Author's POV
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The soft rustle of papers still lingered in Suzanne's mind long after she had left Josh's house. The manila envelope containing the divorce papers had felt heavier than it should have, as if the weight of her marriage's ending was packed inside with the documents.
Tristan had been waiting for her outside, leaning casually against his car, his expression unreadable. His arms were crossed, the wind ruffling his dark hair, but his eyes—those steady, warm eyes—tracked her every step.
"Done?" he asked, his voice calm, steady.
Suzanne only nodded. Words felt strange right now—too small for the enormity of what she had just done.
"Good," he said quietly. "Come on."
She frowned faintly. "Where?"
"Away from here," he replied simply, opening the passenger side door for her.
She hesitated, then slid into the seat. The leather was warm from the sun, and the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh air rushing in through the open windows.
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They drove without speaking for a while, the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on asphalt filling the silence. Suzanne stared out the window, watching the world blur by—trees swaying, pedestrians strolling, life going on as if nothing had changed. But for her, everything had.
Tristan's voice broke the quiet. "You've been cooped up too long. Fresh air will do you good."
She turned to him. "I'm fine."
He glanced at her briefly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're lying."
Suzanne huffed, crossing her arms, but didn't deny it.
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The park was alive with soft laughter and the distant squeals of children chasing each other. The air smelled faintly of blooming flowers, and a golden hue from the lowering sun bathed everything in a warm glow. Tristan parked the car and they began walking along the paved path.
At first, their steps were slow, cautious—Suzanne still felt weak from her recent health scare—but Tristan matched her pace without complaint, his hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing sideways to check on her.
She didn't want to admit it, but just walking beside him eased some of the heaviness pressing on her chest.
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They rounded a corner where the path narrowed slightly, bordered by a low hedge on one side and a gentle slope of grass on the other. Tristan was telling her about a stray cat he'd seen near his building—a surprisingly animated story for a man who usually kept things concise—when her foot caught on a small crack in the pavement.
It happened fast—too fast for her to catch herself.
One moment she was upright, the next she was pitching forward with a startled gasp.
But Tristan was faster.
His arm shot out, wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him before she could fall. The world seemed to still for a heartbeat as she found herself pressed against his chest, her palms flat against the solid warmth of his torso.
Her breath caught.
So did his.
For a split second, neither of them moved. She could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear, smell the faint scent of cedar and something uniquely him.
"You okay?" His voice was low, close, the words brushing against her hair.
Suzanne pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. "I—yeah. Sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't be." His arm lingered around her a moment longer than necessary, as if making absolutely sure she was steady before letting go.
They continued walking, but something unspoken now hummed in the air between them, subtle yet impossible to ignore.
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Later, they stopped at a small café tucked between two old buildings. It had big windows, mismatched chairs, and the rich scent of coffee curling in the air. Tristan ordered for both of them—a latte for her, black coffee for himself—and they settled at a corner table near the window.
Suzanne was stirring the foam on her drink absentmindedly when a voice rang out from near the entrance.
"Tristan? Tristan Mariano?"
They both turned.
A tall woman in a fitted beige coat and glossy hair that shimmered under the café lights was making her way toward them. Her smile was bright, her stride confident—too confident.
"Olivia?" Tristan's brows lifted slightly in recognition.
"Wow," she laughed, stopping at their table. "It's been years! I almost didn't believe it was you." Her gaze flicked briefly toward Suzanne, but the smile she offered her was polite at best—thin, assessing.
Tristan stood to greet her, but he didn't step away from the table. In fact, he angled himself just slightly so Suzanne remained within his peripheral vision.
Olivia's smile didn't falter, but there was something calculating in her eyes. "Oh? And you are…?"
"This is Suzanne," he said, gesturing toward her. His voice was casual, but there was a certain firmness to it, as if making sure Olivia registered the name.
Suzanne hesitated. Friends? Brother's ex-wife? The words tangled somewhere in her throat.
Tristan's hand rested lightly against the back of her chair—a subtle but grounding gesture. "She's… someone important."
Suzanne blinked at him, startled by the phrasing. Olivia, however, arched a brow, her lips pressing together for a fraction of a second before the smile returned.
"Well," Olivia said smoothly, "we should catch up sometime, Tristan. I'll let you… enjoy your coffee."
With one last glance—lingering longer on Tristan than on Suzanne—she walked away.
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Suzanne stared at her cup, unsure what to make of the encounter. She wasn't sure why her chest felt oddly tight, or why Tristan's words kept replaying in her mind.
Tristan didn't comment on it. He simply sat back down, took a sip of his coffee, and—without looking at her—said, "She likes to assume things. Don't let it bother you."
Suzanne glanced at him, catching the faintest flicker of something in his eyes before he looked away.
The rest of their outing passed in quiet conversation, the earlier awkwardness gradually replaced by the easy rhythm they'd been building.
But even as they left the café and walked back to the car, Suzanne couldn't quite shake the memory of how firmly, almost protectively, Tristan had kept her in his orbit when Olivia appeared.
And Tristan?
He couldn't shake the memory of how perfectly Suzanne had fit against him when she'd almost fallen.
[End of Chapter 9]
To be continued...