Page 49 of Bronson

Paige gives a little gasp, pointing up the bedroom window of a red row home. In the window stands Tess.

Well, what we can see of the back of Tess.

Tess’ hands are clasped behind her head. Legs spread, her reddened bottom on full display. The strings of her black corset are tied tightly, cinching her waist.

“Someone’s been naughty. Tess is often naughty. I’ve always assumed she has a little voyeur streak in her. That, or Brett had found his credit card bill for the month. He’s a stickler for budgets,” I say.

Paige turns to me, her full lips forming an ‘o’ of surprise. “Who… did that to her?”

I give a chuckle. “Well, her husband, I assume. He’s the one who punishes Tess. He is married to her, after all.”

Tess shifts her weight. Her ass jiggles in the window. Who knows how long she’s been standing there. I overheard she’d preordered herself half of Daughtry’s spring collection. And it’s not even winter.

The beautiful blush I have so come to love rises on Paige’s cheeks. She turns her head, hiding her face behind my shoulder. She looks so innocent, so naive. It’s adorable.

“I didn’t take you for the shy type,” I tease.

She peeks up at Tess. “I’ve never seen a naked lady before. Much less one that’s…”

“Being punished?” I ask softly.

Paige nods shyly.

We walk on. In another window, Mary is standing in her kitchen, a pink frilly apron tied tightly around her waist. Curls hang loose over her face. Her brow furrows as she studies her cookbook.

I nod toward Mary’s house. “She’s the one that bakes all the cakes for the bakery you visit every day.”

“I’ve never seen her there before.”

“That’s because she’s a stay at home wife. She doesn’t work at the bakery. Neither does her husband John. It’s more of a hobby for them.”

Her brow furrows. “Wait… I think she may have been the one that answered my ad. Mary… that sounds familiar. If it was her, she’s very sweet.”

“She is. She’s kind of the unofficial mother of the Bachmans. And Mary very much enjoys baking. You must try her strudel sometime.” As if sensing us talking about her, Mary looks up, catching my eye and giving me a friendly wave. Open surprise flashes on her face when she catches sight of Paige beside me. Then, delight. The mother hens have all been after me for years to get a woman, but the pressure of my job has been too great. And no one I met mattered—until Paige. Mary gives a big wave to Paige.

Paige shakes her head, shrinking back behind me, as if preferring to remain unseen.

“Don’t be rude,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze.

A small smile crosses Paige’s face and she gives a little wave.

“That’s better. You’ll like Mary. Even though she’s a bit of a busybody.” I have no doubt as soon as Paige and I turn the corner, she’ll pick up her Bachman line (untappable) and spread the word through the Village.

Bronson finally brought someone home.

If she does, I’ll be sure to have a word with her husband, John.

We come to my corner. Beneath the streetlight is my neighbor Carter. He stands with his fiancée Sasha—the one none of us thought would stick. We’d all taken bets on how long she’d last.

She’s still here.

Carter’s face is etched with frustration. They seem to be deep in conversation.

Her hands are on her trim hips. She stomps her foot. “I said, I want to go out. The clubs are just opening and you’re trying to have us go home for the night.”

“Be reasonable, Sasha. We have an early morning. You will not be teaching spin at five a.m. hung over and cranky,” Carter says. He runs his hand through his light hair, obviously frustrated.

Paige whispers in my ear, “They look like… supermodels.”