With the lights now shining full force, she took in his ruined suit and the hazelnut strands of hair highlighted in pink.
His lower lip twitched. “Just a little incident with the aerosol can.”
She narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “Anything else happen?”
His left brow rose in his trademark giveaway of a bald-faced lie. “Nope.”
Oh, she so didn’t believe him. She hoped it wasn’t a disaster that couldn’t be fixed. Sticking him with the ballet recital was intense. Not many regular parents managed well, let alone someone who wasn’t often around children. “Okay. Shall I meet you out front?”
He nodded, then paused. “She was good.”
His voice sounded a tad wobbly. An odd expression flickered across his face, like he wasn’t used to communicating his feelings. Her heart pounded so hard she swore he glanced at her chest. “Thanks. She likes to dance.”
“I was bored the first half, though.”
A laugh escaped at his obvious truth. “Most parents are,” she confided. “We only want to see our own children perform, but we pretend we’re all about the group.”
“Moms are kind of hard-core, aren’t they?”
“You have no idea.”
“Now I think I do.”
She frowned at the strange words, but then she was getting pushed by the crowd and had to go with the flow. “I’ll meet you out front,” she said again. Scrambling past chairs and proud, bragging moms, she dove into the madness and finally reached her daughter in the back room, standing with her friends, talking excitedly.
“Mama! I didn’t stumble, not once!”
Sydney held her tight but was forced to let go way too quickly. She’d been given new rules about showing too much motherly affection in front of Becca’s friends. “I’m so proud of you girls!” She gave each of them a quick hug. “You worked so hard, and it really showed.”
“Thanks, Ms. Seymour,” they all chanted in unison. Becca’s three best friends had grown up with her from preschool into elementary school and were very close. Their mothers were responsible and down-to-earth, but she didn’t get to attend many mommy dates due to her work schedule.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ellison are taking everyone out for ice cream. Can I go? Please?”
She hesitated, more for her than for Becca. She’d been looking forward to having some time alone to go over the recital. Maybe make some popcorn and rent a movie. She’d even originally planned on inviting all the girls out so she could soak up her daughter’s excitement. But Becca’s face was all puppy-dog eager, matched by the trio surrounding her, so Sydney gave in.
“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.”