“They never trample Becca, though,” she commented.

“They must sense she’s like a tiny mouse they want to protect rather than eat.” They headed to the door, and the dogs accompanied them in, jumping in happiness to get more company. The sound of Dalton’s voice drifted in the air, followed by a giggle.

They rounded the corner, and Becca let out a squeal, running into her mother’s arms. “Mama! Uncle Dalton and I had so much fun, I had chicken for dinner with the potato fries I like, and we made friendship bracelets, and I made you one!”

“You did? Let me see. Oh, I love it.”

He watched Sydney examine the bright pink-and-yellow-braided fabric, face alight with genuine pleasure. Watching their heads bent together, arms entwined, faces close, he felt a pain rip at his gut and a yearning that knocked him off his ass.

It was like seeing Sydney young again. He studied her daughter, with her bright red hair now contained in a ponytail. Already the curly strands broke free in rebellion and fell across her cheeks and nape. Fair skin with a generous smattering of freckles. Bright green eyes swirled with gold, full of curiosity and a zest for life that humbled him. She was all long, lanky legs like a young colt out of the gate. Her favorite color seemed to be pink, from her leggings, sneakers, and long-sleeved T-shirt with a cat in a tiara.

“Say hi,” Sydney prodded.

“Oh, sorry, hi, Tristan!”

“Hi, Becca.” She called his brothers Uncle. Not him. For some reason, she only used his first name. Not that he was great with kids. They puzzled him, and he’d always preferred the company of adults and cocktails to children’s games and juice boxes.

Becca made him . . . uncomfortable. He never knew what to say to her or how to act. He tried to avoid her. Looking at her face hurt. She was a reminder of Sydney moving on and marrying another man, but he never wanted his raw emotions to leak out in the way he treated her daughter.

He looked over at Dalton, who sported a bright blue braided bracelet. It went perfectly with his man bun. “Nice look, dude.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “I’m secure in my manhood.”

“Uncle Dalton says real men wear jewelry,” Becca recited with wide eyes.

“You’re right,” he said seriously. “I remember the day Uncle Dalton got his ear pierced and screamed like the Cowardly Lion. A scary sight.”

“Mama said I did good when they pierced my ears, but I don’t really remember. Where’s your earring?” she asked Dalton.

His brother shot him a look. “Took it out. I’m into friendship bracelets now.”

Becca giggled.

“Thanks for watching her, Dalton. Sorry we were so late.”

His brother stood up from the stool and stretched. “No problem. I had a blast. How did your meeting go?”

“Good. Sydney killed it,” Tristan offered.

Pride flashed in Dalton’s blue eyes. “Not surprised, Ms. CFO.”

“Thanks. Your brother wasn’t too bad himself. But I’d better get the princess home. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Are you coming to my ballet recital?” Becca asked Dalton.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I have to work with Raven tomorrow at the restaurant.”

“Oh.” Disappointment reflected in Becca’s eyes. “Morgan can’t go, either.” Suddenly that green-gold gaze swiveled to snare Tristan in its grip. A shiver raced down his spine at the contact. “Are you coming, Tristan?”

He hadn’t been invited. Not that it mattered. Sure, Dalton and Cal and even Brady liked to attend her recitals and plays and stuff. But he’d set himself up as a more distant figure, too busy with work and other things to take the time out for such activities. And of course, Sydney never wanted him there. Not when they’d barely cobbled together a conversation since he’d returned to Harrington.

He shifted his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. “Umm, sorry, Becca, I can’t. I’m busy.”

An awkward silence descended. Dalton shot him a withering look, but he didn’t know what they wanted from him. He wasn’t about to go to a ballet for Sydney’s daughter. He had no clue how to relate, and it was better he kept his distance.

“Oh. Okay.” Her soft words carried a touch of hurt.

Sydney gave her daughter a hug and a blinding smile. “I’ll be there in the front row, and you’ll be with all your friends. Maybe we can all go out for ice cream together afterward?”

Becca’s face brightened. “Cool.”

He pushed away the guilt. How did he get to be the bad guy in this? The idea of being trapped in a car with both of them for the ride home touched off a flicker of panic. Becca was known for her chatter, and he wasn’t good at conversation with kids. “Hey, Dalton, can you drive them home for me? I have to make a few calls. For business.”

“Sure. Come on, ladies. My chariot awaits.”

“Bye, Tristan,” Becca called out, linking her hand with Syd’s as she headed toward the door.

“See you later.”

He noticed Sydney didn’t look back or offer a good-bye.

chapter seven

Sydney? I need you down here now to talk about this deal. I won’t be available tomorrow or Monday, so if we’re going to discuss, we need to do it now.”

She looked down at her out-of-date Valentine’s Day LuLaRoe leggings, faded oversize T-shirt, and furry boots. She’d squeezed in the oil change this morning, bought the tights, and picked up some groceries, and she didn’t have much time left before Becca needed to get ready for the recital. Especially since scoring a front seat meant getting there an hour early.

Swallowing past the panic, she kept her voice calm. Anthony Moretti was known for his quality tile, workmanship, and theatrics. She’d been able to reach out to him briefly about the deal, but he liked face-to-face encounters. Her plan to approach him on Monday obviously wasn’t going to work, since he refused to wait. “No problem. Can you give me half an hour?”

“See you then.”

She clicked off her cell phone and dragged in a breath. Okay, she could do this. Her brain madly rushed through the options as she crammed her hair into a halfhearted bun and hunted for her files. “Becca!” she yelled. “Honey, I need you down here now!”