“Not fair, Evan. I’m not like my mom.” Reese takes a deep breath. Though she loves her mom, their relationship has been tensed since Milo’s untimely demise. “I didn’t say that I don’t believe in you.”
“Then just trust in me, Reese. Always trust that you belong to me. When you’re ready we can work out the dynamics.”
“A wedding,” she smiles. Reese readjusts herself on my lap, taking my face in her hands. “Evan, I… I care about you more than you know. I trust you, babe. We can have a little girl...”
“And if you get pregnant with a boy first? We abort, we give him away? How the fuck are we to react?”
Her face contorts, “Evan, don’t be so cruel.”
I rub the back of my neck. Yeah, it was harsh. Sighing deeply, I start over, “We'll have a boy. Then a little girl. I want both.”
“I’ve got to go bake the cannoli now.” Reese stands up.
As her fingers glide through mine, I let go. Then I grab her wrist, my thumb kneading over her racing pulse. She’s still troubled. I caress the silk of her wrist to determine her heart rate, I’ve noticed it helps calm her heart. I raise her hand to my lips and kiss her fingers. “Look at me.” My other hand tips her chin. I joke, “The boy’s name will be Tyrone.”
She scoffs, eyes twinkling. “You're a fool. You and Tyrone are not naming your sons after each other.”
“He's saved my life. His lady is okay with a little Evan.”
“Better not be,” Reese's eyes slit with jealousy and then she's laughing again. Tyrone’s girlfriend is expecting, and the ladies have become friends during our double-dates over the past half year.
“No Tyrone’s. Jamie won't let me live it down. Every chance he’d get, that fool would be singing Erykah Badu’s song.” Reese shudders while laughing.
I shake my head. “I'll have to search that song the next time Ty gets on my nerves.” Again I pull her into my arms. “Now go make me a cannoli.”
“Damn,” she sighs, heading toward the bathroom. “My customer will be here soon. And who said you'd get one, buster?”
Water streams down my body, and I lean a forearm against the shower wall to think. Reese pushes me away ever so often, so do I really want to tell her the truth about her father?
She’d finally told me the story as to how he was gunned down. I knew a war raged within her soul as to if she should hate all cops, hate me, over her father’s misdeeds. He’d been holding her… Lolita says Reese has erased the bad part from her memory. The part where Milo Benincassa placed a gun to his daughter’s head. He’d been so high off cocaine, so invincible in his mind as he held a ten-year-old Reese against him, shielding him from the cops. He’d been surrounded, no means to escape, and ready to take out anyone, even his own flesh and blood. A sharpshooter had taken the shot. I’d reviewed the case file and it corroborated the phone call I’ve had with Lolita. I turn off the water, the steaming condensation begins to evaporate as I step onto the cupcake-print rug.
With a towel tied around my waist, I sift through Reese’s closet for one of my suits. Though this site for Flour Shoppe will be moving soon, for good reason too, we both have clothing at each other’s houses. I dress in a simple pair of black Armani slacks and a button up. Stomach growling, I decide to head down to Flour.
Since Reese and Lolita have placed much investment in promoting the pending opening for Nook, there’s no hustle and bustle of the morning crowd as I come downstairs. Reese has spoiled me when it comes to breakfast, so I’m gonna have to figure out what we’re eating while she bakes only desserts.
There are boxes along the hallway leading into the kitchen, filled with items which will be transported to the new Flour location once construction has finished. Maria is singing softly to Mariachi music while piping some sort of cream into tiny triangle cakes. Jamie's index fingers are in his ear as he sticks his tongue out.
“Good morning,” I nod. I walk past the duo, smile on my face as they say a quick greeting.
In the front of the bakery, Reese is happily chatting as one would with their father. Not sure why this strikes me as the proper analogy but it does. Leaning against the doorframe, I cross an ankle over the other and watch the love of my life. From my angle, I’ve got the perfect view of the curve of her ass. The side of her face is bright with a smile. I can’t see the old guy who’s harmlessly flirting.
“Sal, I've out done myself this month,” she says tying a satin bow around the light-blue box.
“Delizioso,” the old man sounds like he’s kissing his fingers, while telling Reese she's beautiful, sweet, in Italian. “Every time I stop by, you get better and better. One day, soon and very soon, your cannoli will taste like my late-mother’s.”
“I hope so,” Reese says, each word is infused with a smile. “I’m counting the days until you’ll have to visit our new Flour location. I hope one day; you’ll consider breakfast at Nook too. Just a few more weeks and it’d be nice to offer you a cup of coffee with your cannoli.”
“Hmmm, I’m not a cup of joe kinda guy in the morning, but I promise to swing by. And, Oh, I can’t wait to visit the new Flour,” he says. In Italian, the guy tells Reese what a beautiful businesswoman she is.
“Aw, Sal, I’ve really gotta learn the language,” Reese says.
“I'll teach you one day. I plan to settle down here, Reese.”
“Wow, Sal, you’ve traveled the world and want to settle in smoggy LA?”
I straighten up. This bit of their conversation has become a red flag.
