“Sure. Lyndsey, is your mom outside, so I can talk to her?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, grab your bags, and let’s head out. Becca, don’t forget to thank Tristan for taking you.”
“I won’t.”
They pushed their way out the front door, and she gulped in the crisp air washing over her heated skin. The girls huddled together in excitement, and she said a few quick words to Lyndsey’s parents, who looked happy enough to escort four girls into their maroon minivan.
Becca ran back and stopped in front of Tristan. He sank to his knees so he was on her level. His smile flashed a set of straight white teeth. He had the grace of old-school Cary Grant and the handsome charm of Leonardo DiCaprio rolled into one. Sydney’s heart hitched when her daughter practically beamed in front of him. “Thank you for taking me, Tristan.”
“You’re welcome. You were magnificent.”
Her cheeks pinkened. “You didn’t think it was too boring?”
“Absolutely not. What was that twirly move where you lifted your right leg?”
“A pirouette!” she said proudly.
“Yes. I have no idea how you didn’t fall over.”
“They teach you about using a focal point, but my teacher said you need to let go of your mind and trust your body.”
“Excellent advice.”
They stared at each other, smiling. “Well, I have to go with my friends now. We’re getting ice cream.”
“Sounds fun. Do you have your ID handy?”
Her daughter’s silly giggle floated in the air. “You don’t need ID for ice cream! Just stuff for when you become an adult and can get away with tons of things and don’t have anyone telling you no.”
He sighed with fake suffering. “You’re forgetting about all the boring stuff they make you do when you’re old. Like paying bills and going to work and being responsible. Trust me, it’s no fun.”
Becca snorted. “Tragic.”
He laughed, a big, booming sound Sydney rarely heard from him. She fought her shock. Tristan rarely spoke to her daughter, let alone laughed with so much emotion. Even his awkwardness seemed to have disappeared. What had happened between them tonight?
“I gotta go! Bye, Tristan, bye, Mama!”
She blew kisses, gave her mom one last hug, and raced off to the minivan, where the doors slid slowly shut. Sydney turned to face him, intent on getting more answers to her questions about what they had spoken about tonight, when Cynthia suddenly appeared by her side, obviously fuming, dressed in her perfect clothes, with her perfect makeup. Sydney winced but was determined to be nice to her. Cynthia was a control-freak mom, always causing trouble and wanting to be in charge of decisions in ballet school and on the PTA. Sydney found it much easier to stay out of her line of attention, rather than fighting over silly things she had little time or patience for. She forced a smile.
“Hi, Cynthia. Lucy did wonderful. Did you enjoy the show?”
The woman shot Tristan a look of loathing, then pressed her lips together tightly. “I must say, Sydney, I’m disappointed in your lack of respect for the rules here,” she said snottily. “Saving seats is not allowed, but having your friend here accost me in front of children is shocking.”
“I did not accost you,” Tristan replied. “I just refused to let you take her seat.”
Sydney gasped, glancing back and forth between them. He’d had a fight with Cynthia? Oh, this was bad. So bad. And why did Cynthia sneer when she uttered the word friend? “There must have been a misunderstanding. My car had a flat, so Tristan was doing me a favor. There was no deliberate intention to break the rules here.”
“Yet you did. We lecture our children on the perils of bullying, yet your friend here humiliated me and used intimidation to scare me. It’s unacceptable.”
“I did not bully you!”
Trying to get a grip on the down-the-rabbit-hole conversation, she shook her head and spoke calmly. “Tristan doesn’t bully people. Let’s let this go and chalk it up to an unfortunate miscommunication. I’m truly sorry you felt you were being bullied.”
Tristan glared but remained silent. She’d never seen him so aggravated. It must’ve been an epic encounter.
Cynthia regarded them both with her nose in the air. She was so cliché it was almost ridiculous. She had too much money, too much time, and too much ego. “Fine. We’ll put this incident behind us. Perhaps you should leave your intimate friends at home from now on. It reflects poorly on you and Becca. We wouldn’t want rumors to begin circulating at the school, now, would we?”
Oh, she did not just say that. Everyone knew Cynthia’s husband was having an affair with his accountant. And she had the nerve to judge who Sydney brought to Becca’s recital? Anger punched through her, and she took a few steps forward and got in the woman’s face. She practically snarled the words against Cynthia’s red, Botoxed lips.
“Listen up, chickie. You keep out of my and Becca’s business. And if I ever hear a word about me, or Tristan, or Becca from your mouth, I promise you, I will kick your ass so hard, I will make Christian Grey look like an amateur. Got it?”
Cynthia gasped and stumbled back. “You’re crazy,” she whispered. “Both of you.”
Tristan grinned. “Nice to meet you.”
The woman turned on her smart nude-colored heel and took off, grabbing her daughter’s arm and pulling her away, ignoring her loud protests.
They watched her leave, the final headlights pulling out of the exit. Then they stood alone in the empty parking lot.
“Christian Grey, huh?” he asked. “That was good.”
She sighed. “It was kind of lame, but I was too mad to be clever.”
“No, I liked it.”
“I’m sorry I put you in that position. I didn’t know you got in a fight with her over saving a seat.”
He gave an elegant half shrug. “It was fun. Sharpened my warrior skills. Had no idea moms had to be this tough. Or so good with hair.”
Her lips twitched, and her muscles relaxed. “It stayed up during her pirouette, so you did great.”
Did he puff out in pride or was she imagining things? “Thanks.”
This whole conversation was getting too weird. And way too intimate. She needed to put back the distance between them. “Well, thanks again for helping me out. My car is okay, so I’d better head home. We need to meet with the rest of the suppliers to get them to sign contracts. I got Anthony Moretti on board.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re kidding? That fast?”
“Yes. That’s where I was coming from when my tire blew. Can we meet at the site to hammer out some details this week?”
“That works.”
“Great. Well, have a good night.”
His arm shot out. Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm, encasing her in a firm grip. “Have coffee with me.”
His touch jolted her like a hit from Iron Man. She tried to mask her reaction by looking at the ground. “I don’t drink coffee this late at night. It keeps me up.”
“Wine?”
“My Place is too far a drive. I need to be back for Becca.”
“We can go down by the marina. Just one cocktail and then home. You can take your own car.”
She casually stepped back, breaking his hold. Her skin burned. “Umm, I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night after a rocking ballet,” she joked. “People to call. Lively places to go. Hot girls to hang with.”
“Actually, I don’t.” There was a seriousness that clung to his manner, to his words. Those beautiful golden eyes seemed haunted as he stared at her. Why, oh why, had they declared a tentative truce? It was much harder to be nice to him than snippy. Being nice opened up all sorts of nasty things inside of her. Weepy things. Needy things.
Girly things.
He continued, each word chipping away at another piece of her finely built armor. “I don’t feel like going home to an empty house.”
Direct hit. More of her barriers shook, but she crossed her arms in front of her chest and regarded him suspiciously. “Why are you trying to make me feel guilty? You used to tell me your greatest moments were spent alone.”