Page 173 of Devil’s Disciples

“Yeah. That’s what it is. Barbeque. Beer. Margaritas. He smokes meats. Sometimes he fries a turkey. He’s been known to make some pretty good tamales, too.”

She chuckled.

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Getting information out of you is close to impossible.”

She was right, but I didn’t agree with her. I didn’t disagree, either. There was a time and a place for arguing, and Sunset Cliffs during sunset wasn’t it.

Sitting so close to her I could taste the sweetness of her perfume, I sat and watched the sunset. As the orange sphere disappeared behind the wall of water, only to be replaced by an indigo and pink sky, I gave thanks for Kimberly’s existence – and for my ability to be in her presence without doing anything stupid.

67

Kimberly

I glanced around the twelve hundred square foot boutique. Compared to what else San Diego had to offer, it wasn’t much. I’d always dreamt of having a nursery, but knew I’d never be able to afford one.

So, I settled for a shoe store. Some of the sandals had floral patterns on them. For the time being, that would have to suffice.

“I’m going to have a sale starting next Monday,” I said. “Let’s use the same signs we used last spring.”

Tisha nodded. “The flowers?”

“Yes.” I said, gesturing toward the plastic tubes that sat in the corner of the stock room. “The flowers.”

“Okay.”

Tisha was a slender vegan that didn’t have the love for shoes that I did. She did, however, have great work ethic. In three years, she hadn’t missed a single day’s work. I trusted her to open, close, and supervise all the part-time employees.

Her choices in clothing and persistent use of sandals left me wondering if she’d go barefoot if I allowed it. Wearing an off the shoulders transparent beige dress and a pair of Billabong Rory vegan-friendly slingback sandals, she looked like she should be working at one of California’s many pot farms.

She followed me to the sales floor, and then looked at the displays with disgust in her eyes.

“Do you hate shoes?” I asked.

She turned toward me and wrinkled her nose. “Truthfully?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”

“I mean. Kind of. If I didn’t have to wear them, I wouldn’t.”

I picked up a Stuart Weitzman Nudist and admired the fabric of the strappy stiletto. “I’m surprised it took me this long to ask. I’ve been wondering.”

“You’re not mad, are you?”

“I don’t care.” I smiled and placed the shoe on the display. “You’re a great employee, and that’s all that matters.”

She smiled in return. “Thank you.”

I faced her. “Are you still seeing that guy that rides the motorcycle?”

She walked to the window and peered out at the street. “Trent?”

“The guy with the beard,” I said.

“They’ve all got beards.” She glanced over her shoulder. “No. I’ve been seeing another guy. He doesn’t ride, but he’s got a beard. I think we’re about done, though. He’s kind of needy.”

She seemed distraught. I regretted asking about her former lover and offered an apology, of sorts. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”