The Mighty Quinns: Tristan

Lily leaned over and twisted the water from her dripping hair. “Yes, Bernie. He’s harmless.”

“You don’t mind that he watches you?”

“He hasn’t seen many naked women in his life. He’s kind of shy and I suppose he’s curious.”

Tristan laughed. “So you’re doing him a public service by letting him gawk?”

She shrugged, droplets of water glinting off her dark lashes. “I can’t search the woods every time I want to go for a swim.” Lily started toward the path, her bare feet kicking up sand and dirt until they were covered in both.

Tristan strode after her. “Why did you run away after I kissed you?”

“Because unlike Bernie, you’re not harmless. In fact, I think you’re a very dangerous man, Mr. Quinn James...if that is your real name.”

Tristan bit back a curse. It was clear she was suspicious of him. But how deep did that go? Was it just his romantic interest that made her wary? Or did she suspect the level of his deception? “Lots of writers use pen names,” he said.

“Published writers,” she countered. “Is Quinn your real name?”

“It is,” Tristan lied. He knew what she meant and he also knew he was twisting the truth to suit his own purposes. But in the end, he could freely admit that Quinn was his real name.

“And why did you kiss me? Would you like to try the truth on that question?”

Tristan grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop, spinning her around to face him. He wasn’t sure he could put an answer into words. Right now, standing here with her just inches away in a dress that clung to her wet body, he had an undeniable need to draw her into his arms and put his mouth to hers once again. But that would hardly put her suspicions to rest.

“It seemed like the only thing to do,” Tristan said in a soft voice. “I couldn’t help myself.” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Do you understand what that kind of beauty does to a man?”

Lily stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. It wasn’t a nervous laugh or even a sarcastic laugh. She clearly considered his statement ridiculous.

‘“Beauty is not found in the face. It’s a light in the heart.”’

“Who told you that?”

“My aunts. It’s from the poet Kahlil Gibran. My aunts raised me to believe that true beauty was found inside me and had nothing to do with my outside appearance.”

“Well, this might shock you, but they were wrong. You’re beautiful on the outside, too, Lily, and it’s about time someone told you that.”

“I’ll alert the media,” she muttered. “News flash—another beautiful woman in the world. I’m sure they’ll want to rush right over and get the story.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? Your mother or father?”

“I didn’t spend a lot of time with my parents. During the school year, they sent me to a very strict Catholic boarding school where mirrors and all beauty products were banned and conformity was enforced. And in the summer, I lived here with my aunts, where I was encouraged to let my spirit run free.”

“Wow,” Tristan replied. “That must have been some childhood.”

“Not all of us were blessed with perfect parents. Mine didn’t have children, they produced heirs.”

“My parents weren’t Ward and June Cleaver, either.”

Lily frowned. “Who are Ward and June Cleaver?”

“From Leave It To Beaver. Nick at Nite? It’s an old television show.”

“I think I saw that once.”

“Once?”

“Or twice. We didn’t have American television at boarding school. And the aunts never allowed a television here in the colony. I don’t remember beavers in the show.”

“No, that was the name of their son,” Tristan explained.

“They named their son Beaver? That’s just cruel. I hope he changed it when he got older. Although I suppose some might not mind it. Beavers are very intelligent and industrious animals. Finch’s spirit animal is a beaver. Mine is a wren. I suspect yours is probably a wolf.”

She started along the path again, but this time, Tristan didn’t let go of her hand. “I’m beginning to think you and I must have been born on different planets.”

“Are your parents aliens?”

This made Tristan laugh. “My father was.”

“Tell me about them,” she said. “They couldn’t have been worse than mine.”

“That’s a story for a different day,” Tristan said.

They had reached a small building, set on stilts, and Lily stopped. “This is my studio,” she said.

“Are you going to show it to me? I’d like to see your work.”

Lily hesitated, and for an instant, Tristan thought he might have won her over. But she stymied him again. “That will also have to be for a different day,” she said.

It was very clear from the look on her face that this was meant to be “goodbye,” but Tristan wasn’t ready to let her go. He needed some excuse to see her again. It unsettled him that he hadn’t quite gained her trust. “Do you have any plans for dinner tonight? We could drive into town and find a place.”

“I usually eat here,” she said.

“But you’re a nonconformist. Take a risk and have dinner with me.”

“I know we’re the only two people of our age here at the colony. And it’s only natural that we should hang around together. But I think it would be best if we just tried to be friends. We can sit together at the performance tonight, though, and I’ll treat you to a lemonade.”

Shakespeare and lemonade? Tristan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a chaste date. His usual dating itinerary consisted of drinks followed by no-strings sex. Or dinner followed by no-strings sex. Occasionally, lunch followed by— Tristan stopped himself. He suspected that he wouldn’t be adding Othello and sex to the list later that night.

“Othello would be interesting,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

“I assure you, it will be much better entertainment than that Beaver show you watch.”

“It’s a date,” he said, leaning in to steal one last kiss.

But Lily caught him before his lips met hers, pressing her finger against his mouth. “It’s Shakespearean drama. And that’s all.” She started up the stairs. “Oh, and if nudity is a problem for you, then you should probably stay locked in your cabin on Saturday nights after sunset. That’s when everyone goes for a skinny-dip. It’s a tradition when the weather is still warm.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, the older folks. I usually leave them to their fun. It can turn into a bit of an orgy. Of course, I’m sure the ladies would be thrilled if you joined in.”