"Ha-ha, yes, one lonely pair of underwear. I think I need to go shopping. Will you help me?"
He let go of me as I rotated my chair around to face him. I took his hands and said, "Yes, Mr. Carr, I'll help you find nicer clothes and a ring for your betrothed."
Tristan smiled wider, squeezed my hands, and kissed me before saying, "I'll go grab my wallet, and I'll meet you at the truck." He dashed to the bedroom with a skip in his step as if shopping for wedding rings was exciting. Maybe this whole situation would turn out well and my unease was unnecessary. Tristan did seem happy, which gave me a warm feeling inside.
I smiled to myself and walked toward the door. "I don't mind driving," I called after him.
"Okay," he called back. "I'll be out in one minute."
I DROVE us down to Columbia Mall. I hadn't been there for a while, but it was familiar, and it was one of the largest malls around. Tristan needed lots of stores to choose from, so I made a decision and drove there. He did ask why we passed the Westminster Town Mall, and I gave him a look.
"I walked through there once two weeks ago. There are very few stores, and we'd be done in twenty minutes. We're going to a place where we can check out lots of selections, have some ice cream, and not feel like we ran out of stores before we're done."
He seemed amused by my answer and leaned his head back. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, so I glanced down. Tristan held his hand open, his arm stretched across the console, waiting. I looked back to the road. I felt giddy and nervous. He wanted to hold my hand. He had held it before briefly, but the mall was an hour away. We'd be holding hands for potentially an hour. Although I could drive one-handed during straightaways, I wasn't confident that turning could be done well without the use of two hands.
I took in a shaky breath and placed my hand in his. When he closed his fingers around mine, I thought for sure I spurted just a little. My body hadn't felt this collectively happy since I'd woken up in his bed. I didn't know what was going to happen between us if and when we went through with this marriage, but I certainly knew I liked him. We could make it work, right?
WE MADE it to the mall, and I parked near Nordstrom. I always parked near there because then I'd never lose my car. And I knew where all the stores were, relative to where I entered. Tristan said he'd never been in a mall that large. He rarely shopped, and Walmart normally did the trick. I cringed.
I picked out some dress shirts in Macy's, and he was measured for a suit in Lord & Taylor, which did their own alterations and would have the suit ready for pickup by Tuesday. I found him multicolored boxer briefs, and he agreed to get them, but he pointed out that he would most likely slip them off when he got into bed. He said sleeping with clothes on had felt too weird for him. After we bought a number of items for Tristan, he took me to Hot Topic and told me it was my turn.
"Why?" I asked, skeptically glancing around at the displays of fan gear for Doctor Who, Harry Potter, and The Walking Dead. You could get a T-shirt, necklace, and action figure all at once! I did like Doctor Who, but why would I want an action figure?
Tristan replied, "Because you need some clothes to chill in. Do you even own a T-shirt?"
"I … ." I opened my mouth, but there weren't any script answers forthcoming. He had me. I had white undershirts, but that wasn't the same. Then I remembered something and snapped my fingers. "I have an Aerosmith T-shirt!"
He gave me an incredulous snorty giggle, which was actually sort of cute. "You? You listen to Aerosmith?"
Guilty posture: toothy grin, wide eyes, hunched shoulders. "No," I confessed. "It was my cousin's. I was at a birthday party four years ago, and my shirt got trashed by Silly String – wielding maniacs."
Tristan gave me a disbelieving frown. "Silly String doesn't stain." He turned and walked on, weaving around the display racks, so I followed him through the store.
I explained, "It does when they corner me and I bump into the tie-dye table and suddenly I'm the one being unwillingly tie-dyed."
Tristan chuckled again, shaking his head at me. He had been laughing at me ever since I'd met him, but not in a mean way. He snickered often, as if he truly enjoyed being around me. He hadn't rolled his eyes or anything mean, only smiled and snickered.
"Here," he said, stopping by the wall of T-shirts. "How about this one?" Tristan held a medium T-shirt against my chest.
"Who's Lynyrd Skynyrd?"
He widened his eyes. "What? You don't know?"
I shook my head. "Should I?"
"What kind of music do you listen to?" He folded the tee and put it back on the pile.
"Meghan Trainor and Taylor Swift, and whatever Pandora plays when I turn it on."
"No way."
"It's true. Why do you look so shocked?"
"I don't know. You seem like a nerdy type to me, no offense. You wear your dress shirts all buttoned up, and your hair is never out of place. When you wear your glasses, you carry a certain air about you."
"Stuck up?" I'd been told that before. I'd had people think I was snooty.
Tristan disagreed. "No. That sounds harsh. How about ‘refined'? I figured you go for classical or maybe jazz, not chick pop."
The way he said it sounded better than others who had teased me for my fastidiousness. "I like what I like. I also have a few soundtrack CDs." I was afraid to admit my addictions, but if we were getting married, then he'd find out soon enough.
Tristan held another T-shirt up to my chest. "Yeah, I like this one." He threw it over his shoulder and looked for more. He held the next one up.
I shook my head. "I'm not wearing a giant tongue on my chest."
"Okay. No Rolling Stones." He rummaged through another stack and held up a shirt for All Time Low. I nodded approval because I liked the graphic design on the front. I only hoped I liked the band, since I was consenting to wear their shirt. "Which soundtracks do you have?" he asked.
I paused before answering. Would he be amused by my behavior as before? I stopped following him, and he turned around. Tristan gave me a look. I hung my head in preparation for this next tidbit. "I have all the music from Glee."
"Glee?"
"The TV show."
"Never heard of it," he commented while bending down to look through a stack of T-shirts on a lower shelf.
I clutched my chest for my impending heart attack. "What?"
He glanced back at me. "Nope. I don't watch television, because I'm usually working. I'll pop in a DVD if I have time to chill, but mostly I read in my spare time."
Reading? Hmm. Definitely something I'd have to ask him about later. "The final season ended last spring, but I loved it. I went to a concert in 2011 when they were in DC. I'd never gotten into show choir or singing or theater in high school or college, so this was different for me, but I watched every episode and then downloaded all the music. Okay, not all the music, because there are probably a thousand songs, but I have over two hundred. So when I say I like Meghan Trainor, I do, but I listen to Glee music most of the time." I spotted a T-shirt I recognized and grabbed it. "Oooh, Journey! I like them."
Tristan was laughing again, and he shook his head in amusement or amazement, I wasn't sure. He stepped closer, and before I could react, he kissed me right there in the store. I felt self-conscious at first, but as he kissed longer and slower, I simply melted into him. He squeezed my hips and pulled me tight against him. No tongue, but his kiss was pretty darn knee buckling without it.
Then I heard a word that chilled my growing lust and forced it into hiding. "Dad?" a female voice asked.
Tristan pulled back, peeling himself away from me in slow motion. I would have thought being caught by his daughter, kissing a man, would have jolted him into jumping away from my body, but it hadn't. Maybe it was akin to the police yelling, "Freeze!"
Claire wasn't as relaxed and preoccupied as I remembered from the gym. Her jaw was two inches from the floor, eyes bugged out, and she was mirrored by her two friends.
Tristan swallowed so loud I could hear it. "Hi, Claire," he said, probably because there wasn't anything else he could say.
"I don't believe it," she said, still gaping. "I mean, you called and told me you were gay, but I didn't think you were actually gay. You don't even look gay. But now … you're … holy shit, that's the guy from the gym!" Her eyes bugged out even further as she pointed at me and dropped her bags.