I lick my lips, wondering if I'd prefer to wake up to sex or cinnamon. She's making some sort of cinnamon pastry. On cue, my stomach growls. Guess one beast is overshadowing the other when it comes to fundamental needs.
I get up from bed, eyes trained on her creamy thighs, half her ass is creeping from my old, faded Cal State LA shirt. Usually my worn clothes get the boot. But I couldn't part ways with my alma mater shirt, it held so many memories. And after that, it's just held a spot in the back of my walk-in closet. Glad to see the old pal has reinvented itself as the curve of Reese’s ass continues to play peek-a-boo while she enjoys the show.
Then her butt cheeks are hidden once more. She pops up into a standing position.
“You're awake!” There's an airy happiness to her tone that I imagined would accompany the bakery she owns, but hadn't personally observed during my one trip to Flour.
Reese flits over to the cappuccino maker, grabs a royal-blue cup and hands it to me. “Right on time. If it's not hot enough, feel free to punish me.”
I chuckle. Then take a sip. “Perfect.”
She fakes a pout.
After eating cinnamon buns topped with fruit, Reese begins a tour of my walk-in closet. The entire room is custom built, with suits in an array of colors from black to coal to blue at one side. My shoes are in individual display cases and Reese begins to press the button which makes the trolley of ties twirl around.
“Cut it out, Reese.”
“I would, if I could find a single pair of jeans.” She grins, then finally lets the button go.
“Well, you won’t find one pair of jeans because I don’t own any.”
“OCD, much?” She cocks an eyebrow.
“No, I’m a grown ass man. Suits are for men.”
“Yeah right, you’ve still got that New Yorker mentality. I bet you were once a three-foot-tall miniature man.” She jokes of my childhood.
I rub a thumb across the stubble at my jawline while smiling. “That I was. You could take the boy outta Manhattan, but I stay classic. Always have, always will.”
“Sure, Evan. Can you ride a horse in a suit?” Reese says, stepping toward a tweed suit to which I snatch from her hands and place it back. “Oh, the cop is afraid of horses?”
Horseback riding has never popped into my brain when considering a bucket list of things to try. But with Reese, I wouldn’t be able to live it down if I declined. After taking her home for another pair of jeans and a shirt, we start for the Horseback Riding Ranch within the Santa Monica Mountain Range.
While heading onto the freeway I ask, “So, your dad. What happened with him and Lolita?”
From her position looking out the window, Reese turns around. Her brows are pensively drawn together, “I don’t know what went wrong with their marriage…”
“Oh,” I nod, allowing Reese a moment as I’ve noted a slight fluctuation in her tone. The pitch is almost akin to fear.
Instincts warned that this is a touchy subject. Therefore, bringing it up while I drive gives Reese the security blanket she needs. She’s a lot flightier when we have a simple conversation head on. From the corner of my eye, I notice her dragging her teeth over her bottom lip.
“Hey, Evan, I've been meaning to say, there are lots of cops coming into Flour. The other night we had a huge order for a stakeout. Did you have something to do with that?” She asks, worry momentarily vanished.
“I might have made mention of the good food,” I reply, with a quick grin, though she has changed the subject.
Reese rakes a hand through her hair, “Oh sheesh, I bet you can read right through me. It’s hard to talk about him, and you’ve been no less than candid with about your mother. Mi—my father actually died when I was very young. Sometimes I believe my memories of M… my father are dreams and dreams are memories.” She shrugs, “Can’t differentiate, I really was pretty young when he died.”
My heart reaches out for Reese. I blink and I’m the twelve-year-old boy again, asking God why my mother had to be the one to go. It took ages for me to proceed through the stages of grief. Whether Reese’s brain is processing memories and dreams, I realize, her demeanor is tensed with fear. She’s held some form of fear of her father. Was he overly strict? Did he punish her too much?
Taking her hand in mine, I decide to call my father later and ask him more about Reese’s father. Surely Tony should know. My thumb rubs softly at the satin patch of skin on her wrist. Then I lift her hand and kiss the vulnerability of Reese’s heartbeat. As my mouth then caresses the inside of Reese’s palm, a smile bright like the sun on her face.
Indeed, I need to talk to dad. Then once I know exactly what kind of monster Reese’s father is, I can proceed with the process of talking to her about him.
The ranch is a massive log cabin, hidden within a thick foliage of woods. Once the tiny road leading into the hills opens up, I mention the sight before us.
“You haven’t seen nothing yet,” Reese says, back to her spunky self as we get out of the car.
“Why do I have the feeling your goal is seeing me fold,” I mumble, closing her door behind her.
“It’s not that I want to see you fold, Evan. You just have this astronomical confidence, city boy. You’re like Batman nix the cape. Let’s see how well you fair on top of a horse.”
Our guide, a young woman in a cowboy hat and boots, gives us the grand tour since it is my first time. Reese jokes about lunch at their restaurant
