presents and his mom made a cake and his face hurt from smiling. And there were a really whole lot of presents!
“Having fun?” his mom asked when he was looking at the gift table.
“Uh-huh! When can I open stuff?”
She laughed, which made him even happier. “Pretty soon. First, we all need to sing to you and let you blow out the candles on your cake.”
“Okay. Is Mr. Tristan here? I want him to play pirate!”
“I haven’t seen him.” She looked around. “But maybe he’ll be here soon?”
“Hope so! He’s cool!”
Cayden went back to his fort, where his friend Dominic hung upside down while eating grape Laffy Taffy. “Well? Is Coach Tristan coming?”
“Maybe.” Cayden not only told all his friends the cool SEAL would be there, but Dominic said his mom told him that Tristan was gonna help Cayden with his hitting. Cayden hoped since it was his birthday, Tristan was just waiting to tell him about it at the party.
The longer the party was, the more Cayden worried Tristan wasn’t gonna come. Everyone he knew on the whole planet was there—except for his dad and old friends back in St. Louis. Even Coach Jason and his wife and their bad little kid were in the backyard.
For a few minutes, while blowing out his candles and opening presents, Cayden forgot about his new grown-up friend, but it was weird, no matter how many great toys he got, he still felt kinda sad about not seeing Tristan.
* * *
“YOU WERE KIND TO INVITE an old geezer like me to your son’s big day.” Georgia helped herself to seconds of Cayden’s chocolate, pirate-themed cake.
“Stop,” Brynn said from the lawn chair she was embarrassingly trapped in. “You get around far better than I do. Pretty sure I’m stuck.”
In a flash, Georgia was up and had Brynn’s hands, tugging her to her feet.
“Thanks.” Laughing, Brynn was surprised by the easy camaraderie she felt with the neighbor she’d avoided for so long. Yet in the same respect, the snippets of happiness she stole like this were what stood to hurt the most should her world once again fall apart.
Georgia had already returned her focus to cake. “Kindly don’t sit again until I’m done.”
“I won’t,” Brynn promised.
“Is that Tristan?”
Was it wrong that just hearing his name caused Brynn’s heart to skip a beat? Striving for a casual tone, she asked, “Where?”
“He’s gone now, but I swear I just saw him pulling one of your old tricks and ducking behind my hedge.” With a put-out sigh, she dropped her paper cake plate back to the picnic table. “At this rate, I’ll never satisfy my sweet tooth.”
Though the party was in full swing around her, classic Beach Boys playing on the ancient stereo she’d hauled outside, and practically every soul she’d met since moving to Ruin Bayou milling about her backyard, Brynn’s gaze—her very breath—felt centered around the sight of Georgia tugging a sheepish-looking Tristan from behind her overgrown forsythia.
Chapter Five
“Ouch.” Nothing served as more of a reminder that Tristan had lost his SEAL’s edge than being yanked by his ear out from under defensive cover by a woman old enough to be his great-grandmother.
“Don’t you ‘ouch’ me, young man. I’m still miffed at you from when you stole bubble gum from our drugstore.”
“Mrs. Booth, I was eight, and not only did I return it, but I wrote you a formal apology.”
She snorted. “Kids today, think you can get away with anything. Now, why are you snooping on Brynn’s party? Weren’t you invited?”
“Sure, I was invited, I just—”
“Don’t want to get too close to Cayden because he reminds you of Jack?”
Having been raised on the ideal that if he didn’t have anything nice to say then he shouldn’t say anything at all, Tristan clamped his mouth tight. Damn this busybody town. Why hadn’t he taken leave in Miami or Vegas?
“Go ahead and be mad at me.” Georgia was back to tugging, only this time she’d grabbed hold of his arm and was pulling him toward the party. “But when you get to my age, I don’t much care who thinks what and I call things like I see ’em. Ask me, you and Brynn and Cayden would make a nice family. She’s gonna need a man around, what with her new baby on the way.”
On that nutty note, Tristan had lost all patience. “Not only am I not in the market for a new wife, I’m still not over my old one.” Their official split may have been three years ago, but for him, it hadn’t seemed real until Andrea’s unexpected wedding and sudden move. “Pretty sure Brynn feels the same.”
“Snippy, huh?” Instead of looking properly chastised, Georgia grinned. “Only proves my point.”
Thankfully, Brynn’s mouthy neighbor returned to her chair and cake.
Though he knew everyone in Brynn’s yard, Tristan felt like an outsider. He had nothing in common with these people anymore. When he’d come home with Andrea and Jack in tow, his life had been in sync with his friends’. He and Jason talked fishing or sports while their wives dissed them on everything from leaving clothes on the floor to drinking milk from the carton. Jason’s wife, Trina, had been pregnant with their son Nathan during Tristan and Andrea’s last trip to town. Trina had been so happy in her pregnancy, she glowed. It’d brought back good memories of Andrea carrying Jack.
Eyeing very pregnant Brynn, Tristan wasn’t sure what to think. It went without saying, she was off-the-charts adorable—not that her looks mattered.
When she glanced up, almost as if having felt his stare, he died even more than when Georgia had caught him behind her bushes. “Hi,” she said, sounding so much from the north.
Everyone he knew from down south said hey. Not that it mattered. Just a thought to further put off the embarrassment of talking to her now that he’d been busted spying on her son’s big day.
“Cayden hoped you’d come.” She ducked her gaze. “Me, too. Can I get you some cake?”
Mouth dry, he nodded. “Sounds good. And sorry about that.” He gestured toward Georgia’s yard. “Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come. Nothing personal, you understand, just...” He stopped short of admitting how painful it was, being in the presence of boys nearly the same age as his son.
“I get it.” When she curved her slight fingers to his forearm, the warmth and comfort stemming from her simple touch felt akin to sipping his mother’s honeyed tea when battling a cold. Casting a shy smile, she shocked him by admitting, “I’ve done the same.”
While he tried and failed in coming up with a witty reply, she cut him a generous corner piece of her son’s cake. In passing the plate, their hands brushed. He wanted to ignore the faint rush of awareness—as
