He chuckled. “Now you really do sound like my mum.”

I poked him in the side. “Hey! I’m not that old.”

“What are you? Twenty-six? You’re practically ancient,” he teased.

I narrowed my gaze. “You’re lucky I’m not the one holding the knife.”

We worked together in quiet for a bit, while my mind was as loud as a motorway at rush hour. Too many thoughts filled my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Trev discussed me with his doctor. He discussed me regularly. And, he wanted us to be together, like together together. It was all so much to digest.

Sure, he hadn’t exactly been coy about his feelings, but I didn’t know the true extent of them. Now I did. He wanted to grab me and kiss me when he saw me. The very notion made me blush right down to my toes.

The thing that got me most was the idea that he wanted to rewind the clock, go back to how things used to be before everything got so complicated. But did I have it in me to take him back?

One part of me felt like I did, especially since I now had my eyes open to his reasons for keeping me at an arm’s length. But another part refused to make things easy for him. That part wanted him to work for it, because in spite of everything, there were too many times when I’d simply acquiesced to his wants and ignored my own.

Isaac, Neil and I were eating brunch when Trev finally emerged from his room. He eyed the three of us, though his gaze warmed substantially when he looked at me.

Do you want to kiss me right now, Trevor?

“I left a plate in the fridge for you if you’re hungry,” I said before taking a bite.

He smiled softly and it lit a warm spark in my chest. “Thanks, Reyrey.”

A little while later I settled myself on the couch to check my emails. I was delighted to see a new one from Marlene. I have a fan. I found at least a dozen attachments and started flicking through them. Her photos were incredible, definitely good enough to use on posters and flyers.

I was lost in my head making plans when a curious voice asked, “Are those stripper poles?”

I turned and Trev was leaning over the couch, his attention on my laptop screen. I wondered self-consciously how long he’d been watching me and tucked some hair behind my ear.

“Uh, yeah. Last night I played at a burlesque club.”

Trev hopped over the couch and landed beside me. He grabbed the laptop and began scrolling through the photos. “You secretive little mare. I can’t believe you didn’t let me come with you.”

“I told you, I didn’t want any crew members tagging along.”

He was quiet for a minute or two as he studied the pictures. Then he breathed, “These are beautiful, Reya. Who took them?”

“A French girl who came to see me play. We spoke after my set and she offered to send me the pictures.”

“Well, she’s bloody good, whoever she is. Can I email these to myself?”

I bit my lip, shooting him a curious glance. “Why?”

He turned to look at me, his expression serious. “Why not?”

I was the first to look away, unable to handle the ferocity of his stare. Clearing my throat, I mumbled. “Sure, go ahead then.”

He started tapping and then he handed the laptop back to me. “All done.”

“Thanks. So, um, how are you feeling today?”

“I’m good. Fine,” he answered, eyeing me shrewdly.

“Oh, that’s . . . good.”

Trev continued to study me and his brows arched ever so slightly. “Any reason why you’re asking?”

I stiffened but shook my head. “Nope. Just, you know, being friendly.”

I didn’t mean to put so much emphasis on ‘friendly’ and Trev appeared suspicious. He stared at me for so long I was glad for my year-round tan, otherwise I would’ve gone read as red as a tomato. He looked as though he suspected I was hiding something.

“Reya, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

I shook my head and tried to calm my breathing. “I don’t think so.”

The door to the apartment opened and Leanne, Paul and James came barrelling in, returning from their morning of sightseeing. I was glad for the interruption, because if Trev kept staring at me I’d snap and blurt out the truth. I felt awful for my eavesdropping and wished I’d never done it now. His therapy sessions were private. Even if he was discussing me, I still had no right to listen.

Things were weirdly tense between us for the rest of the day. The afternoon shoot took place in a public park next to a residential area just outside the city. The apartment buildings looked like they’d been built in the seventies and the park had lots of benches and high walls, with a long row of steps leading to one of the blocks.

Trev and Callum were talking with Barry, who was making lots of animated hand gestures while he spoke. I spotted Paul reading as he sat on the grass next to a tree. Since things were still weird between Trev and me, I went and sat down beside Paul, figuring he was neutral territory.

“What are you reading?”

He glanced up and smiled, lifting the book for me to read the title. “‘The Art of Happiness’ by the Dalai Lama,” I said with an arched brow. “Not what I expected.”

His lips twitched. “What did you expect?”

I shrugged and looked across the park. Trev was still talking with Callum and Barry, but now his eyes were trained on Paul and me, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know. ‘I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell’ maybe?” I teased.

“I think you’re mistaking me with Cal. I’m Paul, remember? I thought the red hair was a dead giveaway.”

I laughed. “Right. Next time I’ll remember.”

We shared a smile and his attention returned to his book. “Trev actually loaned me this.”

That surprised me. The paperback looked well worn, like whoever owned it had read it several times. “He did?”

“Yep. He’s been reading a lot of philosophy and stuff like that lately. I think it helps him look at things from a new perspective.”

I mulled that one over but didn’t speak, though Paul was more than happy to fill the silence.

“Did you know that when the next Dalai Lama is found, they have to go through all these tests to make sure he’s the real deal? He’s supposed to be a reincarnation of his predecessor, you see, so in one of the tests they present him with a collection of items, but only one of them belonged to the previous Dalai Lama. If he picks the correct item, they know it’s him. Crazy, right?”