“Look at me, Reese’s Pieces.”
My long lashes flutter before my eyes roll to meet her gaze.
“You’re so smart, Reese, I’ve bragged about ya to anyone who perked an ear. I’ve traveled far and wide showing people photos of my gorgeous, independent, super smart daughter,” she says, looking me in the eye. “That being said, Reese’s Pieces, you don’t know everything.”
My face must be a cloud of confusion because she elaborates. “Everything about Milo, Reese.”
I haven't said his name aloud in over fifteen years. It's clear she hasn't either, because she shifts, as imaginary ants seem to rattle her feathers.
“Milo was charismatic. Charming. He was the devil you know and couldn’t help but love.”
“Oh yeah, alright, Mom.” I nod in irritation. “Hell, I know he was as crooked as the Colorado River. But for whatever blood he spilled, Mom, you enjoyed the profit. Sadly, I did too. He's my dad. Now, don't say shit that you’re gonna regret.”
There are tears in her eyes, she's prepared to bring up the day his partner and everyone else we all knew by first-name on the police force decided to take him out.
Indeed, I am a product of my environment. As taught, I hightail it from the situation before the truth is told...
“Hmmm… Audrey Hepburn.” Those are my only words as I skim over the bride-to-be’s wedding Pinterest board. We’re sitting at a table in the front of Flour Shoppe. Kitty’s planner is beside her, and the old geezer she dug her claws in is dressed in his golf-club attire. His mind is still on the game and beating other blue-blooded associates about the game.
Kitty reminds me of my mom. Stupid-hot. She’s honey to affluent bees when it comes to the guy who’s sitting beside her and ready to front the bill. Her sapphire eyes brighten. “Yes, Yes! Audrey! That’s exactly what I want.” Kitty claps her hands together.
“You need a vintage, lace cake.” I begin to sketch. “And pearls.”
“Pearls?” The groom’s bushy eyebrows gather together.
“Yes, pearls.” We seem to say in unison.
“Kitty, no pearls. It's just a cake.” Her beau chides, mumbling how much the wedding is going to cost under his breath.
Stifling the need to laugh, I open my mouth to advise the pearls aren’t real but Kitty folds her arms. “Oh yeah, well, not to worry about the cake, my love, we’re also having a cupcake made for each of the five-hundred guests. Reese said each little cake will have edible gold flakes, Tahitian Gold vanilla caviar, and…” she pauses, glancing at me.
“Cognac.” I decide not to mention the price of the cognac, which will be used for the cupcakes since Kitty seems to be goading him. But a smile brightens on the old man’s face.
“Cognac?” He pauses to rub his chin, bushy-white eyebrows lifting with interest. “Guess they’ll be my kinda cupcakes. Kitty, you can have oodles of pearls. Miss Reese, spare no expense.”
As he hugs her, Kitty winks at me. Well, sheesh, she deals with her soon-to-be hubby very well. The old guy canoodles Kitty’s neck. Their voices become muffled; tantalizing even, as they mention cognac and pearls amongst other delights.
I give them a nod to imply they've got all the time in the world to consider what they'd like. In the kitchen, Jamie and Luis are carrying a multi-tier retirement cake toward the alleyway exit.
“If you trip and fall in those heels, Jamie...” I say in a seedy, threatening tone as he walks backwards, large ass strutting. Almost like a giraffe. I shake my head, he ignores it.
“So how is the playboy bunny and her Hugh Hef'?” Sandra chuckles.
I point a finger at the blonde. “Under no circumstances will I allow you to talk crap about our potential clients.”
She sticks her tongue out.
Prince starts in a monotonous voice: “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today–”
No matter how much I love and miss the musical innovator, I cut the iPod before someone can crank it up. “There will be no, let's go crazy.”
Sometimes the people in the front of the house don't mind, especially in the morning when we’re open for breakfast pastries. We only play upbeat tempos, but as Sandra said, Kitty–aka the bunny and Hugh Hef–are quite stuffy.
Sandra waves me off, stepping toward the dining room of Flour. “Whatever, Wicked Witch of the West. My clients should be out front by now.”
Jamie and Luis step back into the building. He sashays in those damn heels I told him never to wear to work. “Tonight we're all taking body shots. And, Reese, my lovely body is up for preview but no touching.”
Maria chuckles. “Yeah, why don't you call Ev–”
He shoots her a glare.
“Sancho?” She spits but I doubt she meant just any ol’ sancho.
My gaze sears through Jamie. Head held high, I say, “Nope, no ‘body shots’ for me.”
“Reese,” Sandra's voice is tense behind me. The doors swish closed as she steps into the kitchen. The room is infused in quiet as we all stare at her wide eyes.
“What! Did they leave?” My heart clenches. Kitty and her fiancé are my way back out
