by Tia Louise
Richland Wells, Maggie Cox, Lincoln Beale, and I grew up in the same exclusive, gated community, the children of too-rich parents who spent most of their time socializing.
While the three of them attended private school here, I was the lone wolf of the pack, shipped off to boarding school every fall.
After my mom died, my dad threw himself into his work, and when I was home, my family was maids and gardeners, the cooks who rotated through our kitchen.
“What about you?” Rich grins, and I shake off the dark mood trying to creep into our happy hour. “Still giving away all your time to charity cases?”
He loves giving me shit about my pro bono work. “There’s more to life than making money. Remember?”
“Because you never had to worry about it.”
“Like you did.”
He cuts his eyes, and I regret my casual jab. All our families depended on the oil industry in one way or another, but when the embargoes hit and the market flooded, Rich’s family bore the brunt. It was so long ago, I tend to forget them living in that big, empty mansion, making weekly stops at the food bank, and pretending like nothing had changed.
Poverty, like loneliness, leaves a mark, even now, when everything comes quick and easy for us.
“You shouldn’t give those people charity.” He takes another sip. “They’ll only resent you for it later.”
“Those people.” I huff before taking a hit of vodka. “What do you know about it, Ross Perot?”
“I know what I hear.”
My eyebrows quirk, but I’m not listening to his arguments against doing good. It’s the same logic that keeps any progress from being made, that keeps old grudges alive. “It’s the same as I do for my friends in Harristown.”
“They’re your people. They get it.”
“You’re too young to talk so old.”
“Why?” Blue eyes cut up to mine, and I see sincerity there. He really wants to know. “Why waste your valuable time helping people who don’t like you?”
I think about my answer. I have a clear memory of the Christmases I spent alone with only a maid to open presents with me. She said I reminded her of her son, who she lost after her divorce. Even when she smiled, her eyes were sad.
“I guess it’s for Erin.”
His chin jerks back with a frown. “Who’s Erin?”
Shifting uncomfortably, I confess something I’ve never told anyone. “Our last housekeeper.”
“What?”
“She got married right out of high school, never went to college.” I think about the fragments of her past I managed to uncover. “After her divorce, she couldn’t bounce back. She left after Dad died and Winnie moved in full-time. I never saw her again. I found out later she killed herself.”
“Jesus.” His lips press into a frown. He reaches out and grips my shoulder. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault. Life sucks. Some people can’t hack it.”
“Maybe…” My brow furrows. “Or maybe she just needed someone to care. Someone to point her in the right direction.”
He releases me, standing and fishing out his wallet. “Sounds like she needed more than that, my friend.”
“I don’t know.” I stand, reaching for my wallet, thinking about his words.
“Water under the bridge.”
My mind is far away as I remember searching for her years later, the devastation I felt when I found out she died alone, by her own hand. She’d been kind to me, and I wished I’d been able to help her. I felt so powerless. I hated it.
Now I have money and power, and dammit, I help them. It’s not charity, it’s taking a minute to care. Even small changes can make a big difference, and some people just need a road map. They need the tools we’ve been given since we were kids.
“So I’m headed to El Paso for a few weeks.” Rich’s hands are in the pockets of his jeans.
We’re out on the sidewalk, strolling toward the Foster building, a twenty-story high rise where I occupy the top floor. It’s almost eight, but the sky is light. Heat simmers from the concrete, and the nonstop wind flaps my blazer open.
It smells like dry air and brown brush and dirt.
It smells like Texas.
“Doesn’t your uncle still live out there?” I squint up at the sun winking past the high rises. I remember spending a weekend in the desert with Rich’s family when we were kids.
“Yeah, Skeeter’s in Sunset. Close to the river, view of the mountains.”
“Sounds nice. So you’ll stay with him?”
“I’ll probably crash there a few nights. His place is big enough so we won’t see each other. He doesn’t like to be around people.” We stop at his Tahoe, and he props an arm on the side. “What about Angel? Are you ever going to put a ring on it?”
My conversation with her last night is on my mind. “I’m ready, but she’s hesitant.”
He adjusts his cap, hazel eyes teasing. “She heard about that incident with the furries?”
“Idiot.” I shake my head.
“What’s the matter? Cold feet?”
“I don’t know. I’m meeting her family tomorrow.”
“Hey!” He holds up his fist for a bump. “That’s progress. Why didn’t you say so?”
“Your big mouth never gave me a chance.”
He makes a lunge like he might pull me into a head-lock, and I throw up an elbow, which he blocks. “Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.”
Our fake tussle turns into a bro-hug, and we say goodnight. I continue up the street, wrestling with my one-track mind. Pulling out my phone, I shoot her a text. A horse walks into a bar…
It doesn’t take a second for the gray bubble to appear with the little dots floating in it as she types a reply. Bartender says why the long face?
The warmth in my stomach makes me smile. Yeah, it’s time to make this girl my wife.
I push through the door of my building. My place tonight?
A few seconds pass, dots floating on my phone screen. I’m in the elevator thinking about taking out my car and driving to her.
I can sneak away for an hour.
It’s like I’ve won the lottery. I’ll pick you up.
I’ll get a ride. See you in a few.
My jaw tightens, and I’m pretty sure when she says she’ll get a ride, it means she’ll ride the bus. I’ll order you an Uber.
No need, rich boy. I’ve got it covered.
I don’t like it, but I trust her. See you soon, beautiful.
Stepping into my apartment, I look out the west-facing wall of windows at the purple, red, and golden sunset. It’s gorgeous, and I wish she were here now so I could wrap my arms around her small body, kiss her neck, trace my lips along the line of her hair.
From this height, I can see far across the expanse of flat, brown Texas prairie, and while part of me loves my home deeply, another part of me fell in love with the lush greenery of Harristown, the tiny hamlet where I attended college.
I first discovered it as a boy. My dad would take me there in the summer for the annual peach festival, and I want to take Angel there to see if she likes it.
It’s a painfully small town in the middle of the piney woods, but the people are friendly, and the peach orchards are beautiful. The truth is, I’d be willing to live anywhere as long as I’ve got my girl at my side.
I’m showered and waiting on a pot of water to boil in the kitchen when the intercom at my door buzzes.
“I’m here.” Angel’s voice is clear, and I hit the button, allowing her to access to the penthouse floor.
Opening my door, I watch the numbers on the elevator, waiting for it to ding before stepping into the hallway in my bare feet. Three apartments share this foyer, but I never see my neighbors. Finally, it stops, and the black doors silently swish apart.
Angel stands in front of me looking like the best thing in the world, and I can’t help a smile. She’s wearing a light blue sundress so short her silky legs are on full display. Her long hair hangs
in golden brown spirals behind her shoulder, with one lock curling perfectly over her small breast.
She takes my breath away, just like she did that very first day years ago. I’d just turned fifteen, I was leaving for my first year at boarding school. I thought I was happy to go, and instead it turned into the longest year of my life.
I lean against the open elevator doors, holding them apart. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Her pillow lips part in a smile, amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hey, handsome.”
The tip of her pink tongue touches perfectly white teeth, and the cutest dimple appears at the top of her cheek. Reaching out, I catch her upper arms, pulling her against my chest.
“Come here to me.”
I lean down and press my lips to that little spot just below her eye. What the hell are dimples anyway, and why are they so damn adorable?
Her lips are on my cheek, and I feel her nose wrinkle. “So possessive.”
“Longest day of my life.” I kiss her closed eyes, the top of her brow, then I press my lips to her hairline, taking a deep breath of jasmine. “You smell so good.”
“Something smells good. What is that?”
“Oh, shit.” I spin on my heel and holding her hand, I drag her into my apartment, leaving her in the living room while I kill the fire under the pot of water boiling over.
“Are you making me dinner?” She walks to the bar separating the cooktop from the rest of the dining area.
“Yes.” Holding out my arm, I drop a handful macaroni into the pot with a flourish. “I’m making you my signature dish.”
“Is that so?” She laughs, and her eyes sparkle. She has the most beautiful eyes, light brown and perfectly clear like good whiskey. “It looks like mac and cheese.”
“Not just any mac and cheese.” Grabbing another handful of noodles, I drop them in and turn down the fire so it doesn’t boil over again. “It has a special ingredient.”
“Love?”
“Two special ingredients.”
I break an egg in a saucepan and add a bit of milk before stirring in cheese and the rest of the items.
“You’re adding eggs and cream to the cheese?” Her eyebrows rise, and she pokes out her lips. “That’s interesting.”
I wink and point to the bottle of white burgundy I uncorked shortly before she arrived. “Have some wine.”
“Aren’t you full of surprises.” She pours two glasses, leaning on the bar. “Who taught you to make this special mac and cheese?”
“Actually… it was my aunt.” I hate to tell her.
We had an unfortunate incident once a while back where I was out with my aunt and we ran into Angel and her cousin at a Rally’s hamburger place. We both wanted to rush together and hold hands, but Angel held back—I guess because of her cousin. I’m ashamed to say I held back, too, because what happened next embarrassed me to the core.
Winnie looked around the restaurant and took my arm. “We’ve got to go somewhere else, Deacon. This place is crawling with Mexicans.”
Looking back, the word Mexicans wasn’t the problem. There’s nothing wrong with being a Mexican—I’ve never believed that, and I sure as hell don’t think that way now. It was the way my aunt said it that made me want to crawl in a hole. So much disgust in her voice, like the presence of my beautiful friend and her family was shameful. In that instant, I hated that I’d held back from going to my girl. It was like I agreed with my aunt.
We’ve never talked about it. I never knew if she even heard Winnie’s statement, but any time my aunt’s name comes up, I feel a sting of shame over that moment. I wish I’d told my aunt to shut up that day. I wish I’d walked right up and taken Angel’s hand in mine, aligning myself with her family.
I’ve grown up a lot since then, and history will not repeat itself.
“I can’t wait to taste this.” Angel smiles at me, and she’s so purely beautiful. I only want to take care of her, protect her for the rest of my days.
“What’s happening with your art class?”
“One left, and I graduate.” Her eyes widen with excitement. “Then they announce the award winners.”
“Oh, you’ll definitely win awards.” I sprinkle salt in the pot and lift a noodle for testing. A few minutes longer.
“There’s one I really want… It’s twenty thousand dollars, a six-month residence, and a private show at the Palladium.”
My brow rises. “The Arthaus. That’s a big one.”
“I know!” She clasps her hands. “Want to see my last piece?”
“Yes.”
She types quickly on her phone while I take the pot off the fire, stepping over to give the noodles a quick rinse and let them drain in the colander. Angel always texts me pictures of her favorite works, and every time I’m blown away by her talent.
“I call it Spirit.” She hands me the phone, and I lean back against the sink.
“Wow.” It’s a magnificent horse swirled in a storm of brilliant color like a whirlwind. “I wish I could see it in real life.”
Tearing my eyes away from the photo, I catch hers and the light in them is so bright. “You like it?”
“It’s the best thing you’ve ever shown me.”
Bouncing to me, she laughs catching my forearm and kissing my lips. “Thank you!”
Warmth filters through my chest at her happy, shy response. She’s so amazing, yet she’s so cautious about it. “You get better every piece.”
Picking up the pot of noodles, I pour them into the buttered glass dish followed by the egg, cheese, and cream mixture on top. I’m about to cover it all with parmesan cheese and slip it into the oven when she stops me.
“You’re not finished, are you?” She’s frowning, and I hesitate.
“That’s the recipe.”
“No no no.” She shakes her head, shooing me to the side. “That’s no good!”
Turning to my refrigerator, she opens the door and pushes the few items I have around. While I’ve got a great view of her cute little butt, my curiosity is winning.
“What are you looking for?” I lean to the side trying to see.
“Don’t you have any peppers? Tomatoes?”
Chewing my lips, I look around the kitchen. “I don’t have peppers, but I’ve got this.”
I hold out a bottle of Tabasco, and she frowns. “Where are your spices?”
“You haven’t even tried my signature dish—”
“I haven’t tried it, but I know how to cook for babies. You’re a grown man! You need some spice in your life.”
“I’ve got some spice in my life.” Catching her by the hips, I pull her to me and plant a kiss on the side of her neck right below her ear.
That gets me a little squeal, and she wiggles out of my arms. “Here.” She grabs some chili powder and shakes it over the dish followed by a few hits of Tabasco, gives it a stir, and steps back. “Now continue. And remind me to take you to the grocery store. You’re missing some staples.”
Shaking my head, I cover the mixture with parmesan cheese and pop it in the preheated oven, setting the timer and pulling her into my arms. “What can we do with twenty minutes?”
Her teeth press against her bottom lip when she grins, and her hands are on my chest. “Only twenty minutes?”
Leaning down, I capture her lips with mine. They’re soft and taste faintly of the dry wine she’s been sipping. Our tongues slide together, and heat floods the lower half of my body. I want to sit her up on the bar and slip between her thighs.
My hands are on her legs, rising higher when she catches my wrists, and I stop. I take another nip of her lips, one last kiss, and I lean back, arching an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes are on my mouth and she shakes her head, sliding her thumb along my cheek. “Tomorrow’s a religious ceremony as well as a birthday. It starts with a special mass for Lola.”
“I’m okay with that.” Catching her hand, I kiss her thumb.
“It just makes me think how… I’m n
ot very religious when I’m with you.”
“What are you trying to say, Miss Treviño? I’m a bad influence?”
“Yes.” She leans forward and laughs, kissing my cheek. “You’re a terrible influence. I forget all of my religion when you’re around.”
“I guess I should make an honest woman of you.”
She rests her elbow on my shoulder, looking into my eyes. “How are you going to do that?”
“Easy. I’ll make you my wife.”
Her pretty eyes light up, and she laughs. “You haven’t even met my family, and you think you want to join it?”
“I want to be wherever you are.”
“We should probably wait to see how tomorrow goes.”
“Nothing is going to change my mind about you.”
Her head tilts to the side, sending a cascade of curls rippling over her arm. “What if I’m not ready to settle down and start having babies?”
“We can wait a year or two on the babies.”
Her nose wrinkles, and she laughs. “And what does a big, rich financial adviser like you want with a little country girl like me?”
I love her flirting. I love answering her questions. I can answer all of them. “Well, let me see… For starters, you’re incredibly talented. You’re funny… smart—”
“How do you know I’m smart?”
“You’re going out with me.”
“Ah!” She pushes against my chest. “Such a big head to go with your big…” Her voice trails off, and my eyebrows rise. Her eyes drift around the room as I wait to see how she’ll finish that sentence. “Apartment.”
“My apartment’s not so big, but something else is.” Diving forward, I press my lips against the warmth of her neck, making her laugh.
Her warm, soft body, her lips, the scent of jasmine, and the trace of her fingers along my collar has my cock growing thick. Turning my head, I find her lips again, parting them and sweeping my tongue inside. She sighs, and I know she’s feeling the heat between us. It’s always this way with us.
I’m about to lift her in my arms and carry her to my bedroom when the bell rings. Our shoulders drop, and our eyes meet.
She makes a teasing little sad face. “It smells really good.”
