Peter thought maybe, if he were to ever leave Trystan alone for a while, that the allegations of him loving her would stop. He thought that maybe, if he made up fibs as to why he could not speak to her as often as they had, something about work or seeing his family, that that time spent away from her, would soothe over his feelings, maybe even ice them so much that they could never be thawed.
But he stood at her doorstep, the key from the flowerpot clinched between his fingers as if it were his own home two weeks later. He unlocked the door and entered the house, smiling before he could even tell what was going on. He had anticipated it the entire week, walking inside the home that had offered him nothing but comfort.
Music played from the family room, and when he crept to it, his smile turned into soft laughter as he leaned against wall and watched Trystan with her child.
Raina was on her hip, giggling as Trystan spun her about to a jingling nursery rhyme.
"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady!" Trystan sung to her, each time the word down passed her lips, she would dip Raina, who squealed delightedly and clung to her so she would not fall.
They both sang it together two more times before collapsing into a fit of giggles onto the couch. "One more time, Mommy!" Raina insisted whilst giving her an Eskimo kiss.
"I'm worn out, baby." Trystan feigned exhaustion, exaggerating it by placing the back of her hand on her forehead and pretending to faint. Raina giggled and tried to shake her back awake.
"If we keep on dancing, whose gonna watch the cookies?" Trystan asked upon awaking, and Raina gasped as she had just remembered that acute fact.
"Okay, we can dance after the cookies are done!" she finalized and Trystan chuckled before kissing her.
Peter watched on contentedly, the exchange doubtlessly adorable. No matter what Trystan told him about Derek or the other stresses in her life, there was no doubt that she was completely in love with the little girl.
"Did someone say cookies?" Peter finally spoke up as he pushed himself off the wall.
They both swiftly turned to him, having not realized he had been there all that time. Raina scrambled off her mother's lap to run over to him as Trystan's own grin widened at the sight of him.
"Mr. B!" Raina reached up toward him and he grabbed her into a hug. "I didn't know you were coming!"
"Your mom wanted to surprise you," he revealed, glancing up at Trystan who smirked at them both. She did not let on that if it had been not for Raina's constant pestering to see him, his coming by would have been all for herself.
"Mommy and me are making choco-chip cookies!" Raina announced, and the aroma of sweet chocolate indeed wafted through the air. "Nanna is coming to see me today, too, that's why we made them."
"Your mom?" Peter asked Trystan and she nodded.
"Every fall she comes down for a few days to see us."
"Well, that sounds exciting," Peter returned to Raina. "Do you think there'll be any left for me?"
The small girl giggled. "Yeah; Mommy and me made a whole bunch!"
"Dew, why don't you go and wash up so we can make the last batch, okay?" Trystan offered and the small girl complied without protest, eager to assist in making the treats.
Once out of eye and earshot, Trystan smiled and reached out to embrace Peter. "Thanks for coming on such short notice," she said over the shoulder of his jean jacket, relishing in the feel of his arms around her waist. He had gotten a haircut, the sides low and the top still thick with his curls. He smelled nice, too, and she fought from breathing in deeply his cologne.
"No problem," he responded, holding on for a moment longer than necessary before letting her body retreat from his. "Is everything cool? I know we didn't get to talk much on the phone the other day."
Peter had called a few days prior to his arrival, affirming that he was still coming, but Trystan had kept the conversation short. There had been something in her voice that he could not make out, but it was definitely something he did not like hearing.
"Yeah," Trystan replied and hoped her body language was on accord with her words. "Everything's good. I'm glad you're here."
Peter was flattered that he was the one she called on when she was down, and he was not embarrassed by the fact that he had begun packing the night she first called.
Over the course of their reconciliation, he had done much to disassociate his feelings for her, but there was something mystical about Trystan, magical even, that had him bending to her will with a single word.
She looked a bit tired as he followed her into the kitchen, the smell of the treats stronger as they entered.
"You sure you okay?" Peter queried as she grabbed a bowl filled with already-prepped cookie batter from a separate counter and placed it on the island.
"Don't I look it?" Trystan teased, striking a small pose before chuckling to herself.
You look more than okay, Peter thought as he let his libido speak for him. In a black halter top and matching loose fitting pants that hung from her round hips, her lax coverage proved enticing. But of course, he did not say this to her, instead voicing, "It's just that the first time you called, you sounded all happy and excited, and then the second time . . ."
Trystan flipped her hand. "It was just an exhausting day." She reached beneath the island to grab another cookie tray. "Sorry you had to hear me like that, but I'm good; I promise."
Peter nodded though he did not feel obligated to take her word for it. He watched her carefully as he sat down on a stool, her movements fluid and graceful, but something behind her dark eyes that chose to remain hidden.
Pulling the subject from off of herself, Trystan changed the subject. "How's everything with your family? Diane and your father doing okay?"
Peter shrugged and her hand instantly went to her hip. "What's the matter?"
"Everything's good with Di and my niece but my dad . . . y'know, same old, same old. Trying to find the balance between loving me and despising me."
"Mm," Trystan hummed sympathetically. She wanted to tell him that no, his father did not hate him, as she was sure he did not, but the alternative was saying that he only disliked him, which was not much better. "He'll come around one day."
Peter snorted, "I don't think he'll even be around when that day comes."
"Mommy, I'm ready!" Raina came rushing around the corner, instantly brightening the aura Trystan had accidentally darkened. The little girl reached up for Peter, and no longer tentative around the child, he lifted her onto the stool next to him.
"Mr. B? Do you like choco-chips?" Raina asked as she stirred the thick batter with Trystan's assistance.
"Why, yes, I do." Peter quickly retreated his eyes, as they had landed on Trystan when he answered.
"I like them, too, but my favorite cookies are sugar cookies, but Mommy and Nanna like choco-chip ones more better, so that's why we're making them," Raina explained and Trystan and Peter laughed. The small girl had seemed a bit disappointed, but she giggled when Trystan tapped her nose with a small dot of flour.
"Next time we'll make sugar ones, okay?" she told Raina and she nodded excitedly.
She cautiously followed her mother as they placed misshapen balls of dough onto the cookie sheet, snickering when she tried to sneak a chocolate chip into her mouth and Trystan caught her.
"You're just as mischievous as this one here," Trystan accused jokingly, nodding at Peter, who pretended to be offended.
"Never in my life have I misbehaved!" he lied on his past and his present, because the sight of Trystan had him wanting to.
"What does that mean?" Raina asked, not even attempting to repeat the big word.
"Sneaky!" Trystan responded and kissed her on the cheek.
The doorbell rang, and Raina instantly announced, "Nanna!" and climbed down from the stool, leaving behind fingerprints of cookie batter, and scurried out of the room before Trystan or Peter could stop her.
"That girl just loves answering the door!" Trystan murmured as she brushed her hands off with a kitchen cloth and hurried after the child.
Peter thought it best to greet her mother at the door—the two had had a fairly good relationship in the past and he did not want to treat her as any regular visitor.
He followed the trail out of the kitchen and around the corner to the foyer, where he saw Trystan had opened the front door and Raina was already in her grandmother's arms.
"How's my little Dewdrop?" Yvonne grinned, tickling her nose against the small girl's, who tittered and placed a kiss on the elder woman's.
Yvonne had hardly aged, only the accumulations of gray hairs at her hairline and a slight wrinkle to her forehead indicated any years had gone by. She still had that inviting presence about her, pulling Peter closer to the front door though she had not seen him standing in the background.
"Now what's this all over your hands?" Yvonne inquired of Raina, holding one in her palm to inspect the flour and smudges of chocolate.
"Me and Mommy and Mr. B were making cookies!" Raina explained, and Yvonne eyed her quizzically.
"Mr. B? Who's Mr.–,"
"Mama Vonne."
Peter finally made his presence known, stepping to them and beside Trystan.
Yvonne's eyes widened. "Bruno? Now what are you doing here?" She set Raina down by her mother's leg and reached out to embrace Peter. Behind his shoulder, she eyed her own daughter, who looked away and busied herself with a strand of Raina's hair, tucking it behind her ear.
"Thought I'd drop by to see you three lovely ladies," Peter replied as he pulled away from the elderly woman's arms. "It's been a minute—how are you?"
"I'm doing fine," she answered, seeming a bit winded at seeing him there before her. "I wish my daughter would've told me you'd be here." She cut her eyes at Trystan. "I would've brought you something."
Peter chuckled, "Oh, no need Mama Vonne. Though I wouldn't've minded some of your famous catfish."
The three adults laughed, and then Trystan bent down to Raina. "Honey, go wait in the kitchen so the grown-ups can talk, okay?"
Raina pouted and crossed her arms against her chest. "How come I can't talk with the grown-ups?" she griped, and Trystan lightly swatted her backside as she walked away and around the corner.
Once in their lonesome, Yvonne turned her attention back to Peter and returned the question. "What is little Bruno up to these days?"
"Trystan hasn't told you?" He had said it jokingly, but the blank look on Yvonne's face showed Trystan really had not, and Peter found that a bit odd. She had not told her own mother that they had become friends again?
He continued on, "Well, I'm C.O.O. of a music company out in L.A., and an offer as a head position for an even bigger company connected me back with Trystan. We've been working together for a few months now," he caught her up, and Yvonne appeared in awe.
"For a few months?" She looked at her daughter again, who found interest in everything but her mother's eyes. "Oh."
"Yeah. We got back to talking and I can say that we're good friends again," he explained further and switched his eyes to Trystan, whose own were downcast in a blush that revealed her left dimple.
"I see." Yvonne nodded, a smile that was not really a smile on her face. But then her head tilted, and with her gaze on Trystan, she said, "You know, I passed by a local fair on the way down here. Why don't I take Raina there for a few hours and then come back later tonight? I'll get her some dinner, too, so you wouldn't have to worry about anything."
For the first time Trystan's eyes met her mother's, and a flash of alarm crossed her eyes. Was she seriously insinuating that she have an afternoon and early night alone with Peter?
"Um . . . okay. That's fine," she found herself saying though her heart was about to thud out of her chest.
Yvonne nodded with a triumphant quirk to her mouth, and she and Peter followed Trystan back into the kitchen, where they caught Raina red-handed stealing some cookies from the baked pile on a plate.
"Dewdrop." Trystan's hands on her hips, she cocked a brow and scrutinized her daughter, the remnants of melted chocolate around her mouth giving her away as her hands were free of any of the sweet treats.
"I didn't do it!" she fibbed, a mouth full of cookie, and the adults laughed, finding little reason to really be upset.
"You know you were supposed to wait for your grandma," Trystan chastised as she grabbed a paper towel from off of the role and wiped Raina's mouth free of the saccharine, brown smudges.
As Raina managed to look the least bit guilty, Trystan explained, "Besides, you don't want to fill up on just cookies. Nanna wants to take you out somewhere fun."
Her eyes doubling in size, Raina demanded to know where. Smiling, Trystan replied, "The faster we get your jacket on, the quicker you'll know."
After Trystan cleaned the child's hands off, she rushed to the closet so her mother could retrieve her outerwear and help her put it on. She was still learning how to do her buttons, but she would insist that next time, she would be able to do it all by herself.
"Ma, her bedtime's at seven-thirty, so don't be out too late," Trystan reminded as she walked them to the front door.
Raina's hand clutching her own, Yvonne twisted her lip. "Girl, I know to not have her out late. I raised you, remember?"
Trystan gave her a look before ultimately chuckling. "All right. You two have fun."
"Bye, Mommy!" Raina waved and then tugged at Yvonne's appendage to hurry.
"Okay, and you two don't have too much!" Yvonne left and closed the front door behind her before she could stick around to see how awkward she had left the air.
Trystan chuckled stiffly. "That mom of mine," she voiced awkwardly and had Peter follow her back into the kitchen.
"And then there were two," he teased, his favorite line to use when they were alone. Except this time, Trystan did not feel particularly safe. And by that, she meant safe from herself.
Any other time it was just them occupying a space, Dew would be nearby, or her co-workers would be two doors down from her office. But now, they were completely alone, with nothing but space and time on their hands.
She chuckled again, thinking herself pathetic as she mustered up as much normality as she could as she placed the second tray of cookies into the oven and set it to the appropriate baking time.
She was nervous around him. A feeling she had not felt since the first few weeks of seeing him again. In the time since she had grown comfortable, but right then, she could not escape what she felt when she looked at him, how devilishly handsome he was, how good his cologne smelled, how he made her laugh, and again, how alone they were. She could trust herself, or at least hoped she could, to keep her feelings at bay. But she was still frazzled and needed something to calm her down.
"Um . . . I'm about to go to the sun room," she announced, already making her way to the back sliding doors. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Come with?"
It was the first time she actually invited an outsider, aside from her daughter, to accompany her in her Quiet Room. It was off limits to everyone, but when she thought of Peter entering it, she did not feel the need to protect it as she would from anyone else. She felt it was safe in his presence.
The entity smelled lightly of sweet oils, and the air held a light mist as she had just watered her plants that morning and the sun coming through the glass ceiling above withdrew the moisture from their leaves and petals.
"This room is still really amazing," Peter complimented as Trystan rooted around for something on one of the shelves. "I feel like I know everything about Earth walking in here."
She chuckled, "Thanks. And speaking of Earth . . ." She finally found what she had been looking for. Taking down a sangria-colored container, embroidered in gold, she rummaged through it and revealed a professionally rolled joint.
"Oh, shit!" Peter laughed as she grabbed a lighter hidden behind one of the potted plants and walked back to him. "All this time I thought Angelique was the pot head!"
Trystan gave him a look and snickered, "Well, I told you, I've gotten into a lot of plant therapy over the years. Marijuana can be very healing . . . or just really fun."
She traipsed over to a place on the floor near a wall and settled down onto the run there. Sparking alive her lighter, she looked to Peter. "You wanna take a hit, or am I gonna have to finish this all by myself?"
A thick haze wafted through the Quiet Room, both Trystan and Peter's eyelids low as they passed back and forth the brown blunt, letting the plumes curl from their lips and their laughter take up any of the space the smoke did not.
"I'm serious." Trystan inhaled deeply before relighting the butt and handing it back to Peter. "She would run around naked with the diaper on her head. It was all fun and games until she had to pee and had nowhere to go but on the floor."
Peter chortled at her recalling Raina's antics as a twenty-month old. There was always something new he learned about the little girl, but he expected nothing less from such a blithe character.
"That little girl is something," Peter voiced slowly, looking down at the joint. He noticed a little wetness where her mouth had been, and took pleasure in putting his lips on the same place.
"Little ball of energy, I tell ya." Trystan leaned back against the wall, taking one last pull before she gave it to Peter to have. She licked her lips and closed her eyes, listening carefully as he spoke to her.
"So, I've always wondered something."
"Mm? What's that?"
"Her nickname . . . Dewdrop. Where'd it come from?"
Trystan thought for a moment, and then chuckled, and then sobered, remembering. She breathed in deeply, the smoke that still resided in the air tickling her throat as she did. She coughed and sniffed.
Peter noticed her hand lightly ghosting her stomach as she slowly explained to him, "When she was born . . . it'd been raining outside. Had no idea what to name her, but the rain had been relentless that day, and the only name I could think to call her was 'Raina'."
She chuckled at the silliness of it, but she was never great at picking names. She had opted for the name 'Bartholomew' once when she and Angelique were having a hypothetical conversation about babies years before.
"It wasn't until a year later that I found out the real meaning of that name was 'Queen'." She smiled, thinking of her little princess, who she knew would grow up to wear her name well.
"But anyway, there were some . . . complications towards the end of my pregnancy."
Peter was quiet, wanting to ask her a billion more questions—What kind of complications? Was she hurt? Was Raina hurt? What did Derek do? Was he even there?—but he spoke not, letting her mouth formulate her own words.
"At only eight months, the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck." Trystan's face became placid as she recalled the horrifying experience, waking up one morning, feeling no pain herself, but something inside her just knew something was wrong with her baby. She had raced to the hospital and demanded she be seen as quickly as possible. It had taken nearly half-an-hour for her doctor to see her, and upon examining her, they found that the fetus' air was being compromised.
"They had to get her out as fast as they could . . . couldn't even do an induced labor; wasn't enough time if they wanted to save her." Trystan's hand went to her stomach again. "When she came out . . . she was so small. This tiny little thing. I thought that by at least eight months she would've been a lot bigger even though from the sonograms I got I knew she'd be small. But when she came out and I got to hold her . . . it still felt so surreal, that she was born and I was a mom. And all that damned rain . . . that's all I heard. Not the doctor, not her cries, but that rain against the window. I looked at her and thought, look at this little thing, at this little dewdrop."
Trystan looked as if that particular aspect of the memory warmed her, as a small smile perched itself on her lips. "The nickname actually came before her real name, but I couldn't have her going around with the name 'Dewdrop'." She and Peter chuckled. "Rain and dew? I thought it worked well together. And yeah . . . that's where it came from."
They were both still for a moment, the fog in the room not letting up as Peter had not put out the end of the joint. He took a short pull before asking lowly, "So if you didn't do induced labor, what did you do?" The question was invasive, he knew, but his clouded mind was made of no filter.
Luckily, Trystan did not appear offended by the question, if anything, open to it, and Peter became more alert when she slowly reached down and lifted the bottom hem of her shirt.
A welt, faded but still noticeable, was hidden beneath a flowery tattoo, curling across her lower abdomen. Peter watched as she ran her hand across it slowly. "C-section," she answered him, not looking down at it herself.
"I used to hate this scar," she revealed. "Just like I used to hate the one on my hip."
Peter knew the one. He had felt it with his own fingers before. Kissed it, too.
"I thought it was just so ugly and out there. . . . So when it healed well enough, I got this tattoo to cover it . . . but I could still see it. I felt like . . . it was mocking me somehow. Did what I could to hide it and it still showed through."
Peter had the right mind to tell her that it was beautiful, the scar, the tattoo, her, was all beautiful. But he did not, and let her continue speaking.
"But after some time, I recognized it as a part of me, and if it wasn't there, then I wouldn't've had my little baby." She grinned softly at the thought. "So, I don't love it . . . sometimes it's still hard to look at . . . but I'm glad that it's there . . . reminds me of all I have."
She grew silent, looking somewhere before her. She gradually reached to pull her shirt back down, but before she could, Peter's fingers reached out and lightly traced the scar on her stomach.
Her breath caught in her throat as he touched her, alarmed, but she did not stop him.
Peter did not know what had compelled him to do it, knowing well he had broken past a boundary, not knowing if she would appreciate him doing so, but was glad he did.
It felt like the most intimate thing they had ever done.
Her allowance of him caressing a place she felt was scorned, that she looked at in the mirror and disliked, contented him. He wanted to tell her to due away with those kinds of thoughts, that repulsiveness would never equate to her or something she had and needed not be in her vocabulary.
"You're beautiful, Trystan."
Peter thought he had been thinking those words, safe in his mind, but when Trystan became even stiller than she had been, he realized that it had been aloud and she had heard.
She did not say anything, did not move, expect her eyes, which slowly fell to his fingers and watched as they massaged her blemish in a way that she had never felt.
Lovingly.
Peter fought the urge to lean down and kiss it as he had done the scratch on her leg, to let her know that it was okay, that it was something made her up and everything that made her up was wonderful.
And then he fought the urge of other thoughts, the ones about spreading her legs to kiss between them, or looking at her face to kiss the lips that were there. So he just sat there, lightly tracing, she staring at him with a look of wonder and something else in her eye, until the timer on the oven went off, and they both jumped from their moment.
Trystan quickly snatched her shirt back down over her middle and cleared her throat. "Cookies are done," she announced and stood, Peter following suit leisurely, a bit dazed at what had just occurred. "Don't want them to burn."
She went back inside without looking to see if he was at her heel, which he was grateful for, because he stayed behind, cursing his body and mind for betraying him. He shifted his pants, and when he felt that his erection was hidden well enough, he joined her back in the kitchen, keeping his eyes off her round backside as she placed the tray of cookies on top of the oven.
Trystan tried to regather herself. What had just happened was close, much too close. Not that it was against her liking, because in the moment, all that consumed her thoughts was Peter, and Peter touching her, and Peter appreciating her, possibly even loving her, in a place she did not love herself. She wanted to gulp down a cup of water to get her bearings, but she tried to remain calm in front of him. She trembled in more places than one, but inhaled shakily, willing herself to pull it together.
"So, you wanna finish these?" She turned around to gesture to the plate of cookies that had already been cooled and ready for consumption. "I don't know about you, but I get the munchies like crazy after smoking."
Peter obliged, feeling incredibly hungry himself, but he should have declined, or at least not faced her as they polished off the plate of treats, because every time she licked her lips to rid them of crumbs or bits of melted chocolate, he grew tense and wished he were the one trailing his tongue across her mouth.
She did not appear aware of his internal afflictions, but why would she? He had not made any sexual advances toward her, showing her that he wanted her in the way that was not allowed, so she continued on, being so unknowingly sexy that after they finished the entire plate of cookies, laughing when they realized it, he told her he had to head back out to his hotel.
"To finish up some work," he had explained, which she nodded to understandingly.
"Okay," she nodded and watched as he made sure he had his rental car keys as he made his way to the front door.
"Can you come back tomorrow?" she found herself asking without a moment's debate or hesitance, just before he stepped through the aperture.
He looked at her for a moment, studying her, then weighing his own advantages and disadvantages.
"Yeah, I can come."
. . .
. . .
. . .
Thanks for reading! ^_^