Fix It Up (Torus Intercession 3)

He blew his nose in the napkin he’d taken with him. “What’d—what did I say?”

“You just called me baby.”

Instant face like he’d bit into a lemon. “I did not. That’s wishful thinking right there.”

“Excuse me?” I said, getting up. “Wishful—have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”

He scoffed, not scared of me even a little, before he turned and went to the kitchen where my mother was putting the finishing touches on the avocado toast. He asked her for some milk, and she smiled as she poured him a glass.

I stood there, glaring at him as he completely ignored me, instead watching in horror as my mother shook red pepper flakes over the top of the mashed avocado.

“What?” she asked him, stopping mid-shake.

“Your avocado toast is hot too?”

“Is it hot?” she asked, squinting at him.

He looked back at me then, and so did she.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked me. “You look like you swallowed a bug.”

I threw up my hands and flopped back down in my chair. “Am I getting avocado toast, or do I have to make my own?”

“Oooh, somebody’s grouchy today,” she remarked under her breath. “And since I’ve been feeding you, it can’t be your blood sugar…” Her head snapped up.

“No,” I ordered her. “Think before you speak.”

“Sweetheart, how long has it been since you’ve gotten any?”

Nick nearly drowned in his milk.

Eight

Around seven, after we took a nap, when it started to cool a bit, which wasn’t saying much—it was still in the mid-eighties—my mother piled us into her four-seater golf cart and drove us the back way, up and down horse paths, over shallow parts of the creek to an open area of mowed grass and a large stand of Arizona cypress, scattered pinyon pines, and alligator junipers. It was a lovely space on my mother’s friend Jamie’s property. I had never met him, as he’d always been traveling when I visited during the holidays.

“It’s really something that there’s this lush vegetation here among the red rock,” Nick said as we got out to walk toward the long table with seating for twelve.

“Oddly serene, isn’t it?” my mother asked him.

“It is,” he agreed. “But even as lovely as this is, I think I prefer your back patio and the view of Cathedral Rock.”

“I know,” she said, chuckling, taking hold of his arm. “And my house butts right up to the national forest, so I don’t have to worry about anyone else building across the creek from me.” She gestured at the meadow. “Jamie doesn’t have that luxury. Someone could build right there, though the land isn’t cheap, and the build wouldn’t be either.”

“Well then, hopefully Jamie isn’t in danger of having neighbors.”

“I heard my name,” a man said, walking from the tent where the bar and a buffet would be laid out. “And it was spoken by one of my favorite people.”

I had assumed that Jamie was my mother’s age, but he appeared to be somewhere between me and Nick. He looked to be about my height, lean, handsome, with long, rangy muscles, shaggy blond hair, stubbled jaw, weathered, and with eyes as green as spring grass.

“Jamie,” she said happily, going into his arms to hug him. “So nice that you invited me, and I’m thrilled you had room for the boys.”

He was my age, and she used the word boys. Christ.

“Yes, of course, I—Nick Madison?”

Nick grinned and stepped forward, offering him his hand. “It’s a pleasure to—wait,” he said, staring at Jamie. “You’re not James Reider, the photographer?”

“I am, indeed,” he said, his voice low and husky as he took a step closer to Nick.

Who used indeed in a sentence?

“Oh,” Nick said with a mischievous grin. “I saw your exhibit on the fragility of women at the Fraenkel Gallery in San Francisco. It was stunning.”

He nodded.

“And of course, it was just one badass woman after another.”

Jamie smiled wide and shrugged.

“Very clever,” Nick praised him.

“Well, I do like to get people talking,” Jamie quipped, chuckling.

I had the sudden urge to hit him.

“I also saw your retrospective on fashion at the Photographers’ Gallery in Soho when I was there, what, last Christmas I think it was.”

“Yes,” he admitted, wincing. “That one was––”

“Amazing,” Nick gushed, and I watched Jamie melt with his words. “I actually bought two photographs for my lake house.”

Lake house? He had a lake house? I thought he only had one home.

“You didn’t,” Jamie said, taking hold of his forearm.

“I did,” Nick said, clearly in awe of the man. “Centennial, the gorgeous black-and-white, and Couture, which I had to outbid a friend for.”

“Oh my—Nick,” he said, his voice faltering, “I—I’m overwhelmed. You paid a small fortune for that.”

“Worth every penny,” Nick assured him. “And people who see it always love it, though that same friend has made me an offer on the house, and I think part of the deal is that the photograph stays where it is if the deal goes through.”