Careful not to make any hasty movements, he went out to his storage room to fetch another bottle of oil. When Tristan came, he always used one with lavender and sandalwood. It was calming, while the oil with peppermint was invigorating. He wanted Tristan to relax—he wanted all his customers to relax, but Tristan needed a sense of calmness. He always carried around so much pressure. He looked like the kind of guy who would tell you if something was wrong. He growled—a lot—but only about the little things. When something was bothering him for real, he bottled it up inside until it exploded. Aiden hated it.
Something was up with Tristan. It was right there in his carefulness and the way he weighed his words before he spoke. What Aiden wouldn’t have given to be able to go to Whiteport with him for a day—not that he could afford it, but it wouldorsquo;ve been lovely.
He needed to work more, needed the money.