My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 469

Tristan Davis got home late last night. Cynthia Rivera was, as usual, in one of her Ms. Blair moods—impossible to please. By the time he finally found her and made sure she was settled, it was already well past midnight.

He’d thought about going to see Emily Blair to explain himself, but at that hour, she was surely asleep. In the end, he just flopped into bed without even bothering to shower.

When he woke up, the first thing he did was head for a shower, letting the hot water clear his head. He even washed his hair, figuring he needed it.

Towel-drying his hair, Tristan wandered back to the living room. He bent down, pulled a hairdryer from the cabinet, and asked, “What did the building manager want?”

Cynthia’s eyes darted sideways as she made something up on the spot. “Just wanted to know if you’re interested in joining the neighborhood activities. I know you never go to those things, so I told them no for you.”

Tristan flicked the hairdryer on, grunted, and didn’t ask anything else.

He was one of those people who looked good without trying—great face, great build. Even in loose pajamas, he somehow managed to look sharp. Broad shoulders, long legs, head bent as he dried his hair, strong lines to his jaw and cheekbones. His fingers, deft and elegant, threaded through his damp hair, the knuckles pink from the shower, veins visible under the skin. You could tell just by looking that holding that hand would be something else.

Cynthia’s pulse jumped. Embarrassed, she tried to play it cool as she crossed the room, the hum of the hairdryer filling the silence. She sat down next to him and, without thinking, looped her arm through his. “Let me help you with your hair?”

Tristan clicked his tongue, switched off the dryer, and pulled his arm away. “Cynthia, can you just give me some space? You’re not a kid anymore. Stop acting like one.”

He switched the hairdryer back on, dismissing her. “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

Cynthia’s face creased in frustration, her voice small and wounded. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re practically engaged, and you still treat me like this?”

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