Right now, talking to Cassandra is his best bet. It’s the closest they’ve come so far. Lunch can’t come fast enough.
Tristan slips into the classroom, bright pictures of fruit and vegetables lining the wall. He suppresses a shudder. Chardis’s lair probably looks like this place.
As he waits for the teacher to look up from her computer, he scans the room. His eyes stop at a girl in the far station across the room. Her head is tilted so her chocolate-colored hair falls over her face. This is a girl who doesn’t want to be noticed.
But for some reason Tristan notices her.
In fact, he can’t look away.
She’s a brunette, but so is half the school. It doesn’t mean anything…
She looks up and two words slam through Tristan.
It’s her.
The girl from the vision.
The one who looked at him in a way no one has.
The one who’s staring right back at him like her world just stopped, too.
5
Brielle
Cooking is one of Brielle’s favorite classes. Not just because making food gives her a focus that nothing else does, but because it’s the one class she has with her best—and kind of only—friend, Adalind.
The snarky brunette is already sitting at their station when Brielle enters the room, the streak in her hair dyed pink this week. Adalind’s bored expression perks up as Brielle comes to join her.
“How was your weekend?” Adalind asks, smiling at Brielle like she’s the only person in the room.
Brielle loves this about her, how she puts her full attention on her, and truly is interested in what she has to say. What she loves most is that Adalind is one of the only people she’s never had a vision of. What more could she ask for in a best friend?
“It was okay,” Brielle shrugs. “I spent the whole time stressing about today.”
“You shouldn’t worry,” Adalind says, flipping her pink streak over her shoulder. “That couple will love you, you’re awesome! You just have to be yourself, and they’ll see that, too.”
Brielle smiles but looks down at the table. Adalind only thinks that because she doesn’t know Brielle’s freak side, and if Brielle has anything to do with it, she never will.
Adalind came to the school at the start of the year, a military brat, and for whatever reason, she latched onto Brielle instantly. Brielle isn’t the best at making friends. Ironically, being forced to see the private details of everyone else’s lives has made her very closed off, so she doesn’t put herself out there as much as she should.
But that didn’t seem to matter to Adalind. From the day she arrived, Adalind had gravitated toward Brielle like a magnet, and Brielle didn’t mind one little bit.
Adalind sighs dramatically. “I wish you had a cell phone. Then we could text each other on weekends.”
Brielle smirks. “You mean, as opposed to actually talking in person, like they used to in the old days?”
Adalind rolls her dark eyes. “You know what I mean. And trying to hang out with you on weekends is tough because that creepy nun interrogates me at the door every time.”
Brielle snickers. Sister Cora is kind of a scary old lady.
“You should just let me buy you a phone,” Adalind offers for the umpteenth time. “Just because you don’t have parents doesn’t mean you have to live without modern day necessities. I could be like your sponsor, you know.”
“Okay, fine, if I don’t get adopted this time around, then I’ll concede and let you buy me a phone,” Brielle says.
Adalind shrugs. “Fair enough.”
Smiling wide, Brielle shakes her head and rolls her eyes, and when her eyes fall, the sight they behold makes her heart trip.
A guy is walking through the doorway. A new guy as she’d remember someone who looked like that. A guy she can’t look away from.
His golden brown hair is mussed in casual spikes, and his blue t-shirt hugs his Adonis physique in a way that would make any girl drool. But it’s not just his good looks or lean grace or the fact he’s new that has Brielle’s heart doing somersaults; it’s the way his cerulean eyes are locked on hers, and the frozen way he stands just past the entrance of the class, staring at her.
Looking like she feels—like the world just...expanded and imploded at the same time.
“Ah, you must be Tristan Ayers,” Ms. Brom greets.
He falters and turns to her, and Brielle’s arms prickle with a chill at the loss of his gaze.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tristan says, readjusting his backpack slung over his shoulder.
Miss Brom scribbles on her attendance sheet and nods. “Alright, Tristan, you can take the empty seat at station four.”
Brielle’s eyes widen and her heart just flat-out stops beating.
That’s her station!
Brielle and Adalind had been happy not to have a third person at their station, it gave them the freedom to chat about personal stuff during class without having to include anyone else.
Tristan approaches, checking the numbers on countertops he passes. When he spots the number four sticker on the edge of her counter, he once again puts those intense, bright blue eyes on her and smiles, and a sizzle surges through Brielle’s nerve endings. As he takes the empty stool to her left, she’s happy to give up that third seat and the privacy its vacancy had previously afforded.
Brielle hardly notices the other students settling into their seats around her. All she can do is feel the heat of the solid male body right next to her, smell the sweet musky scent of his body spray, and try like heck not to look in his direction lest she be paralyzed that way for the duration of the hour.
“Hey,” he says in a way that draws out the single syllable, making it impossible not to look. “I hope you ladies are good at cooking, because I sure as hell am not.” He grins again, and Brielle is mesmerized by how soft his pink lips appear as they lift to reveal straight white teeth. “Sorry you got the short straw.”
Brielle blinks. That’s the last thing she’s thinking right now.
“I usually ride Brielle’s coattails, so I guess you’ll be hopping on that bandwagon, too,” Adalind says, reminding Brielle that there are other people in the room besides her and Tristan.
“Right,” Brielle says, coming to her senses. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”
“I’m more than happy to help, cooking just isn’t my forte,” Tristan says. “I have no intention of letting you do all the work.” He winks at her, and she hardly notices the heat radiating up her neck. “I’m Tristan, by the way,” he says, leaning closer, the warm skin of his upper arm grazing hers.
“I’m Brielle,” she says, mouth suddenly dry. She swallows. “And this is Adalind.”
Adalind gives a half-hearted two-finger salute in greeting.
Tristan opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the teacher.
“The lesson for today is one of my favorites, but it’s not easy.” Ms. Brom claps her hands in front of her plaid apron, a far too eager smile on her plump face. “They’re round, sweet, and everyone’s favorite treat—donuts!” She raises her arms high up over her messy bun like her announcement is the best news any of them has ever heard, only to receive sighs of exasperation from the class.