Page 107 of Apparently, I’m Trouble

My daughter gave me the kind of look that made me feel like I’d finally done something right.

“Let’s get coffee on the way,” Rochelle decided. “I don’t think any of us slept last night.”

The amphitheater was buzzing with sound, and Rochelle and I traded a patient frown. The energy teens had in the morning just wasn’t fair.

“Mr and Miss Hudson, it’s so nice to see you both,” Miss Gem greeted, and I was momentarily blinded by the bright orange-and-yellow-striped jumpsuit she wore.

I recovered just as she asked Kira to put her bag away and take a seat with the rest of her classmates.

“Kira wanted me to talk to you about the sets. I should be able to fix the damage to the porch by Wednesday.”

“And I can finish painting it on Thursday,” Rochelle added.

“Fantastic. Thank you.” Miss Gem clapped her hands together. “Our other volunteer just came in this morning. Do you mind working with another painter, Rochelle?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Nope. But I should warn you, I can get a little bossy. As long as she doesn’t mind it, then–”

“He won’t mind,” Gem interrupted. “Mr Kashif is pretty agreeable.”

Rochelle’s features went slack. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“Mr Kashif. Oh, sorry–Tristan Kashif. He’s a friend of Miss Fares.”

She turned and pointed to a tall, handsome guy in a black painter’s apron. His faded jeans were splotched with paint, and his thick dark hair was peppered with gray.

Rochelle’s intake of breath was sharp, and I turned in time to watch the color drain from her face.

“I have to go,” she muttered, turning toward the door just as Tristan looked up, recognized my sister, and asked, “Rochelle?”

She was rooted to the spot, and I had the feeling that something was wrong here.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

Her gaze flitted to me once before she whipped around to face Tristan, shouting, “I’m leaving. You’ve got the place to yourself.”

I expected to find the confusion I felt mirrored in Tristan’s expression. I was wrong. He knew exactly what my sister meant. His jaw tightened, he nodded once, and he watched as Rochelle brushed past me on her way out.

“What was that?” I demanded. “How do you know my sister?”

We stepped into the hallway just as Miss Gem started the class. Tristan stood in front of me, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw.

“Your sister is Rochelle Weiner, the art appraiser.” He said this like it should have answered my questions.

“She’s Rochelle Hudson. She divorced that asshat Roger years ago.”

“I know.” He looked over his shoulder as if Rochelle would be back any minute. “She didn’t have to leave. I let the restraining order lapse.”

“Restraining order?”

What the fuck was going on here?

When Tristan’s attention came back to me, he realized I had no idea what he was talking about. I was in shock, and he must have seen it all over my face.

“Look, I know she’s your sister, but I’ve moved on, and I don’t want to go over this again. You should ask Rochelle about it.”

I clenched my jaw shut. There was more I wanted to ask him. I knew Rochelle had gotten into legal trouble after her divorce–I just didn’t know what she had done. But a restraining order?

No wonder she left the way she did.