“Even Tristan?”
Sydney sucked in a breath. Had she betrayed herself? The knowing look on Diane’s face panicked her. “Wh-wh-what do you mean?”
Diane reached out and stroked her curls. The tender gesture allowed Sydney to lean into the embrace. “Oh, honey, I know how you feel about Tristan. I knew it from day one. There was always a connection between you two.”
Her face flamed. As embarrassing as Diane’s words were, a flood of relief poured through her. It had been a secret for so long she craved to talk to someone she trusted. Even if it was Tristan’s mom. “Is it that obvious?” she asked miserably.
“Only to me. No one else suspects.” She gave a long sigh. Her eyes filled with concern and an understanding that made Sydney feel like Diane really got it. “It’s hard right now. The age difference between you makes things difficult. And Tristan is going through a stage right now—figuring out who he is and what he wants in this life.”
“Is that why he’s always with a different girl?”
“Yes. That’s what boys do. They date to figure out who they are and what they’re really looking for.”
“He doesn’t even notice me. He never did.”
Diane nodded. “I know. He’s not ready yet, sweetheart. He needs to grow up a bit, and so do you.”
“I just have all these feelings,” she whispered. “I think about him all the time. And I want him to be happy. I think I’d do anything to make him happy. Is that messed up?”
Diane reached out and hugged her tight. “No, that’s what happens when you love someone. And you have all these hormones pumping through, making you even more confused. Tristan cares about you, sweetheart, more than I think he knows. But you need to be patient. If it’s meant to be, it will happen at the right time. But don’t lose yourself in trying to make him happy. You need to find yourself, too, and that takes time.”
She heard the words, but her heart didn’t care. Sydney only knew if she could get Tristan to be interested, she’d do anything necessary to keep him. Diane pulled away. Sydney spotted a sheen of tears in her eyes, but his mom just laughed and shook her head. “My son is a kindhearted, strong man who I love more than my life. But I also know there’s something within him I can’t reach. I’ve never been able to.” Frustration tinged her voice. “He keeps himself distant. Protected. He feels responsible in ways I can’t explain and is harder on himself than anyone else could be. And one day, he’s going to need to break that barrier open to have a full life. That’s the day I hope you’re right there to help him, my sweet girl.”
Sydney sat with her in the kitchen for a long time. They talked and ate chocolate chip cookies, and she dreamed about the future.
One day, Tristan would fall in love with her.
And then everything would be perfect.
The memory floated away, jarring her back to the present.
She finished her wine and shook her head to clear her thoughts. She’d just have to live with her lingering feelings and bury the attraction. Stick to business. Be polite but distant. Eventually she’d find a nice man to date and fall in love and leave Tristan Pierce and all her memories behind for good.
Because he could never know.
chapter four
Sydney looked at the long trail of abandoned houses lining Bakery Street and wondered if she’d been an idiot to take on such a project.
It was bad. Real bad.
“What do you think?”
She practically felt the challenge tingeing his tone, as if he was looking forward to her freak-out. Yes, it was a massive undertaking, but she was of the mantra “Go big or go home.”
She was going big—with or without his support.
“I think we’ll have our difficulties but will deliver. Why? What do you think?”
His gorgeous lip curled up. “I think we’re fucked.”
She shoved down her irritation and spun on her heel, stabbing her pen into the air. “Listen, I don’t need your negative energy on my project. If you don’t think you can get it done, I’ll be happy to grab Dalton or Cal.”
“They can’t handle a flip like this. Dalton will get obsessed with creating the perfect cabinet, and Cal will just want to rebuild everything. You’re stuck with me.”
His smug attitude only pissed her off further. She refused to deal with his snarky comments and his ridiculous polished appearance. She’d donned ripped, old jeans and a purple flannel shirt. At least her sneakers were pink with a small wedge heel for some type of femininity. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He’d shown up sporting a designer suit in crisp navy with a pink tie. What man had the guts to wear pink, especially to a job site? He should look metrosexual. Instead, he looked sexy and a touch bored, as if he’d just grabbed the first thing in his closet and thrown it on without care. She wished briefly for her own power suit and heels for some type of armor. She felt like a sixteen-year-old in her outfit, but she bucked up and refused to back down.
“Fine. Then I’d suggest an attitude adjustment. Let’s start with number thirty-two. I want to do a complete walk-through and tweak some of my designs.”
“It’s your party.”
She gnashed her teeth and stalked toward the first house. Her folder bulged with notes, Brady’s plans, and various sketches. She strode over remnants of trash and weeds in the front lawn, avoided the broken second step, and unlocked the front door. The rusty squeak scraped at her nerve endings.
“Ever see that horror movie with the guy who lives in a run-down house on an empty block and snatches women to keep in his basement?” he asked casually.
“No.”
“That’s good. ’Cause you would be freaked out right now.”
She shot him a warning glance and climbed the set of stairs leading to the first level. The raised ranch needed the most work out of all of them. With old shag carpeting, gold fixtures, and cheap countertops, the place screamed help me. They walked down the hallway. Each room seemed squeezed into its own private space, giving off the vibe of claustrophobia. The kitchen was a cube with white-finish appliances, peeling paint, and a vinyl floor.
“We need to open this wall,” she murmured, tapping the main one blocking up the view to the kitchen. “Brady said it’s not load bearing, so it’s a possibility.”
Tristan regarded the setup, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “Yes, but if you remove this wall, the moment you climb the stairs you’re staring into the kitchen. Sure, it gives you open concept, but it’s not aesthetically pleasing, and that’s the first moment you get to impress a visitor.”
She cocked her head, considering. He’d always been brilliant in his vision for what worked well in a house. He respected each one for its individuality and never tried to force a concept for either ease or stubbornness.