The Bachelor and the Beauty Queen

He hated small towns. The main reason he’d left Villa San Juan was to get away from everyone always being in everybody’s business. As part of the Torres family through his mother, they were all subject to gossip. A major perk to living in Berkeley Lake was that he barely saw his neighbors. In Villa San Juan, you couldn’t turn a corner without hitting a Torres.

/> Stephen reached for the set of keys, delivered to him yesterday, in the front pocket of his dark gray slacks. Despite the stares, the town truly was picturesque and moved him to the memory of when he first got excited about scouting out locations. He’d been about eighteen at the time and visiting his grandparents in Puerto Rico when he met an ambitious producer by the name of Christopher Kelly. Christopher wanted to impress his TV studio executive mother with hidden vacation spots, and Stephen, knowing all the beautiful hideaways not on the maps, was the right man for the job. After the success of his travel show for Multi Ethnic Television, also known as MET, people sought out Stephen’s services. Using his shoulder, Stephen pushed against the wood frame of the door still bearing the name Divinity Bakery etched into the glass. Mounds of old newspapers nearly tripped him; dust floating through the beams of sunlight triggered a sneezing attack. The first thing he needed to do was start cleaning. The black-and-white tiled floor needed to go. Stephen preferred hardwood floors and office privacy. The only closed area so far was through the double doors leading to what he presumed was the kitchen, if he didn’t count the short hallway to the left of the closed-off kitchen. Though the electricity was out, making it hard to confirm, Stephen bet the two closed doors down the dark hallway were bathrooms marked with the universal symbols.

Over the years Stephen had built a reputation people trusted and a knack of anticipating the trends in the real estate market. As a broker, he sold dreams. He sold extravagant homes to rich people who had money to spare and he sold homes to producers and directors in the film industry, who wanted authentic locations. At the high end of his real estate business, Stephen found exact replicas of movie mansions for wealthy people. Perhaps he had his mother to thank for his affinity for old movies because he had developed a keen eye for those types of homes.

Out of the three children Elizabeth Torres Reyes had raised, Stephen was the only one who managed to sit still without fidgeting through one of her beloved classic movies. Stephen never minded the rich films, which ended up helping him later in life, whether it was the dancing in Black Orpheus, the satire in Luis Buñuel’s Viridiana, or the understanding of differences in the architectural structures from the American classic Gone with the Wind. Over the years he’d found replicas of homes like Tara, the seaside house from Practical Magic, the Victorian home from Meet Me in St. Louis, as well as colonial and Georgian houses from Father of the Bride and Home Alone.

For all his experience, Stephen lacked the ability to decorate the interiors of houses. He could find a home but couldn’t put anything inside. He stood in the darkened room with his hands on his hips, knowing he needed Nate’s expertise on where to construct walls. Stephen sighed and reached for his phone. There was nothing he could do right now without power.

Stephen lifted his phone in the air in an attempt to gain a bar. This morning Philly had played her favorite candy game on his device, but surely not enough to drain his battery. Light shone through the boarded-up windows of the bakery. With little effort, Stephen yanked a few of the boards and tossed them to the floor. He used his phone to snap a few pictures from each corner of the room. The icon for its battery was full and raring to go, but the internet connection said quite the opposite. He cringed at the thought of needing dial-up. In hopes of getting a better connection, Stephen stepped toward the door and held his phone toward the sun. A screen indicated a strong Wi-Fi connection came from Grits and Glam Gowns, but of course it was password protected. He debated for a moment, trying to guess the code. Tiara? Dresses? Highly Inappropriate Dresses? Nah, too long, he decided. Besides, after further review of what he’d seen the two times he’d been inside the store, most dresses appeared to cover every inch of a woman’s leg.

The image of Lexi’s long legs entangled in his sheets entered his mind, stiffening his body. Stephen shook his head. What he needed to do was clear his mind. Maybe a walk to City Hall would help. Sunshine blinded him the moment he opened the doors. With one hand, Stephen covered his eyes. The large bakery sat nestled between the coffee shop on one side and Lexi’s on the other. The neighbors on his block consisted of a jewelry store, a shoe repair store and a florist before he reached a crosswalk. Every step or two, Stephen found himself taking another picture of each business, impressed with the quaint feel of downtown. He began to cross the street and lift his hand to wave at the man sweeping the top two steps of a restaurant. Black buckets of long-stemmed roses lined the wooden railing and sent out a sweet floral scent.

“Afternoon.” Stephen lifted his hand.

The elderly man pressed his lips together as if deciding to acknowledge Stephen’s greetings. “You jaywalked,” he finally said in a gruff voice, his mouth turned down into a frown.

“Sorry, in a bit of a hurry to get to City Hall.”

“You can rush all you want,” said the old man. “You won’t get anywhere today. Most everyone closes up on Sundays. These are things you might want to know since you’re new in town.”

“I stick out that much?” asked Stephen. He slid his hands in his pockets.

“You don’t have to wear overalls—” the man frowned again “—but you may want to invest in some new threads.”

“Thanks for the advice,” he replied. He stepped forward and extended his right hand. “I’m Stephen.”

“Yes, Reyes,” the man said, accepting Stephen’s hand with a firm shake. “I remember your brother—great man. You may call me Dave.”

“Thanks for the kind words, Dave—” Stephen nodded his head “—and for letting me know what’s the deal around here.”

“Anytime.” Dave went back to sweeping, but Stephen stood still for a moment.

“Nice flowers.” Stephen nodded his head toward the buckets. “Got anything else?”

* * *

The bells over the front door jingled and out of the corner of her eyes Lexi watched everyone turn—everyone but Philly. The five-year-old remained focused. Lexi tried to regain her composure, but the image of Stephen Reyes waltzing into her store for the third time now gave her butterflies in the pit of her stomach. He wore a white button-down shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled up. A dark jacket hung over one forearm and he grasped a couple of flowers. White tissue paper covered the parcel cradled in his arms.

“All right, Philly.” Lexi cleared her throat to recuperate. “I want you to remember there will be a couple pieces of masking tape on the stage in the form of an X. I put some down today for your markers but I want you to practice not having to look at them. Let’s try a front T-formation. Pretend the judges are over there.” Lexi pointed toward her right, where Nate and Kimber sat. The space Andrew and Chantal had created included a long stage stretching from one side of the room to the other and enough room outward for the girls to walk forward and work their talents.

In an attempt to point, her hand swatted against Stephen’s hard chest. For some reason, Lexi mumbled an apology. He needed to apologize. He needed to be anywhere but here.

“Yes, ma’am,” Philly said sweetly.

“Hi, baby girl,” Stephen called out, waving his arm in the air.

“Shh, Uncle Stephen, I’m at work right now,” Philly lectured. “I want to start over.”

Before Lexi could protest, Philly took off behind the fuchsia curtains. Standing this close to Stephen made Lexi’s cheeks burn with heat. Well aware of his strong masculinity, she tried to focus on Philly’s stride rather than how dainty she felt standing next to him. The mental score card in her head for him rated Stephen at a high nine out of ten for poise and presence. She certainly felt it.

“I wanted to give your coach these.” Stephen presented the four branches of Dancing Lady orchids. Her favorite.

The corners of her mouth twitched, and she reluctantly raised his score up to a full ten. “You didn’t have to.” Lexi remained calm, keeping her smile to a minimum. The chocolate scent wafted upward. She closed her eyes at the memory of her Grandma Bea’s backyard. The sweet smell had always enticed Lexi to linger longer at her place.

“I did.”

The pep in Stephen’s voice irritated her. She needed to stay angry with him. “Well, then, thank you.” Her lashes betrayed her, batting against her cheeks. “You’re just in time for lunch. Hungry?”