And when she did all this, she was not at the soup kitchen spreading her benevolence amongst those less fortunate but shopping or getting laid by her bevy of boy toys.

Of this, Hector, too, had photographic proof.

Luckily, I did not see Hector’s proof. Unluckily, Hector had to considering he took the photos and his face upon handing over the evidence to a Brock, who was even unhappier to learn that his ex was less of a mother than he thought, shared the knowledge that Hector was of the same opinion as his bad boy brethren that bony wasn’t beautiful.


So, the papers had been drawn up, everyone signed them, a judge stamped his approval and the boys’ custody flip-flopped. Olivia had them every other weekend, Brock and I had them the rest of the time. Therefore, he wanted them settled and in what would be their permanent rooms. The first delay on the renovation meant that when they moved in with us, Rex had moved into my office upstairs that we converted to a bedroom and Joel into the guest bedroom (now his bedroom) downstairs. This was something Brock did not like because it didn’t say to Rex, “You’re home and settled”. He also didn’t like it because Rex was right next door to our room, the walls weren’t paper thin but they weren’t soundproof either and the reasons he didn’t like that were obvious. But there Rex was – a bathroom and hallway away.

Olivia was also coping with a move but hers would have been more settled if she was less, well… her. Dade had paid six months advance rent on a furnished, two-bedroom apartment for her. When he came into my bakery a few days after Olivia left, he told me he did this for Joel and Rex and I figured this was true. But I knew it was also because he was a good man and if he tried to do something pure asshole, like kick her out on her ass without any support (even if she did deserve it), he’d probably spontaneously combust or something.

He had not given her any money, however.

“She was very fond of John Atencio,” he said to me as he forked into a piece of my soured chocolate cake (to-die-for) with milk chocolate buttercream icing. Dade, I’d learned since Olivia left and he became a regular at Tessa’s Cakes, was a chocolate cake man. “I’m certain she can make her frequent trips to that store work for her.”

John Atencio was a fabulous, exclusive jewelry store and I figured Dade meant that Olivia was going to be spending some time in a pawn shop or, perhaps, learning how to sell things on on-line auctions.

Needless to say, although things had worked out for Brock and the boys, and the boys, to my surprise (and delight and, it must be said, Brock’s too), had settled in quickly and easily, relaxing in my house and making themselves at home within days (or, more like hours since I made a carrot cake for Rex and a chocolate cake for Joel and this obviously screamed

“You’re home!” to now eleven and thirteen year old boys), this did not mean our nightmare was over.

No.

Not at all.

Because Olivia was a bitch and, I was learning, when none of the games bitches could play were swinging their way, they scrambled.

Therefore Olivia was a regular at the Station and her name was on the display of Brock’s phone so often, it was a wonder it hadn’t etched itself into the glass. When she phoned or visited him at work, she did not want to talk to or about the boys. No. She needed Brock to hang shelves. She needed Brock to look over legal documents Dade was sending her. She needed Brock to look at a sink that had a drip (even though she was in a freaking apartment complex with a freaking maintenance man). She was selling her Mercedes (something Dade allowed her to have) and she needed him to help her. She was buying a new car and she needed him to go with her so she didn’t get screwed.

She told him (and Brock told me) that she was turning to him as the mother of his children to help her out in a bad situation.

And, also by Brock’s report, she’d gone saccharine sweet.

“She’s got her nose so far up my ass, babe, I swear I feel that bitch in my throat,” Brock, unfortunately, gave me a rather disgusting visual while we were lying in bed one night, his head to the pillows, his hands rubbing his face, his tone frustrated, his mood heavy in the air.

Brock was a good man too, the best, but he was a different kind of good man than Dade.

Or, perhaps, he just had more of a history with Olivia. Therefore, he said no. Then he said no again. Then he said it again. Then he stopped taking her calls when her name came on his display. Then, without even a word, he started to flip his phone shut and turn off the ringer when she called him from other phones. And luckily his colleagues had learned to spot her when she arrived at the Station. They started to give Brock the head’s up so he could disappear before she made it to his desk whereupon his badge-wielding brothers told her he was out.

He was done. He was not going to hang shelves, look over legal documents or help her buy a car.

The problem was, weeks had passed and she wasn’t giving up.

While his frustration filled the room, in bed, I’d pressed into him and whispered, “She’ll eventually give up and go away.”

Brock’s fingers had scored into his hair, his palms at his forehead and just his silver eyes tipped to me. But they told the tale. They told the tale that this was an example of her five years of her making him miserable until Dade came into her life. And now Dade was going out of her life. And Brock was facing five plus years more. And he didn’t like this either.

Since we were in bed and I was comfortable, I didn’t want to go get him a beer or a bourbon. So, to make him feel better, I settled on blowjob.

As usual, that did the trick.

“I’m not sure Brock’s going to like that,” I said to Raul.

I mean, I didn’t understand what the big deal was. It was, essentially, a wall and a door.

How hard could that be?

“Only another week,” Raul said in my ear.

“We were kinda hoping you’d be in and have it done by the time we got back from vacation,” I told him.

“I don’t see that happening,” Raul told me.

Damn.

“Maybe you should talk to Brock about this,” I suggested.

“No,” he said quickly and I pulled in an annoyed breath knowing his avoiding the Wrath of Brock was why he phoned me in the first place. He never phoned me. This was Brock’s deal. He’d made that very clear in his firm, unyielding, “I deal with things that require drywall, two by fours, hammers and men with work belts” macho man way and I gave in.

This was mostly because I had no desire to deal with more things that required drywall, two by fours, hammers and men with work belts considering I had enough to deal with with my new bakery. “If you could do the favor of passin’ it on. I’ll schedule it in, for sure, when you guys get back.”

“Actually, I think you need to speak to Brock,” I said.

“Things’re just pilin’ up. I’ll sort them when you’re gone and I’ll definitely get you on the schedule week after next.”

“Raul, you need to tell this to Brock,” I semi-repeated.

He ignored me. “That’s a promise, Tess.”

I walked out of Dillard’s and into the mall but stepped to the side out of pedestrian traffic and stopped.

Then I said, “I’ll tell Brock, Raul, but I wouldn’t waste your busy time scheduling us because, if I tell Brock you’re delaying again, he’ll phone and fire you. I know this for fact.

We needed this done weeks ago, when you promised you could get it done, and you aren’t the only contractor in Denver. If you don’t start work Monday while we’re on holiday, he’ll find someone who will. Now, I’ll be happy to tell him you’re delaying again but that’s the same as you telling me you cannot do the job. There are two options here, either we go our separate ways or you find a way to get to the house on Monday and start work. And, if you pick door number two, I would advise you actually to keep your promise. I think you get you shouldn’t rile Brock and I think you get that because you’re on the phone with me, not Brock.

You’re right. You shouldn’t rile Brock. He wants a room for his son and he’s going to get it and not in June. Yes?”

“I do understand where you’re comin’ from, Tess, but if I could do it I would and you could go with another contractor but you couldn’t get the guaranteed quality you’ll get from me,” Raul replied and I sucked in another annoyed breath because I had hoped to save Brock from another frustration right before vacation.

And I failed.

Crap.

“Fine,” I stated. “Prepare to be fired. Take care, Raul.”

Then I disconnected and as my thumb found Brock’s contact info on my phone, I headed to Mrs. Field’s Cookies because Mrs. Field could bake a mean cookie and I knew I needed a cookie to soothe the abrasions I’d endure after talking to Brock.

I put my order in as it was ringing and Brock answered it on ring two.

“Babe.”

“Hi honey, do you have any cookies nearby?”

Silence then, “Shit. Olivia, Raul or Tess Two?”

He was guessing as to the variety of annoyances in our lives that was making me ask if he had soothing cookies nearby.

“Tess Two” referred to my new bakery which was not so much an annoyance as a huge time suckage. Martha was still getting her feet and she knew me, she understood my vision, she’d spent a lot of time in Tessa’s Cakes, she’d been there when the concept was developed but she loved me and she didn’t want to mess up. Therefore she involved me with everything that had anything to do with “Tess Two” even though I agreed with her on practically everything she’d asked for confirmation on.

And Martha didn’t shut down at five o’clock. She didn’t even shut down at seven. Martha was on a mission to get Tessa’s Cakes in LoDo off and running and therefore it wasn’t unheard of for Martha to phone whenever Martha needed to phone. This included once (and only once) Martha calling at eleven thirty at night, a time when both the boys were in bed asleep and Brock and I were busy.

This happened only once because Brock snatched up the phone, looked at the display, touched the screen and growled, “Not a good time, never a good time, unless you’re dyin’ or you killed someone. We’re in bed. When we’re in bed, no one is in this bed but me and Tess.

Ever. Now are you dyin’ or have you killed someone?” He paused then, “Right.”

Then he touched the screen, turned off the ringer, tossed it back on the nightstand and came back to me. I thought it was prudent not to request details but I knew who the caller was and when Brock came back to me, he immediately resumed our interrupted activities, activities I had been thoroughly enjoying and wanted to recommence doing so, therefore I made the decision to concentrate on said activities and explain things to Martha the next day.

So I did (though, she’d already guessed).

She never called late again and she also didn’t get mad. She’d done an about-face with Brock, learning I loved him, he loved me and made me happy, so now she thought he was the bomb (and told me so).

And she adored his sons.

“Raul,” I answered Brock.

“Fuckin’ shit,” he muttered.

“He said he has to push it back another week. I told him, essentially, he was fired though I have to admit he’s waiting for your call to confirm that,” I went on. “I’m at a mall, you’re dealing with homicides. Do you want me to call him back and confirm that so you don’t have to?”


“You call him, darlin’, that’ll deprive me the opportunity to tear him a new asshole so, no, I don’t want you to call him back.”

Hmm. I kind of felt sorry for Raul.

“Okay,” I said softly, took my cookies and set them aside as I dropped my Dillard’s bag to rummage in my purse for my wallet. “When I get home, do you want me to search for a new contractor?”

“I’ll deal with it when we get back from the island,” he surprised me by saying. “Rex is set for now. He isn’t complaining. It’s working so it can wait.”

“Okay, honey.” I was still talking softly. Then I offered, “I’m at Mrs. Field’s. If you don’t have cookies handy, do you want me to buy some for medicinal purposes later?”

“Mrs. Field’s are sweet, baby, but nothin’ beats your kind of sweet.”

That was nice, very nice but I wasn’t entirely certain if he meant cookies from my bakery or a different kind of sweet that I could give him for medicinal (and other) purposes.

I decided that I’d pop by the bakery, just in case, cover all the bases.