"I'm curious to see what your third impression will be like," Tristan said.

Hope cocked an eyebrow, her lips quirked into a playful look.

"Do you have an idea in mind where I can make this third impression?"

"I do. Go out with me." Tristan spoke with an unwavering confidence as if he were telling time, ordering coffee or predicting the weather.

"Do you often ask out your dancers?" Hope asked.

"Only the good ones," he said echoing her words.

The laugh Tristan had hoped to hear escaped her and he was not disappointed. It was light and musical.

"When?" she asked, eyes still shining with laughter.

"Tonight."

"Eager."

"More like free. It's not often I am free at nights and I don't plan on wasting it."

"Then let's not waste it."

Hope gave him her number and collected her bag.

"I'll wait for your text," she said. "If I know one thing about Tristan McKenzie is that he doesn't disappoint."

She left and Tristan watched her going, admiring more than before the grace in which she moved. Retrieving his own things, he departed the studio, plans for the night forming in his mind. The final touches were being put together as he walked the quiet street to the brick house.

Evening was caressing the sky and lamps popped on overhead. Murmurs of lives came from the surrounding houses, like notes in a bottle you would never understand until you opened them.        

When he opened the front door, he found the house quiet, strips of light coming from upstairs. As quietly as he could, he climbed the steps and slipped into his room. Showered and changed into a pair of slacks and black button-down shirt, he stood before the bathroom mirror styling his hair. Thoughts of the night's event filled his head and he left...content.

"I thought I sensed the presence of genius," Elliot said, leaning on the doorway.

Tristan met her gaze in the reflection but made no comment. Elliot opened her mouth but then closed it, frowning.

"Cece!" she called.

"Go away!" was the reply.

"Come here! It's an emergency."

A grumbling, stomping sound emanated from down the hallway, a harbinger of Cece's state. When she stopped beside Elliot, she was scowling.

"What!" she said.

Elliot didn't look at her sister, instead, she was staring at Tristan, a look of concern and fear on her face.

"What's wrong with his face?" she whispered.

Puzzled, Cece stuck her head into the bathroom and studied Tristan. Then the scowl she had worn dropped away, replaced by shock.

"Oh dear," she murmured, "what do you think is wrong?"

"It can't be anything we did," Elliot said.

"Do you think something happened on the way home?" '

"That is a stupid question, you know how he feels about humans, trees, and air."

"Right, then what could it be?"

Finally annoyed enough with the mutterings, Tristan faced them, scowling. The look brought on expressions of relief and they sank against the door frame. Cece even put a hand over her heart.

"Woah, for a second there I really thought something was wrong," she said.

"I feared he had had a stroke," Elliot said, "and his personality had been replaced with a cheerful one."

"What horrifying thing that would be." 

"Are you two finished?" Tristan asked.

They looked at each other and shared a silent conversation.

"Yup," Cece said.

"Now care to explain to us why you smell nice and scared us because for a moment you looked...dare I say it...giddy."

Tristan scowled at them. "I do not do giddy."

"Fine, excited," Cece amended.

"Chipper," Elliot said.

"Content."

"Perky."

"Sunny."

"Human."

Tristan brushed past them and they trailed along like two persistent ghosts, determined to haunt him into insanity. Before he could close his bedroom door on them, they slipped inside and plopped onto his bed.

"Tell us, Tristan," Elliot said, propping her chin up on her fists. "And we promise we'll leave you to whatever doom you're about to face with a brave countenance."

Sighing, Tristan stared at the two beaming faces that eagerly waited for what he might say. Despite the annoyance that usually was derived from these two people, he cared about them. But it was a truth he wasn't likely to share with them anytime soon or ever. The notion of admitting it on his deathbed was an option but one he held very lightly.

"I have a date tonight," he said.

The minute he said it he regretted ever approving of his parents bearing children past him. He would willingly sacrifice the three that came before them just to avoid the expression on their faces. It was as if a miracle had happened before their eyes.

"What?"

"How did this happen?"

"Is she blackmailing you?"

"Was it accepted under duress?"

"Do you need backup?"

"Do you need an assassin?"

"Are you wearing that?"

"What jacket are you thinking about choosing?"

Tristan covered his face with his hand, wishing that time had taught him a better lesson of never talking. Ever. When he raised his head, both Cece and Elliot were grinning at him.

"Are you done?" he asked.

They nodded, then Cece lifted her hand.    

"Just tell us this one thing and we'll leave you," she said. "Are you pregnant?"

"Yes, now leave."

The girls scampered off the bed.

"I knew it," Elliot said. "It's why he ate all the ice cream. Cravings."

At the doorway, they both turned around.

"One final question," Cece said.

"Yes, we're keeping the baby, but decided not to get married."

Elliot looked at Cece. "I knew it, that kid will grow up in an already broken home."

"Best to learn life is broken from the very beginning," Cece said. She looked at Tristan. "What jacket are you wearing? Cause I say go with the leather jacket."

Elliot scoffed. "No, the pea coat is the best option. It's flattering and makes him look like a model." She focused on Tristan. "Go with the pea coat, don't listen to Cece."

"The leather jacket has the cool factor, one he may need to hide his disregard for normal people. It could also be his only hope of having a successful relationship with this blackmailer."

"The pea coat will give him the look of intelligence that might sway the assassin that is after him."

They both faced Tristan, arms crossed.

"Go with my option," they said together.

Tristan eased the door closed, giving them enough time to fit in last second arguments and still leave them with their toes and fingers intact. Alone, he shook his head and walked to his closet. Though he didn't want to deal with them, they had made a good point, he would have to decide: leather jacket or pea coat?

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