watch. “They should be making an arrest tonight sometime.”
“Oh, what are they going to do?” Harry scoffs.
“Vandalism is a crime, Harrison. Google the jail time. I’m not making this up.”
I frown as I look between them. What’s going on here? Have I missed part of the conversation?
Oh dear God, no . . . it wasn’t Harry, was it?
Harry scratches his head and looks around nervously. “Mom. I . . . I . . . can I go to Brendan’s house?” he stammers. “It’s urgent.”
“Okay, yes, but only for half an hour.”
“Okay.” He runs out the back, and the door slams hard behind him.
“Wonder what’s wrong with him?” Tristan asks.
“I don’t know.” I look out the window and see him run into the garage. “He looks like he saw a ghost.”
Jesus.
“What do you want to watch, Tricky?” Tristan asks.
Patrick frowns. “Tricky?”
“Well, your name has the word trick in it.”
“It does?” he gasps.
Tristan frowns. “Yes, it does. You know that.”
Patrick’s little face falls in disappointment that he doesn’t.
“Patrick has dyslexia,” I announce.
Tristan’s face falls. “You do?”
Patrick twists his little hands together nervously on his lap. “I’m getting better at it.” He looks to me. “Aren’t I, Mom?”
I smile broadly. “You are, baby. I’m so proud of how hard you’re working.”
Tristan’s eyes hold mine, and I know he wants to ask a million questions but is holding his tongue.
Patrick taps his leg and seemingly brings him back to the moment. “What do you want to watch?”
“Ahh!” We hear Harry scream from outside. I hear something hit the side of the house with force.
“What in the world?” I frown.
Harry comes stomping in like a madman. His face is murderous.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“This.” He holds up his skateboard.
“What about it?”
“The wheels are missing.”
All four wheels are missing from his skateboard. Patrick’s mouth falls open in horror. “Oh no,” he whispers.
“That’s terrible,” says Tristan casually. “Who on earth would have been in your garage, Wizard?”
“That’s what I want to know,” he snaps. He storms back out of the room and out into the yard. “When I find out . . .” he calls.
“What are we watching?” Tristan asks Patrick.
“Jurassic Park?”
“One or two?” Tristan asks. “I prefer two.”
“Okay.” Patrick bounces in excitement. “We’ll watch two.”
“Shall I order pizza?” I ask.
This is turning out to be the best night ever.
“Yes, please.” Tristan smiles. His naughty eyes hold mine, and they have that tender glow in them that he gets sometimes . . . I find myself quite giddy.
Could this man be any more gorgeous?
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask him.
“I won’t be able to drive if I do.”
“You can stay on the couch,” Patrick splutters hopefully. “Can’t he, Mom?”
“Tristan probably has somewhere better to go, bubba,” I reply.
Tristan’s eyes hold mine. “No. I’m exactly where I want to be. I’ll stay, if that’s okay.”
Hope fills my chest. Okay . . . what the heck is going on here?
“You have got to be kidding me,” Harry cries from outside.
I glance to Tristan and see him close his eyes, as if to stop himself from laughing.
Harry bursts through the door. “The wheels of my bike are missing too.”
“What?” I frown.
“All the bikes’ wheels are missing,” he cries. “Someone has broken into our garage and booby-trapped everything!” he yells. “When I find out who it is—”
“You should call the police,” Tristan says as he raises an eyebrow at Harry.
“Yes.” I frown. “Maybe I should.”
“No,” Harry stammers. “It’s fine. It will be one of my friends playing a trick. I’ll find them.” He takes off into the backyard again. “Fletcher!” he calls. “Come outside and help me.”
Tristan and Patrick return to the television, and I walk into the kitchen to get our wine.
This feels so weird having him here.
Like normal . . .
“Claire, what’s the Wi-Fi password?” Tristan calls.
“Hang on. I’ll find it.” I rattle through the drawer and call it out. “Do you want red or white wine?”
“Whatever you’re having,” he calls back. “That stuff I had last week was nice.”
I smile as I take it out of the fridge. “The stuff you drank without permission?”
“Uh-huh, that one. Went down well.”
Harry storms back into the house, the door slams, and he stomps back up the stairs.
I frown. What is he doing? “I thought you were going to Brendan’s house?” I call.
“I can’t get there!” he calls angrily. “Someone took all my wheels. I’m going to go on the PlayStation.”
“Okay,” I call. Jeez, I wonder who took his damn wheels. Great. More money that I don’t need to spend.