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“I really like him, Sloane. I want him so much, but I’m scared.”

She studied me for a long moment, her features softening. My sister was a bit of a romantic, and I expected she was thinking about Tristan and me, the element of fate that could be involved in us crossing paths twenty years later. “I think you should give him a chance,” she said, and I stared at her in confusion.

“A minute ago, you basically said it was a terrible idea.”

“Yes, well, a minute ago, I didn’t know the full story. Now, I do, and I think it’d be a terrible shame to throw away a connection like this. I’ve watched you live your life happily single for six years now, no man able to turn your head, so the fact that you feel this way for Tristan obviously means something. You’ll wonder forever if you don’t see where this could go.”

I fell silent, lost in thought. I didn’t even realise I’d drank all my coffee and eaten three more custard creams until I looked down and saw my cup was empty, nothing but crumbs left on the biscuit plate. Sloane stood and came around to wrap her arms around my shoulders. “Okay, enough agonising. Let’s go upstairs and find something for you to wear to disco night.”

My sister’s advice stayed with me long after I left her place. The fact that she’d changed her mind meant something. She wouldn’t encourage me to say yes to Tristan if she didn’t strongly believe that it would work out. Her approval meant everything, and it had me inching towards a decision, though my chest still fluttered with nerves every time I thought about telling Tristan. How would he react? What would he say? What would he do?

Just imagining saying the words had my insides in a tailspin. I barely had the ability to think about what would come after.

18.

Tristan

On Saturday, I had to be reminded yet again about disco night, this time by Becky, who appeared in my office doorway wearing a glittery jumpsuit and silver platform heels.

“What on earth—”

“It’s disco night,” she said with a roll of her eyes, and again, if she wasn’t so good at her job, I’d have something to say about her attitude. “I knew you’d forget, so I took the liberty of arranging an outfit.” She held up a suit that would’ve put all three members of the Bee Gees to shame. It was pearlescent white, with a matching waistcoat, the trousers flared and a deep red shirt with a long collar.

“I’m not wearing that.”

“Aw, come on. Everyone’s dressing up. I just saw Lou walking by in a pair of black leather pants, a skintight T-shirt and a golden waistcoat. With all his tattoos, it was quite the look.”

“I’m not a sheep. I don’t do something just because everyone else is doing it.”

“Even your brother agreed to wear the retro shirt I found for him. Come on, boss, live a little.”

I was normally a lot more fun, but I’d been letting the stress of work get to me. Maybe Becky was right. Maybe I did need to loosen up and live a little.

“I’ll wear the shirt,” I allowed. “You can return the rest to whatever nightmare clothing rental company you got it from.

She punched the air in triumph, grinning to herself. “I knew it would work.”

“What’s that now?”

“I knew that if I showed you the entire suit, you’d at least agree to the shirt and possibly the waistcoat,” she replied, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

I shook my head, amusement tugging at my lips. “Well played, Becky, well played.”

She draped the outfit across a chair saying, “It starts in half an hour in the function room. I’m heading over now to help with setting up. I’ll see you there.”

Becky left, and I finished up what I was working on then removed the shiny red shirt from the hanger. I was busy removing the shirt I already had on when the door handle turned.

“Becky, we spoke about you coming in here without properly announcing yourself,” I said in annoyance just as a velvety female voice said, “Oh, sorry.”

I stood in front of my desk, entirely shirtless with the ridiculous disco top in my hands, while Erin stood in the doorway, frozen. When I saw what she was wearing, my throat ran dry. She had on a short dress that came to her mid-thigh. It was a purplish colour, with a funkadelic pattern, the long sleeves flared quite like the trousers Becky had wanted me to wear. She wore white, knee-high platform boots that I could hardly take my eyes off of, her gorgeous hair hanging wild around her shoulders.

Fuck. I ran a hand down my face, trying to get my dick under control while she turned away, embarrassed.

“I should’ve knocked.”

“It’s fine. Come in. I was just changing for disco night. Becky got me this ridiculous outfit. I told her I’d wear the shirt, but I’m not touching the rest.”

Erin’s attention went to the suit, her lips curving as she ran a hand over the shiny material. “I’d pay good money to see you in this.”