A pang hit deep. “I like sunflowers, too. Okay, let’s do this.”
They walked into the hall, where chaos reigned, girls chattered madly, and moms filled the empty spaces in tight clusters. “Do you know where to go?” he asked. “Do you need me to check in with your teacher?”
Becca raised her hand and waved to a little girl across the room. “No, I’m okay. My friend Lyndsey is over there—her mom will help me. You need to get a seat—Mama says it gets crazy in there, and she likes to be in the front row.”
“Got it. Okay, break a leg.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Never mind. Good luck. You’ll be great, and your mom will be here soon.”
“Thanks, Tristan!”
She skipped over to her friend. Ignoring the pointed looks he got owing to his sparkle incident, he headed down the aisle and grabbed the last two seats on the end. Lowering himself into one of them, he shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the other. Relief coursed through him. He’d done it. They’d had some hiccups, but Becca was dressed and here on time, and he had seats in the front row.
“Excuse me? You can’t save that seat.”
He looked up. A woman with dark blond hair, heavily lined eyes, and bright red lipstick stood over him. She was dressed in an expensive cream sweater set, with oatmeal pants, and had a ton of sparkly gold jewelry dripping from every bare inch of skin. Her perfume was expensive and too obvious.
He was used to dealing with all types of personalities in his business, so he shot her a charming smile. “Oh, I’m saving it for one of the girls’ mothers. She had a flat tire, so she wasn’t able to get here in time.”
She gave him a tight smile. “It’s still against the rules. No saving seats for anyone in the family. It’s not fair. I’ll need to sit there.”
He made sure he kept the smile on his face. “I understand the rules, but this is a unique circumstance. I’m sure the teacher will agree this time it would be okay to hold one seat.”
“Not in the front row,” she retorted. “You can save her a seat in the back. You only get the front if you’re here in person.”
His gaze narrowed. So did hers.
“Sydney Greene-Seymour had an emergency. Do you know her? And her daughter, Becca? I’m sure Sydney will be appreciative of your flexibility—it really is an emergency.”
Uh-oh. He’d figured name-dropping would help, but her face got all scrunched up, and a venomous glee glinted from her eyes. “I see. Are you a friend of Sydney’s?” she practically sneered.
“Yes.”
“Well, friends can’t save seats, either. My daughter Lucy is the lead, and I plan to sit in this seat.” With a sharklike smile, she reached out to move his jacket.
His hand shot out to keep it there. “Sorry. This seat is saved.”
She gasped. “I tried being polite. Now I’m getting Ms. Benneton. Stay here.” She jabbed a sharp bloodred fingernail in his direction and stalked away.
Was he in trouble? His stress level shot up. This was supposed to be a supportive, creative community, yet he felt like he’d gotten dropped into the Hunger Games arena. Then again, he’d seen clips of the movie Bad Moms. He figured it was fiction, but maybe it was reality? PTA moms going psycho and blackmailing others not in the clique? He fought a shudder. Still, no one was getting Sydney’s seat without a fight. He’d managed to battle Realtors, developers, and clients that would scare Satan himself. No local ballet mother was getting the best of him.
A few minutes later, a tall woman with dark hair twisted into a bun and kind features appeared before him. She looked a bit stressed, so he pegged her as the head teacher. “Here! See, he’s saving a seat for Sydney, and he’s just the boyfriend.”
“Friend,” he corrected patiently. He gave Ms. Benneton his best smile and oozed extra charm into his voice. “Forgive me for causing any trouble. Sydney had a flat tire, and she’ll be here soon. She asked if I could take Becca to her recital and save a seat. I’m sure you understand.”
“There are no exceptions to the rule,” Bad Moms Lady snapped out. “One exception leads to another, and then it is unfair to us all. I insist you give up this seat so I can watch my daughter dance the lead.”
Ms. Benneton looked like she’d rather get a root canal than be next to Bad Mom, but she managed to pat her arm and keep her patient expression. “We do have that rule for a good reason, but this is a special circumstance that has never occurred before. Cynthia, how about we set up one extra folding chair in the front row, and allow—”
“Tristan,” he cut in smoothly.
“Tristan to save Sydney a seat. Will that satisfy everyone?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
They glared at each other. Ms. Benneton glanced back and he saw a crowd was gathering over the debacle. Shit. He didn’t want the bad moms to target Sydney, but he wasn’t giving up this damn chair.
“I demand you move,” Bad Mom aka Cynthia hissed.
“I’m sure the other chair will be perfectly fine, and you’ll be able to see your daughter,” he said reasonably.
She leaned in. Ruthlessness gleamed from her eyes. “Then you take the other chair. I’m taking this one.”
She grabbed his jacket and tossed it to the side. Then started to sit.
He immediately threw his leg up and over to take up the empty seat.
She yelped in outrage.
“I don’t have time for this right now,” Ms. Benneton practically wailed. “Cynthia, I need you to be reasonable. Help me. I have girls who need help with their costumes, and hair ties have broken, and I am begging you to be the voice of reason and the leader you always are. Please.”
Wow. She was good.
Tristan caught the look the teacher tossed him, and he realized the reverse psychology was actually working. Bad Mom Cynthia seemed to calm, composing her features in a mask of reason and hiding the crazy. Giving him one last murderous glance, she nodded and straightened her sweater set. “You’re right. This isn’t worth it when there’s so much to be done. If you keep that extra seat open for me on the aisle, I’ll help you and then sneak back quietly to my special seat.”
His lips twitched. Ah, now it was a special seat, huh? Ms. Benneton nodded and escorted her away, leaving Tristan alone with his leg hiked up on the metal folding chair and a throbbing headache.
Son of a bitch. This was more stressful than real estate.
When the lights went out, he realized he should be videotaping the show, so he took out his iPhone and began recording. About ten minutes into the performance, Becca still hadn’t danced, and he was falling asleep. All the little girls looked similar, and it was no Swan Lake. At times, it was almost painful.