colors.

  Aria just nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry. But that’s what’s great about the fact that you’ve come here. You can find a new niche.”

  Which sounded remarkably like what he suspected Hardy had been trying to help him realize. The problem was that Isaiah could see that very clearly. What he couldn’t see was how to reverse the fact that leaving was what he knew best. What he deserved. There were too many dominoes stacked up, ready to usher him across the town lines as he left for the last time.

  “Maybe,” he said noncommittally.

  The song ended and they both stopped moving at the same time. He should step away. She should step away. There was entirely too much unsaid swirling beneath the surface of what should have been a simple dance lesson. But neither of them moved and the longer they didn’t, the tighter the tension bound them together.

  “This was nice, thank you,” she said, her voice low as she peered up at him through her lashes.

  “You say that like it was some horrible favor I had to endure,” he countered gruffly, and tightened his arms at her waist, completely determined not to let her go. “I like dancing with you.”

  “Then that’s the best kind of favor, when you don’t mind it.” She leaned in without warning and brushed his cheek with her lips in what she might have considered a thank-you kiss or some nonsense.

  Before she could draw back, he caught her jaw with his thumb, threading his fingers through her hair to hold her in place mere inches away. She stared at him. His flesh burned where she’d brushed it. It would take no effort at all to lean into the gap and connect in a real kiss.

  He shouldn’t. But in that moment, he couldn’t remember why. This was every bit the spiritual connection Serenity had predicted, the one he’d tried to avoid, tried to ignore. Tried to pretend it was someone else he’d had to watch out for, when it had been Aria all along. Now that he had it, he didn’t want to deny himself a single second.

  But before he could instruct his muscles to move, she broke away, stumbling backward to put a huge gap between them. She stuttered out some words and then fled, leaving Isaiah on the roof alone.

  Twelve

  In the morning, Aria blearily rolled from bed. Guess this would be one of those days where she tested how well a person could function on three hours of fitful sleep.

  When she’d summoned up the will to walk away from what would have been her second kiss ever—and the first one didn’t count because she’d been nine and had finally caught the slowest of the Moon boys—she’d thought that would be the hardest thing she’d do in her life. Turned out that lying awake wondering what it would have been like to kiss Isaiah had been much more difficult.

  Especially when her thoughts drifted past kissing to some other activities that might happen on a secluded rooftop that no one knew existed. Things she’d never done before but could certainly picture. Sort of. Which meant she’d had to spend a lot of time thinking about how it would all work between them. All that imagining had made her hot and sensitive in places that had no business being sensitive over that particular man. Tristan? Fine. Zak Efron? Sure.

  Not Isaiah. There were so many reasons she had to nip this craziness in the bud that she couldn’t even see over the pile,
not the least of which was the fact that Cassidy was her friend. Who had called first dibs on Isaiah a long time ago. She had been ignoring him at the movies like he’d thought, which meant Aria needed to have a really long talk with Cassidy about how you let a man know you were interested in him.

  And then she would have that talk with herself. Twice. She needed to move the dial with Tristan if for no other reason than to give her a good excuse to never be alone with Isaiah again. The huge black sadness that crowded into her heart at the thought would fade. In time. And hey, it hurt a lot less than putting all your faith in someone who had one foot out of the door.

  Everyone did. That was the whole reason Caleb and Havana were working sixteen hours a day to get the town renovated into a new-age mecca for people who were looking for the next quirky destination after Austin. If the town had good things that people wanted to stay for, they would. Aria wasn’t one of them. History didn’t lie.

  That was why she’d become so determined to chase Tristan. It might sting a little if he rejected her but she’d go on like always. No harm, no foul. The fact that she didn’t want Tristan didn’t matter overly much. It was what he represented that she needed, not the least of which was a shield against Isaiah, but also to prove something to herself.

  As she pulled a brush through her hair, she frowned at her reflection. If that was true, then there was no time like the present. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Imagine how her sisters would admire her for landing a man like that. Maybe they’d rethink their opinions about their little sister then, huh?

  Resolute all at once and very determined not to think about how desperately she needed to be unavailable like yesterday, she threw on a sundress that wasn’t her prettiest because she still had principles, and tore out of her apartment to clatter downstairs to the second floor where Tristan stayed.

  And Isaiah. But she carefully kept her eyes from straying toward the door at the end of the hall. At Tristan’s door, she knocked softly. Her pulse was pounding in her throat loud enough that he’d hear that before the door. Be bold. The heroines in her books didn’t balk in the face of challenges.

  A gap appeared and then the man did, tall and beautiful and…she blinked. “Your hair is down.”

  Tristan grinned and winked, running his long, slender fingers through the blond mass that fell to his shoulders. “Now you see why I keep it up. Unruly mess, this is. My hair band broke and I was just looking for another one, but I’m afraid I might be out. You don’t have a spare, do you?”

  “I, um…do.” Dear heaven. Was she having a conversation with a man about borrowing and lending ponytail holders? “Can I get it for you in a minute?”

  “Sure?” Confusion wrinkled his brows as he eyed her and it made his face look even weirder than his long hair did. “Is there something wrong with now?”

  “I came to talk to you. I was hoping to, you know. Do that.”

  “Here’s an idea.” He winked and smiled, his signature move. Which he’d already done once. “Why don’t we walk upstairs and you talk while we’re walking.”

  Oh, well sure. That made too much sense. He’d thrown her off by mentioning ponytail holders and coupled with him being less perfectly groomed than normal, she was just…not thinking. Tristan wasn’t ugly with his hair out of its typical topknot by any stretch, but his usual look gave him a debonair flair with a hint of the exotic. All that hair around his face made him seem less angelic somehow, as if he’d gained mortality strictly by virtue of a broken rubber band. What kind of shallow was she?

  Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back. “We can walk and talk. No problem.”

  And then she turned herself into a liar by stumbling over an invisible imperfection in the plank flooring that caught her toe somehow. Instantly, Tristan’s hands shot out to catch her before she hit the ground, holding her steady with his unmatched grace.

  His palms covered her bare shoulders. She glanced up to see genuine concern etched into his fine features.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine.” Her voice should be squeakier or something, shouldn’t it? Tristan Marchande was practically holding her in his arms, his lithe body a mere inches from hers. And all she could think about was how his touch did nothing to her insides.

  Not like what had happened while dancing with Isaiah last night. Not like the slick, needy heat that had arced through her when he’d cupped her jaw. She’d died a dozen deaths in those scant precious moments between realizing he was going to kiss her and realizing she had to prevent that from happening.

  It had taken a really cold shower to get her functional again after that. And then she’d put herself right back in that floaty netherworld about half a second after climbing into bed.

  “Really? You don’t seem okay.”

  Talking. Someone was talking. Who wasn’t Isaiah. With a fierce headshake, she focused on Tristan, the man she should currently be swooning over.

  “I was just…thinking about something else,” she muttered and glanced away, but the telltale burn in her cheeks had probably tipped him off that there was more to it than that.

  He didn’t press her on it though and let his hands drop from her arms. “Okay, then. Let’s try again, shall we?”

  She ducked past him, successfully this time, and led him to the stairs leading to the third floor. Half way to the landing, she groaned. Havana and Ember had been arguing about something in the kitchen when she’d breezed past a few minutes ago on her way to Tristan’s and she’d have to parade him past her sisters while flirting him up. Or whatever it was she planned to do. Which was basically the problem—she had no plan.

  Skidding to a halt, she wheeled on one foot to face the man following her up the stairs, barely avoiding being clocked with his forehead when he didn’t stop in time.

  “Whoa,” he said with a laugh. “Didn’t know we were switching directions on a dime.”

  Since she stood two steps up, they were almost the same height for once. Weird. He wasn’t so attractive as a short man.

  What was wrong with her? The man was gorgeous, all the best parts of Chris Hemsworth and Thor mixed together and brought to life in her little corner of the world.

  “I just remembered that I wanted to say something before we do the hair thing,” she told him with a decisive nod. Yes, that was how she needed to play this. Take charge and let him see who she really was. “I like you.”

  To his credit, his expression didn’t change as he registered that. “I like you too. Glad to have that established.”

  “No.” Flustered, she waved a hand in the air for emphasis. But she’d have to say the words instead of drawing air pictures that didn’t tell him anything. “I mean that in the broader sense. The dating kind.”

  Oh, man. It was out there now. Kind of. Hopefully he’d pick up the reins and she’d be saved from having to elaborate any further.

  “Okay. Wow.” Tristan ran a hand over his head, a habit she’d noted he did frequently when he was trying to think of what to say. Which didn’t bode well for the next sentence out of his mouth. “I did not see that coming.”

  Really? There was a part of her that had become convinced he already knew about her crush on him and upon her confession, he’d smile gently and say something witty or wonderful. But then again, he specialized in stock lines that he pulled up at random intervals from his storehouse. Probably he didn’t realize she’d noticed that he repeated himself a lot when he was being charming, which she’d never considered a detraction to his attractiveness. Until now.

  But she had to see this through. There was a bet to consider here. Plus she had some things to prove to herself and to her sisters. Most of all, she had to get a barrier in place between her and heartbreak and Tristan Marchande was it. “So, yeah. I was thinking it was time to lay it out and see if—well, you know. What you thought about that. Is there any chance you might want to get coffee sometime? That kind of thing.”

  “Are you asking me on a date?” Tri
stan’s clear blue eyes bored into hers as he laid it out in kind.

  “Yes.” There was the squeaky voice she’d expected from the beginning, which might not have been so bad if she hadn’t also tacked on a lift at the end that made it sound like a question.

  Dust motes spun through the suddenly still air as she waited for him to drop the hammer. Which was a ridiculous metaphor but she’d likened him to Thor already in her head, and it was too late to avoid picturing him with a raised fist, giant mallet-style hammer clutched in his hand.

  “Aria.” No affirmative sentences started with that tone. It was the precursor to being told something she didn’t want to hear. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re not really right for each other.”

  Definitely not what she wanted to hear. And shortsighted on top of that. She bristled, totally unconcerned if it was visible or not. “Why, because you’re beautiful and I’m not?”

  Boy, talk about laying it all out there. But she wasn’t backing down now. He’d offended her principles in the same breath as rejecting her and she wasn’t standing for it.

  Tristan had the audacity to chuckle, but tempered it with a quick shake of his head.

  “That’s not it and you know it’s not.” Both of his hands flew up, palms out, as if to ward her off. He must have guessed—correctly—that she was about to flay him alive for daring to tell her what her own mind was. “Relax, Aria. We’re all friends here. Give me a second to sort this out before you go warrior queen on me again.”

  Slightly mollified, strictly because he’d never called her warrior queen before, she crossed her arms and waited for him to dazzle her.

  “First of all, you’re spirited which is better than being beautiful all day long.” He ticked off that point on his index finger. “But you’re also pretty in an unconventional way, which has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not we can get coffee.”

  “What does then?” she demanded. A part of her should be mortified over this show of temper but all bets were off at this point. Probably literally too. There was no way he was asking her out on a date unless he did a complete 360 in about four seconds.