The SEAL's Valentine

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 if he were back in junior high and passing notes with the hottie sitting in front of him in English—but despite his best efforts, even after the fleeting moment passed, the sensation had not.

“Good to see you, man.” Jason delivered a light smack to his shoulder. After general small talk about high school kids having spray painted their school mascot on Polk Bayou bridge, and Trina pulling Brynn aside to discuss her potato salad recipe, Jason asked, “Vivian told me you want to privately coach Cayden. That true?”

“I s’pose.” Tristan tossed his plate and fork in a nearby trash can. He knew now he should never have made the offer. Being around Cayden might be good for the boy, but it would bring nothing but added pain for himself. “Though since his mom seems against it, I’ll probably steer clear of the whole situation.”

“Not so fast.” Jason downed the rest of his punch. “Your offer got me to thinking. Little Cayden was pretty torn up about not making the team, and Oliver Crouch’s mom called last night to tell me they’re probably moving. Since you already agreed to be my assistant coach, what do you think of going ahead and letting Cayden join his friends? Assuming you’ll get him up to speed.”

Tristan tipped his gaze to the sun, covering his face with his hands. The day he’d made that offer, Vivian had been a full-on bitch to Brynn. It hadn’t been right, and his suggestion to help had shut her up. He couldn’t have said then why he’d done it, meaning he sure as hell didn’t know now. All he did know was that he felt backed into a corner on the whole issue and didn’t like it. On his own with Brynn, when they’d stood side by side at her clothesline, and warm sun beat down on them and the smell of those fresh-washed clothes brought on sentimental longings for his more simple, younger years, he’d made that speech to her about everything being easier with a team. But after the painful call with his son, for his own self-preservation, he needed to retreat. “For the record, I never said I’d be your assistant coach.”

His old friend grinned. “Pretty sure you did.”

Tristan sighed. “Look, I need to start thinking about getting back to the base. I’m out of shape and—”

Jason whistled loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Someone mind temporarily killing the music?”

One of the older kids obliged.

“Seeing as this is Cayden’s birthday, my friend Tristan and I have cooked up a little surprise.”

“Jason...” Tristan said under his breath. “I never agreed to squat.”

“What is it, Coach? Hi, Tristan!” Cayden stood in front of them.

For Tristan, the kid’s huge grin and jumping brought on a wicked case of indigestion.

“Not sure if you knew this,” Jason said to the boy, “but your dad and I were good friends. He was the greatest ball player to ever come out of this town—heck, the whole state. Because of that, I’m betting somewhere inside you is just as great a hitter. You only need a little extra practice to coax him out.”

Cayden cocked his head. “What’s that mean?”

His mom stood behind him, her hands on his slight shoulders. “Jason...”

“All that means,” the coach said, “is that Tristan is going to teach you a few things about the game, and I’m inviting you to play with the Mud Bugs.”