“Hmmm, you’re a classic man.” She says pointedly.
“That I am,” I nod as the three of us walk toward the stables. Reese silently sniggers since I said those very words this morning. Looping my arm into hers, I whisper, “Keep on and I’ll tell her all the nasty things you do with your stepbrother.”
The guide glances back as Reese shoots me daggers of anger. “How long have you two been together? Five years? Lucky number seven, am I right? You two quarrel like an old married couple, who albeit are unable to stop touching each other. I love it! I’ve always preferred the couples who’ve learned to trust each other. The new ones, end up bickering when one doesn’t connect well with our horses.”
“Little less than a month,” Reese beams.
“Oh,” she pauses, “Well, you seem to have this extreme connection.”
The instructor helps Reese get situated on her horse. As a behavioral analyst, I’m highly unaware of this animal’s social cues. I reach out to touch his slick, coppery hair, but second-guess it. My arms fold, and I take a gander into the dark-brown eyes of a black stallion.
I reach out to pat my horse, but he trots away.
Reese chuckles. “Don’t be afraid, babe. You’ll love it.”
“Yes, I will,” my smile is tensed.
“Actually, you’re onto something there, Evan. Flash likes to be petted.”
My eyebrow arches, Flash? I’d prefer a more stable horse, named… Rusty or Gus. Yet, mentioning as much is like stripping myself of a piece of my manhood. “See, Reese, I’m getting to know our friend Flash.”
“Okay, horse whisperer,” Reese’s horse trots along with her as if to co-sign her dig.
My cell phone begins to buzz within the inside pocket of my blazer. I snatch it out, praying it’s work.
“Looky here, I’ve been called in.”
11
Reese
Three weeks later…
The top of Hidden Hills, located in the west San Fernando Valley, is where many stars call home. And so does my mother’s current situation, Tony Zaccaro. As my Honda hatchback pulled up, I almost scoffed; the place was like a quaint cottage on steroids. From stone walls, to vaulted ceilings, my gaze took it all in as my mother gave a grand tour to include every en-suite bedroom to the stellar theatre and exercise room.
“Get outta here,” Jamie says. He is a roasted-almond skin tone, and his hair is always kept in a neat fade. Gloss shines over full-chocolate colored lips. His fury geared toward my mother takes a backseat as I pull into the lengthy driveway. That sparkle in his dark-brown eyes displays that he has become accustom to the finer things in life.
“Are you going to drool on the marble floor when we get inside—I’m sure there’s marble flooring—or will you help me get through to Lolita?”
He places up a manicured index finger. “First of all, I will always put you first. Second, I am so over your mom it’s a damn sin. So yes, she’ll be seeing the error of her ways before all is said and done. And I just might become her worst nightmare and take her man…”
I gulp. Since Chu has been in California, Jamie has gone from pulling the ‘sick’ line to receiving my blessing to take a two-week vacay. I had no issues with doing so, seeing that paying all my employees has become a feat. Needless to say, everyone working at the Flour Shoppe knows each other’s business. Jamie was never told about the dynamic of myself shagging the stepbrother, who is also the cop and the main reason my mom shouldn’t be married to Tony Zaccaro anyway.
Hopefully, this minut detail is glided over during brunch.
In a pale-pink dress, I get out of the car. Though I’m wearing wedges, Jamie is already five-foot-eleven and with six-inch snake-skin stilettos that pair perfectly with cropped pants, he towers over me as we descend the sloped passageway to the front door.
A woman in a gray maid-uniform opens the front door and greets me by name. “Miss Reese Dunham, your mother has been expecting you. Do come in.”
I smile.
As we walk through Tony Zaccaro’s home, is it bad for me to size up his assets? Meeting him was off putting. Tony's resonance took me back almost fifteen years ago. And his shiny suits, so unlike Evan. I just can't trust him, no matter how open Tony is when he talks incessantly. Yet, he won't be the first husband of my mother’s that I am unable to trust. Then I recall Evan’s story about his mother…
Mrs. Zaccaro was a very refined woman. Evan’s childhood was enriched with the Metropolitan Opera, visits to his father’s hometown of Cosenza, Italy, and traveling with his mother to pursue important historic artifacts. She’d seemed independent enough. Would the fifteen to twenty years younger Mrs. Zaccaro marry a disgusting old geezer? In her defense, the big guy was rather handsome back in the day. Evan seems to have been gifted with a few of his father’s handsome—albeit thinner days— genes.
Tony is far from the archetype for Lolita’s usual fleeting form of entertainment. He has a heart.
We’re escorted to a sunroom, where my mother has her back to us. Her tone is hushed, harsh even as she talks on her cell phone.
Jamie clears his throat.
“Oh, Reese, you’re here. I’m cooking…” Her voice falters as she turns around to see Jamie. But even still, she’s breathtakingly beautiful standing before us in a Vera Wang chiffon dress. For all intents and purposes, she’s flawless, yet rude as she says, “Oh, you brought her.”
“Hmmm. I’m pretty darn sure we’ve had this discussion before,” Jamie says tapping an index finger to his lips. “Please don’t call me a ‘her,’ honey. I am all male, and everything that your—”
“Okay,” I chime in. One of my mother’s ex’s had attempted to flirt with Jamie once. Though my friend put
