At No Time || Bruno Mars

18

In the midst of a conversation that strayed away from Peter, the doorbell rang. "Oops; that's the door, Ma. I'll call you later?" Trystan wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Go ahead about your business, baby. I'll talk to you soon," Yvonne said and Trystan ended the call.

"Coming!" Trystan called when the visitor began to knock. She unwrapped her apron and tossed it onto the kitchen stool before hurrying to the door.

"Bruno?" She was surprised to see he was on the other side, and for a split second he seemed surprised himself to see he was on her doorstep.

"Oh, uh, hey. I just came to drop this off," he stated quickly, Trystan's brown suede journal in his right hand. "You left it at the studio last night and thought you might want it back."

"Shit! Thanks." Trystan nearly snatched the booklet from his grasp, her heart thudding at the creeping nightmare that he possibly had gone through it. "I didn't even realize it wasn't in my bag."

"Yeah. I didn't think much of it at first but I always see you scribbling in it and . . . uh. You got a little something–," Peter's face shifted as he motioned to something on Trystan's cheek.

Immediately realizing her blunder, she laughed off her embarrassment and swatted away the stripe of flour on her skin. "I was just inside making some cupcakes."

"Tryna be a chef I see."

Trystan shrugged. "It's one of my favorite past times."

Peter chuckled, and was grateful and nervous when Trystan's eyes roamed over his shoulder. "Is that your guitar?"

Peter tossed a look behind him, though he knew his tawny acoustic guitar was in the backseat of his car. "Yeah."

"Can you play?"

"I'm alright."

Trystan looked thoughtful, her lip twisted and head tilted. After a moment's deliberation, she asked of him slowly, "Do you think you could give me lessons?"

Peter's pause had her quickly adding, "I mean unless you have something to do then you don't have–,"

"No, no, I can teach you," he interrupted.

A smile stretched across Trystan's face that revealed her left dimple and she shooed him back toward his car. "Go get it! Then later we can finish off those cupcakes."

She turned back to go into the house while Peter, dazed if not confused of his decision to stay over, retrieved the instrument and followed Trystan's path into the dwelling, the smell of tangerines permeating her trail.

He'd never been inside Trystan's home, but was instantly immersed in the revelation that it was not hers. He didn't find the color scheme of furniture to be of her standard, if he guessed correctly what that was.

He found her in the kitchen and quickly diverted his eyes when he saw she was bending over to place the uncooked batter into the oven.

Thinking of something to distract him from his second of attraction, he wondered aloud, "If you don't mind me asking, is this your place?"

"Renting," Peter heard with a slam of the oven door. Trystan twisted around and leant a hip against the counter. "This is Angelique's brother's place; well, one of his places. He and his wife relocated but let me rent this one out for my time here. Why?"

"It didn't really look like you," Peter responded bereft hesitance, and Trystan snickered.

"And what do I look like, Mr. Hernandez?"