“I see.” Bert nodded. “He seems like a good guy. Isn’t he?”
“He is,” Tyler said. “But you’ve been around musicians your entire life, Dad. You know what they’re like.”
Bert clasped his hands on top of his head. “I do—but it’s not just musicians. It depends on the man, not the job. I’ve seen plenty of guys stay faithful to their wives.” He shrugged. “Seen plenty who didn’t.”
Like, most of them.
“Dad, you see the good in everyone,” Tyler said. “Dave—”
“Forget Dave.” Dylan stabbed the air with her finger. “You’re punishing Cary for his sins. That’s not really fair, is it?”
No, it isn’t.
The Robertsons’ open house was a cherished Christmas tradition. It had been her mother’s idea, since it was her favorite time of year. Growing up, Tyler had watched old home movies of past festivities to ensure everything was done right. On some level, she still felt her mother might be looking over her.
As usual, Bert led the Christmas carols in the living room while Tyler and Dylan served drinks in the kitchen. Her brothers greeted their guestswearing Santa suits while their wives wore Mrs. Claus outfits. By the early evening the Robertsons’ house was bustling with joy, and it wouldn’t have seemed like Christmas otherwise.
Tyler kept a close eye on her phone, not wanting to miss Cary’s text, and when it finally came through her stomach folded like origami. Would she be strong enough to talk to him? Or would she succumb to his sexy smile and throw caution to the wind?
Almost there. xo, he texted.
She weaved through the crowd like it was the last call at the bar and took a deep breath before opening the door. “Merry Christmas,” she said, hugging him.
“Merry Christmas, babe.” Cary handed her an armful of gift bags and a tin container shaped like a tree. “My mom insisted. It’s shortbread—her family’s recipe.” He lifted his finger. “Hold on a sec.”
“What the . . .” Her voice trailed off as he jogged to the car and came back lugging a guitar case into the house.
“I never leave this one unattended.”
She angled her head, scanning like a goalie tracking the puck through traffic. “Where’s your bag?”
“I’ve already checked in.”
The Fairmont Winnipeg—sex.
Tyler took slow, shallow breaths, willing herself to stay steady. Were they about to cross that line? Of course she wanted to but not if it was just a one-night thing. She still had to work with him—at least until she left SDM.
“Merry Christmas, Rory!” Cary picked up her dog and kissed him while Wilbur pawed at his leg. “Who’ve we got here?” He put down Rory and petted the Labrador Retriever.
“That’s my brother, Wilbur,” Tyler said. “He’s my dad’s dog.” Wilbur spotted food on the floor and hurried to eat it. “Obviously a Lab.” She pointed to the gift bags. “What’s all this?”
“Presents!” Cary handed her a festive gift bag and she tossed the tissue paper like confetti.
“Cary!” she cried. The label on the trench coat readburberry.
“Kim picked it out.” A smile stretched across his face. “She knew your size. Here . . .” He gave her another bag. “An umbrella to go with it. James Smith and Sons from London. I heard yours was busted.”
“Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
Next, he passed her a green bag that saidharrods. “This one’s for Rory.”
“Really, you didn’t have to.” She pulled out a plush teddy bear and squished it like a marshmallow. “Rory!” The dog sat and wagged his tail. “Who’s this?”
“It’s their annual bear.” Cary lifted the bear’s foot, showing her the year. “I was hoping to make up for Aussie.”
She laughed, passing him the bear. “You give it to him.”
“Look, Rory!” He lowered the stuffie. “It’s Teddy!”
