Blackout (Solange)

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Rain was still pounding against the window and occasionally lightening would brighten the room. The storm still raged but Solange had long since ceased to care about any of that. Tristan closed the distance between them and the couch, setting her on the edge as he came to kneel in front of her. It was actually a much easier position as he no longer towered over her. She smiled and leaned forward, burying her face in his hair as he pressed kisses to her hands, giving them a brief moment to catch their breath. Still there was a sensation almost like relief as he kissed her again.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she gave a soft moan. She held tight to him, teasing his bottom lip just slightly with her teeth. Slowly she let her lips wander a little, moving down over his jaw and over his neck, enjoying the slightly salty taste of his skin. Her fingers slid down to curl into fists around the fabric of his shirt, pressing him even closer. She met his lips again in a heated kiss.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange nibbled Tristan’s lip slightly; the white-hot sensation burst in his brain brighter and bolder than any lightning strike outside. She’d moaned moments ago; now Tristan was the one making soft, low sounds. But when he swirled his lips against Solange’s, she moved to his jawline, to his neck, in a way that sent Tristan’s head lolling back a bit, made his hands wander while his lips couldn’t : against Solange’s legs, desperate to explore the soft fabric of her dress and even softer skin underneath…

Her lips found his again. They crashed together and grasped one another tightly. Solange’s hands twisted the fabric of Tristan’s shirt. They were so tightly pressed to one another, moving so forcefully that one of Tristan’s hands had to grip the back of the couch for support as he rocked forward instinctively. He couldn’t be sure whose surging pulse was whose anymore; he was just certain that Solange fit against him perfectly. This was a much better way to spend an evening than in some straight-laced restaurant. She tasted more exquisite than anything on any menu anywhere. He savored her lower lip for a moment, tugging slightly, and then trailed her neck, her collarbones, every glorious inch he could find, occasionally discovering sensitive, little moles and minutiae he could feel, but not see. He wished he could.

An artist – a visual artist – by nature, Tristan felt utterly blind in the power-outage. But there was something about relying on only the hitches in Solange’s breathing, the sighs and moans, that was rousing; exciting. And there was something about not knowing just what she would do next that made Tristan’s insides feel prickly with glee. He returned to kiss Solange’s lips, where his felt most at home.

[Event]

There has been a momentary lull in the storm as one storm rolls out before a second wave of rain, thunder, and lightning. During the lull, Solange's cat, Lilly, has ventured out from her hiding spot under the bed and is exploring the kitchen. She sniffs one of candles and the first thunderclap of the new storm surge rumbles in the distance. The noise startles Lilly and she leaps off the counter... Knocking the candles and their glass holders to the floor.

CRASH!

Shattered glass scatters across the kitchen and living room floor. The flames are snuffed out in the fall. Fortunately that means nothing caught fire. Unfortunately, that also means Solange and Tristan are plunged into complete darkness.

Watch your step, guys! There's broken glass and a cat loose somewhere in the dark. You wouldn't want to step on either...

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

This wasn't them usually. They weren't usually the type to not be able to keep their hands off each other like this. It was dizzying and exhilarating all at once. Her breath caught in her throat as he teased her lip before slowly moving down her neck. She shivered with delight at the heated sensation the coursed through her, her pulse beginning to race. She allowed her hands to thread themselves in his hair and another soft moan passed her lips. It was cut off when his lips returned to hers. She kissed him back just as fiercely, enjoying the passion between them.

CRASH

Startled, the kiss broke rather abruptly as her head darted towards the kitchen where the noise had occurred. It took a moment to realize that instead of the soft glow of the candles there was just total darkness. She heard a pitiful sounding wail that she had come to associate with Lilly coming from the same area. Somehow Lilly must have knocked the candles over as the acrid smell of smoke was now wafting towards them.

Her arms were still around Tristan and she rested her forehead to his shoulder, giving a exasperated sigh. "Lilly..." she muttered with frustration. "There has to be such a huge mess over there now and I can't see a thing to be able to clean it up." She gave a jump, startled again when something warm and furry brushed against her leg. "Sorry...she brushed my leg..." she explained, scooping down to grab the cat.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

The crash in the kitchen startled Tristan. It must have startled Solange, too, because suddenly they weren’t kissing. Something between a sigh and a groan strangled Tristan as he looked up. Sight was useless; it was now totally dark in the apartment. There was a ghostly wail – more banshee than cat – and if Tristan hadn’t heard it before, he wouldn’t have known it was Lilly.

The air now smelled like a birthday party, like melted wax and smoke. Solange rested her head on Tristan’s shoulder. He sank back onto his knees.

"Lilly..." Solange grumbled. "There has to be such a huge mess over there now and I can't see a thing to be able to clean it up."

“We’ll worry about it when the power comes back,” Tristan said. Or when the sun came up. Whatever came first. Before Solange could agree or disagree, she jumped.

"Sorry...” Solange said, ducking out of Tristan’s arms to pick up the cat. “She brushed my leg..."

Tristan thought he couldn’t hate Lilly more than the day she terrorized the embalming room and destroyed hundreds of dollars’ worth of embalming product. But now that cat had Solange’s attention. Tristan couldn’t believe it: he was jealous of a cat. He clenched his jaw. He and Solange didn’t often get overly passionate. Tristan didn’t know why that was, other than some misplaced attempt to take things slowly. It was one thing to be respectful; it was another to act like a totally pulseless puritan. Right now, Tristan was kicking himself for mixing up the two. Solange had been driving him wild a moment ago. She still was and she wasn’t doing anything to him intentionally.

Tristan let out a slow breath through his nose. If Solange wasn’t still holding Lilly, they would have just picked up where they left off, worry about the broken glass later.

God, he hated that cat.

Tristan wrapped an arm around Solange’s waist and nuzzled against the crook of her neck. He pulled her hair to the side with his other hand and then planted a kiss to her shoulder.

“Solange…” he murmured. “Does the cat have to come on our date?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

As frustrated as she was with Lilly right now, Solange didn't need her knocking anything else over or hurting herself on the broken glass still in the kitchen. She set her cat in her lap, half wishing the thing could understand French so she could scold it properly for interrupting her time with her boyfriend. She would have given Tristan an apologetic look she doubted he would see it in the complete darkness of her apartment.

She sighed softly when she felt his arm wrap around her waist, giving a smile when she felt him nuzzle the crook of her neck. Her eyes were already sliding closed, the desire from a few moments before still burning bright. She swallowed hard when his fingers brushed her neck, pulling her hair to the side. She felt a kiss on her shoulder.

“Solange…” Tristan murmured. “Does the cat have to come on our date?”

An involuntary smile pulled up the corners of her lips as she gave a breathy little laugh. "I suppose not..." she agreed, moving to gently place Lilly back on the ground before turning to place kisses over his jaw till she finally reached his lips again, wrapping her arms around him once more. She teased his bottom lip gently before letting her tongue brush over it lightly to sooth the sting. Lilly would be fine for a little longer.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

He almost didn’t expect Solange to put the cat down. In fact, he half expected Solange to pull away from him and say that Lilly was scared or that they really had to clean up the kitchen. But hope floated in his chest and Tristan’s impatience was rewarded by a soft laugh from Solange as she set Lilly back onto the floor. When Solange pivoted back into Tristan’s arms, he moved towards her mouth – what he thought was her mouth – and ended up placing a kiss just below her ear. He nipped playfully at her earlobe and then kissed her again. In the dark, he hadn’t known just where he was kissing her; a happy accident. Solange, meanwhile, pressed kisses to his jawline. Kisses that made Tristan’s eyes fall to a hungry, half-lidded place until he and Solange found each other’s lips again. Solange’s teeth scraped Tristan’s lower lip, just a little, before she swept her tongue over the stinging place. He responded by deepening the kiss. A low, primal sound welled up in the back of his throat as he breathed Solange in.

Thoughts no longer came to him in words. Instead, behind closed eyes Tristan could only see bursts of color and light. It wasn’t the lightning, though. Lightning didn’t come in searing reds and scorching oranges. His hands again ached to wander and they traveled the length of Solange’s thighs. She radiated heat. Her legs were smooth and each place Tristan touched made his fingertips burn. The candles’ flames were out, but the only fire Tristan had any interest in anymore was Solange.

In the dizzying rush of kisses that followed, Tristan trailed from Solange's lips to her jaw, to her throat. There was a mad, urgent scratching at the base of Tristan's skull, begging him to go further, just a little more, but he was too busy drinking Solange in to swim off into uncharted waters. He wanted - needed - to learn what made her tick. To memorize every detail his hands and lips and fingers traced over. He wanted to feel every breath she drew and every vibrating moan she made. These kisses were teasingly tender in places; hard and hungry in others. No inch of exposed skin was to be left unexplored, untouched, unloved.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

The heated moan that escaped her lips as he teased her earlobe surprised even her. She hadn't felt this kind of fire and passion in a very long time. All of Tristan's touches and kisses and caresses were doing an excellent job of awakening that inside of her. He kissed her hungrily and she clung to him tightly. His fingers caressed her thigh and she gave a hitching gasp and shivered. His lips pressed to her throat and her tangled her fingers in his hair again, pressing his lips more firmly to her skin. Her sense of touch felt heightened in the dark and combined with the pleasure of his caress, it drove her completely crazy.

She slid a foot out of her high heel, letting her leg come to wrap around his waist, drawing him closer. It felt like she wasn't able to hold him tight enough no matter how close they were. Her hand dipped beneath the collar of his shirt, letting her fingers explore the deliciously warm skin under it as they traveled down his back. Her lungs burned for air and reluctantly she pulled away, unable to go very far. Her forehead rested against his as they took a moment to catch their breath. Slowly she brought a hand up to his face, gently tracing his features in the dark. She found the curve of his nose and the lines of his jaw and finally her fingers brushed over the softness of his lips before replacing her fingers with her own lips.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

One of Solange’s long legs wound around Tristan’s waist and she reeled him in until their bodies were pressed as close as close could get. Tristan’s breath hitched excitedly. If they kept riding this passion surge for the rest of the night –

Solange’s hands trailed Tristan’s back. He wanted her to scratch, to caress, to cling, to do whatever she wanted to him. Every cell in his body was humming for her, aching and craving. Except a niggling, self-conscious little voice that cropped up when between crashing breaths and breathless moans that said: You should have planned this better.

And then Solange would kiss him again, make him practically growl with pleasure or else he would kiss her and she would mewl just a bit and the voice was silenced; drowned out by more important things.

They broke apart, breathing ragged. Solange was still twined around Tristan, he still held her in his arms. Their foreheads touched in the dark – a gentle bump that would have hurt if they’d been moving any faster. Solange’s skin was dewy against Tristan’s. He hadn’t noticed until they held still.

Her fingertips came up to trace his face. Tristan laughed involuntarily – a throaty rumble that surprised him. Solange had been touching him all night, but the merest trace of her fingertips proved that his skin wasn’t desensitized to her touch. He couldn’t imagine a day when it would be.

Tristan opened his eyes, hoping to see her in the lightning flashes and scant starlight. She may have been content to study the braille of his jawline, but Tristan was always a visual learner. The flashes of lightning provided only snapshots. Solange’s dark hair – usually so carefully coiffed – was now a nest of tangles. The roots looked a little darker than usual: sweat-dampened. Her pale skin, in contrast, glistened a little brighter and flushed a little more. Her closed eyes, her half-parted lips, her wandering fingers painted a perfect portrait of sensuality. Or would have, if the lightning would illuminate her for just a second longer. But the storm was a dull roar outside; the lightning sparing. Tristan smiled it the dark as Solange’s finger found the bridge of his nose. And then she melted against him for another kiss. Tristan took Solange’s hands into his own.

If they had done this a thousand times before, if they knew the maps of each other’s bodies better, then maybe there wouldn’t be that nagging voice at the back of Tristan’s mind. There were two of them now. One pined for Solange, even though she was right here. It begged for more, urged Tristan to try his luck with Solange tonight here and now. He would happily do anything to her, for her, if she said the word.

The other, pseudo-sensible, told him that tonight wasn’t the night for anything new, anything different since neither of them were even coordinated enough to navigate the living room without tripping over the ottoman. A stumble to the bedroom would have ended in disaster, or at the very least, it would have drained all the fun out of what they were doing; turned kissing and touching and even lovemaking into an act of acrobatics as they tripped over furniture and the cat. That wasn’t romantic at all. It would be smarter to wait. Let a few more weeks, months even, pass to make sure everything was absolutely perfect. Or as close to “perfect” as they could manage.

There was also rejection to consider. She might kick him out of the apartment or dump him if he floored the accelerator on their relationship. He didn’t want to disappoint her, to pressure her, to lose her. That thought seemed unwarranted since was kissing him enthusiastically, but it was a powerful enough thought for Tristan to stop kissing her. He pulled away and swallowed hard.

They shouldn’t have taken that breather. It had given him too much time to think.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I bit my tongue.”

He gave Solange’s hands a reassuring squeeze and moved in to kiss her again.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

A part of her realized that they were moving a little fast here. The storm outside, the surprisingly pleasant darkness, the heat of his skin all created a very romantic atmosphere. Every part of her ached to hold him closer, kiss him deeper. But she knew that they would both regret it if they rushed into this. They'd only been dating a few months and they had been the happiest months she could remember in a very long time. This relationship meant the world to her and she didn't want to see it ruined by one careless moment when they got carried away.

But it was hard to think rationally when he was kissing her like this. It made her feel like nothing else could possibly matter except her and Tristan. All that mattered was he was holding her in his arms and kissing her and she wasn't quite sure she wanted this moment to end.

But Tristan suddenly pulled away. She gazed into the dark surroundings in front of her, trying in vain to read his expression. "Babe...are you okay," she asked a bit breathlessly.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I bit my tongue.”

He gave her hands a squeeze and the taste of his lips drew her in again. But she knew that they had needed that brief respite to be able to look at this situation with a more level head. The kiss was no longer searing, but a quiet, gentle smolder. The kind that didn't burn you but kept you warm.

She gave a tug on his hand, pulling him towards the couch. She lay across it and coaxed him to come and join her. Once he lay lay there with her she happily curled up against his chest, burying her face in the crook of his neck, taking in that rain scent once again. Her arms draped around his waist.

"Mmmmm...best date ever," she said softly with a smile, placing one more gentle kiss to his neck.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan was either a total coward or an absolute moron. He could imagine now, Torben asking how things were with Solange and him for once being flustered by the question. Tristan and Solange’s kisses were now tender, tamer, sweeter. A little surreal in comparison to the mad, raw passion from only moments ago. Tristan couldn’t recall the last time he’d been that passionate about anyone. If he’d ever been that passionate about anyone. And now they were probably going to pretend all was normal. But he wasn’t able to shake the feelings Solange stirred up in him.

Tristan kicked himself mentally. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about, never imagined what making love to Solange would be like. He’d always supposed – not always, but for as long as that thought had wormed into his brain – that it would be beautiful, satisfying. A man could fantasize, dream about his girlfriend. But now “beautiful” and “satisfying” seemed inadequate words even for what they had done – the crazy-passionate kisses, the blind caresses in the dark. They’d almost always been emotionally intimate; this was another level of intimacy altogether. And it had just been a kiss – several kisses.

If kissing Solange, exploring her was beyond beautiful, beyond satisfying, Tristan’s imagination couldn’t process what making love to her would be like. And he’d always prided himself on his imagination. She left him feeling shaky and hot right now. And curious. Something in his chest bloomed; there was no other verb for it. He could feel layers upon layers unfolding and he didn’t know what it meant or what it even was. What if it turned him completely inside-out someday?

The unknown tempted and terrified him.

When the soft, gentle kiss ended, Tristan bit his own tongue for real, hoping that the self-inflicted pain would distract him. It did for a moment, until Solange lay down on the couch and tugged him into positioning beside her. Again, a whole different type of intimacy. They lay together on the couch, nestled in one another’s arms. Strangely, this was as important – more important – a fantasy than the idea of lovemaking. Tonight, the power-lines were dead. Tristan could hold Solange in his arms all night long. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that with anyone. He was perpetually at Death’s beck-and-call. Not tonight. Tonight, his phone wouldn’t even try to ring. Tonight, he was absolutely and totally Solange’s. No distractions of any sort. No one buzzing into their world.

They had all night. As tempting and terrifying a prospect as lovemaking. Well, almost. Either way, he couldn’t fake bite his tongue to get out of this. He didn’t want to.

You shouldn’t have done it in the first place.

Solange burrowed her face in the crook of Tristan’s neck. He smiled and sighed. It was what it was. And he had no complaints about holding Solange in his arms. He didn’t think there would be another opportunity like this for a very long time. Suddenly Tristan longed for the present moment. Longed for it to stretch out indefinitely. He wrapped his arms around her and she wrapped hers around him.

"Mmmmm...best date ever," Solange whispered. She kissed his neck gently; Tristan didn’t bother to stifle the low hum that issued from somewhere in his core.

“I’ll remember that next time,” he murmured. “But it might be a felony to purposely take out power lines.”

He smiled a little, crooked smile that he wasn’t sure Solange could see before kissing her forehead. Once – the first time she’d seen his apartment, actually – Solange teased him that after only two months she had enough power over him to make him move across town if she disapproved. She had no idea that that was Tristan’s reality. And until now, Tristan hadn’t realized it, either.

No wonder he was scared and excited out of his wits.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange had never had a moment like this in her past relationships. None of her past boyfriends had been the type to simply spend the evening just kissing and holding one another. All of the goth guys she'd dated would have said that it was lame and Caleb would have gone home at the first sign they weren't going out after all. And truthfully she wasn't sure she would have wanted a moment like this with any of them. She felt far more connected with Tristan than any of them. He meant more to her. And right now there was no place she would rather be than laying right there in his arms. She teased that this was the best date ever but it wasn't far from the truth.

“I’ll remember that next time,” he told her.“But it might be a felony to purposely take out power lines.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes but her smile turned more genuine when she felt him place a soft kiss to her forehead. She gave a small, contented sigh, enjoying the moment. Now that the lightening and thunder was coming at longer stretches, it was really rather peaceful there in the dark. She lay there just listening to his heart beat, smiling softly at the steady rhythm.

Her earlier thoughts came back to her and distractedly she ran a finger over the side of his neck. "Have you ever done this before? Just lay together with someone?" she asked in a soft, curious voice.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange laughed. Tristan had always had a soft-spot for her laugh, even before they’d been dating. Before they were friends, even. It had once been impossible to coax a laugh out of her. Rarer, even, than a smile. Thank God those days were over. Solange had a beautiful laugh.

It was quieter in the apartment. There were longer intervals between rumbles of thunder. The stillness was comfortable. Tristan shut his eyes. When Solange traced his neck with her fingers, Tristan’s pulse fluttered and his contented smile grew.

"Have you ever done this before?” Solange asked. “Just lay together with someone?"

His smile faded. Tristan was grateful for the dark as he racked his brain for the right words. He didn’t like thinking about past relationships much. He didn’t like thinking about past anything all that much, actually. Tristan did his best to live in the present moment; to inhabit the here-and-now. But Solange’s question stirred memories he didn’t often revisit.

His first girlfriend had been one of the most physical people Tristan had ever met in his entire life. But she hadn’t been one for cuddling. Lillian Gould was an aspiring makeup artist and whenever she crashed at Tristan’s Brooklyn apartment, she was there for one of three things: a safe-haven from her psychotic roommate, angry sex, or to test latex and cosmetics out on someone who wouldn’t protest. Usually, it was a combination of the three. She never stayed for long – maybe four hours, six if there was makeup involved – and she often left without saying goodbye. Tristan’s roommate at the time joked that Tristan was dating the perfect woman. It hadn’t occurred to nineteen year old Tristan to disagree until age gave him perspective.

He’d also dated a woman named Aimee here in France. Tristan had been the one to slip out while Aimee slept. Morgue calls, usually. But sometimes, when the phone didn’t ring, Tristan would wake up and wander the streets. His street art kit would come with him, but he didn’t always get around to painting. Sometimes, he sat out in front of “Death Wave” until police accused him of loitering and told him to get a move on. He’d been intensely lonely and developing insomnia as a way to cope. Eventually, Tristan fell in love with work and Aimee fell out of love with him. If they’d ever been in love at all.

He wondered what it meant, then, that he wanted to stay here with Solange all night long. He wondered what it meant that when he was with her, he wasn’t lonely at all. That his nighttime wanderings were now almost exclusively for morgue calls or to paint Solange’s sunset-rose murals.

“Not really, no,” he said. “Not like this at all.”

It crossed Tristan’s mind that there had to have been other men who’d had the privilege of holding Solange in their arms, of kissing her lips. Something sharp snagged in his chest, pulling off the petals on the bloom there. He didn’t want to be jealous of those guys. He had no reason to be; he trusted Solange. But one of those guys had a name that Tristan had heard before: Caleb. He’d burrowed so deeply into Solange’s psyche that only a few months ago, Caleb still had enough power to bring Solange to tears. Tristan had been the one to sit with her while she cried. The memory jackknifed into Tristan’s musings. It was double-edged. He wondered if Caleb had ever been lucky enough to spend a night with Solange. Mr. Cambridge-Educated was an idiot if he’d given that up. Tristan wouldn't have traded what he had with Solange for anything. He just hoped Solange wasn’t imagining Caleb where he was right now. Tristan couldn’t have even try to put Lilian or Aimee in Solange’s place without cracking himself up. They paled in comparison. There was no comparison.

“Why?” he asked. “What are you thinking about?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She knew that Tristan had dated a few times before they started going out. They had discussed it before and they had both told stories about their bad relationships. And she knew that there were times before the relationship went bad when he was probably very happy the other woman. It certainly wasn't anything she wanted to dwell on or else she would allow it to taint this perfect, happy moment. But she found herself curious if he'd ever had this peaceful, content moment with any of them.

“Not really, no,” he said after a long pause. “Not like this at all.” A smile pulled at her lips and she buried her face against his neck again, hiding it in case the dark didn't completely mask it. “Why? What are you thinking about?” he asked her.

Honestly the truth was she was thinking about Caleb. More accurately how much happier Tristan made her than Caleb ever had. Tristan was far more romantic, using his free time to paint her murals of a rose that held such significance to their relationship and taking her on crazy, but fun dates. He made her laugh more than
Caleb with cheesy jokes and sarcasm. He understood her more than Caleb, somehow knowing just when she needed a hug or kiss or what kind of food she liked because he'd paid attention. In general, Tristan was a far better match for her than Caleb could ever hope to be.

"I'm just thinking that there is no one I'd rather lay here with than you," she told him, placing a kiss just below his ear which was basically as far as she could reach.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

A dull sort of dread welled up like bile in Tristan’s gut. He didn’t know what he was dreading exactly; only that Solange couldn’t answer him quick enough. Her face was buried in his chest, so Tristan couldn’t even guess if she was smiling or frowning.

He missed his sense of sight so much. Stupid power outage. He hadn’t realized how reliant on it he actually was.

"I'm just thinking that there is no one I'd rather lay here with than you," Solange said, putting Tristan’s nerves at ease. She kissed him just below his ear. His skin went prickly with pleasure.

“I’m glad,” Tristan said.

He stroked Solange’s hair, playing with the soft tangles between his fingers. He really was grateful to hear her say that. He didn’t want to tell her that he was more than a little insecure sometimes; that he hadn’t kissed her the first time he wanted to out of fear of becoming a rebound boyfriend after Caleb What’s-His-Face or that his new biggest fear was losing her. He wasn’t exactly an alpha-male as it was; the last thing he needed to be was made out of marshmallows. He’d never survive his relationship – or his job – if he was. Better just to live in the moment, to enjoy the good times. Like this particular moment with Solange.

“The feeling is definitely mutual,” he told her.

It was strange. Tristan couldn’t think of any place on earth he’d rather be. Not on vacation, not at work, not even at home. He tried to imagine lying curled up with Solange somewhere else. Anywhere else. But the image reel in his mind was like a painting – rosy, untouchable colors unlike anything found in nature. This was real, organic, natural. And there was no one on earth he’d rather weather a storm with. Not even Torben or Gwen. They were his best friends, but in a lot of ways, Solange was his best “best friend”. He could tell her anything – confess anything, say any stupid thought that came to his mind, ask her anything – and that kind of trust didn’t come easily. Tristan had never had anyone quite like her in his life. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t love the other people in his life. But it was very different to care about your friends or your family. Tristan was short on the latter, but he knew this was something different and somehow stronger than anything he else he did have.

“If the power hadn’t gone out, we’d probably be halfway through dinner right now,” he said. “There’d be a whole table between us.”

The last he said with a grinning disdain. This was so much better. If they’d gone out, they’d be trapped in someone else’s cookie-cutter version of romance. Sitting across from each other, maybe holding hands over a white-linen table cloth. There’d be candles that didn’t get knocked over by frightened cats and music that neither of them would be caught dead with on their iPods. And there’d be strangers doing the exact same thing, positioned all around them. Strangers, who would probably eye them with some kind of disdain if they kissed the way they had been most of the evening.

“I can’t think of a lamer way to spend an evening,” Tristan confessed with a small laugh. “I don’t know what I was thinking, making reservations in the first place.”