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She quirks her brow in challenge. “Don’t forget about making money. That green gets me a lot of culture.”
“Well, they turned you into a person who locks their doors,” Glamma bemoans. “What kind of violence did they expose my baby girl to up there in that northern wilderness? You know I had to dig through my house to find my spare key to this place? I couldn’t believe it. These doors haven’t been locked since…well, never since your parents built it new. And to think, I had to leave that delicious dish waiting while I tore my house apart.”
“I’m sorry, Glamma, but I am allowed to lock my doors.”
“The rot has set in too deep. I don’t know if we’ll find a cure.”
“G-mama! I’m not sick.”
“If you say so.” Glamma twists her lips, clearly not agreeing with me. “What you can’t defend is them northerners’ lack of appreciation of the male physique. Can you believe them folk would try to shame me for complimenting a beautiful specimen? I worry that they’ve gone blind to true art.”
“Glamma! You know you ain’t right. Your brand of compliments is borderline criminal. Besides, thosenorthernfolks produce some of the best studies in art and—”
“Yeah? Which brainiac graduated in your class?” G-mama interrupts me with her phone in hand. “I’ll Google them. See if you know what you’re talking about.”
I open my mouth but draw a blank. Being on the spot like this always does this to me.
“Close your mouth, dear, unless you want to catch flies,” G-mama says with all the confidence of someone who’s won an argument.
I slam my mouth closed.
Glamma pats my hand in sympathy. She’s been on the receiving end of one of G-mama’s argument enders. “Anyway, our point is, we’ll never forgive ourselves for running you out of town. The place just hasn’t been the same without you, so we’ve agreed not to argue in front of you or about issues that pertain to you.”
“And this new tenant is an issue that pertains to me?”
“I’m glad that fancy schooling hasn’t completely rotted your ability to reason,” G-mama says.
I can’t win, but one thing Glamma said keeps circling my mind. “So these remorseful feelings you have about running me out of town—which by the way is not what happened—is why you’ve thrust every single man in town in my path?”
“How else are we going to make sure you stay, dear?”
“Baby girl, pay her no never mind. Since you didn’t click with any of them, we’ve expanded our search. We’re accepting imports. Now while you fall for the new prospects we find for you, Laila and I will make sure they fall for Escondido Bay.”
I look from one grandmother to the other as nightmarish visions of a united front coalesce in my mind. Escondido Bay and I may not survive.
CHAPTERTWO
Cameron
Isurvey the quaint bungalow that I will call home for the next year. Never would I have thought to escape to this place, but I’ve been in a funk for the last few months and after last weekend, I made the snap decision to break free from everything.
I never expected to sign a lease two days after inquiring about the property, or the two ageless beauties who interviewed me as if I were auditioning for the leader of the Western world. I tried being as honest as possible without revealing too much of my real identity or why I’m here.
The first floor is an open plan with lots of natural light coming in through Florida ceiling windows. The front half of the building is set up like an apartment, with a full kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Off the bedroom is a world onto itself.
Along the windows and walls, detailed sketches of fantastical people and characters outfitted in amazing costuming catch my eye. Between the amazing drawings and hi-tech equipment, questions about my landlady abound. The two women who I met mentioned I would be dealing with the woman in the main house for any issues that arise.
I have a direct view to the back of the main building from my bathroom and bedroom. The house is a bigger version of my rental. Based on the gauzy curtains, I can see directly into a bedroom. I cross my fingers that it doesn’t belong to her. Otherwise, I’ll need to invest in a few curtains myself.
I stroll into the art room. As an artist, though through a different medium, I can’t help the feeling that I’m trespassing. Despite my misgivings, a compulsion drives me to learn more about the person I’m renting from. Her art calls to the rootlessness that has taken over my life. The chemistry between characters welcomes me to sit and stare while drawing out the poisonous emotions preventing me from connecting with my mates and the bruised part of my soul their callousness caused.
I drag my fingers over a pile of sketchbooks and flip one open.
I immediately slam it closed.
Unlike the artwork on open display, the images on the drawing are full-blown erotica. I suspect they aren’t on the walls for a reason and I shouldn’t pry, though my brief glimpse has indelibly imprinted the image into my brain. The main reason is the woman in the sketch.
She bears an uncanny resemblance to the wannabe burglar I met over the weekend. If plus-sized Wednesday Addams in an exploding rainbow is a style, it fits the stranger from my weekend. I rush out of the room, running from the haunting image and the musical memory she inspires. I’ve come to terms that I’ll never see that woman again and don’t need reminders to make me regret not getting her name from our night together.
