Travis rose at seven sharp the next morning, regardless of the fact that Saturday had dawned rainy and dreary. He made coffee in his traditional pot, which he preferred to the Keurig nonsense because he would drink the entire pot before it cooled. He didn’t like the idea of making a brand-new cup every time he drained his. He filled his mug and wandered to his kitchen table overlooking the backyard, which was a wonderland of exotic plants, quaint fountains, and beautiful walkways he often traversed at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep nor work.

His home was located outside of the city on ten acres of land. When he had made his first million, he’d bought the old mansion for nothing and slowly restored it, doing what he could himself and hiring others for what he couldn’t. It had taken over a year to get the house to his specifications because he couldn’t work on it regularly while he was building his business.

The house was kindly called a mansion even though it was the smallest one in what was loosely called a neighborhood. Most of the homes were acres apart and separated by wrought-iron fences that kept nothing in or out. His house contained five bedrooms, three full baths, and two half baths, which he’d thought was overkill until he’d noticed how far apart they were. His master bedroom, which was as big as the living room in the house he’d grown up in, had a balcony that looked over his backyard and its own bathroom the size of his bedroom at his parents’.

Downstairs, the kitchen was state of the art so he could practice his cooking skills. He loved cooking, but he never did so because of his work schedule. Yet another thing to add to my list of to-dos, he mused as he glanced around the kitchen he so loved. He often worked from the home office he’d equipped with the newest technology and decorated with only his taste in mind. The living room and formal dining room weren’t finished yet because those were the rooms he’d use the least.

He often sat in the kitchen or on one of the benches in the backyard and reflected on his life while drinking his coffee and staring out. He was ready to date. Seeing Diana, though, had thrown his idea of dating out of whack. Because he wanted to date her…which was insane considering how their marriage had ended. She couldn’t forgive him for chasing his dream, which he admitted now had taken him away from her too often, and he couldn’t forgive her for squandering their money in casinos.

However, he did wonder if she had triumphed over the gambling as he was attempting to find a balance between his work and living a life. He’d always been grateful she’d turned to chance rather than drugs or alcohol, substances that would have ruined her life so much more than gambling.

He sipped his coffee and stared at a squirrel scavenging under the oak trees for acorns, letting his mind drift to memories of Diana. Spending time with her had been his favorite thing, and he’d tried to explain that to her. The reason he had worked so hard was to give her everything she deserved, but she had hated his absence. He wanted to apologize to her for that. With a shake of his head, he decided to rid himself of this maudlin attitude before he ruined a perfectly good Saturday.

After pouring another cup of coffee to carry with him, he meandered through his house, intentionally avoiding the hideousness that was his unfinished front rooms, and into his office. He sat in the large, overstuffed desk chair and swiveled around to grab his iPad off the charger so he could enjoy a half hour of mindless scanning of news stories and social media. He pushed his mussed hair out of his face, wishing he’d grabbed an elastic band to hold it back. More often than not, people complimented his hair, but some days he missed the short style he’d worn for most of his life.

His Facebook messenger app said he had a message, which he thought was strange. He almost didn’t open it because undoubtedly it would be someone he didn’t care to talk to. However, he hated the little red one in the corner so clicked on it. He never let his email fill up because he hated the clutter created by the red numbers.

A message, the only one in the app, informed him that he and Diana Brooks were now connected. He was thankful he’d put his coffee down so he didn’t spill it when he suddenly jerked upright. She had accepted his request. He’d sent it as soon as he got home the night before but had gone to bed early because of the number of beers he’d consumed with Michael. Smiling, he sat back and navigated to her profile, deciding to see what she had been up to for the last few years.

After twenty minutes of indulging in her beautiful face, he realized she hadn’t posted any pictures of men other than her boss, who he had researched immediately and discovered was gay. He felt a bit like a stalker, and the further he probed on her profile, the more obsessed he became. When he reached the six-year mark, he began to find pictures of he and Diana when they were together, and he sighed with longing at the happiness on his face and hers. They didn’t lose their happiness until the last six months or so of their marriage, and no pictures existed of them together during that time. She really hadn’t posted at all during that time.

I miss her laugh, he thought as he found a picture of them taken by someone, he had no idea who. They were laughing, their heads thrown back and their mouths wide with merriment. The next picture he found of her was of the two of them again, another candid. He was staring at the camera, a stupid grin on his face which made him wonder if he’d been drunk. Diana, however, wasn’t looking at the camera. She was watching him, and the look of sincere love on her face nearly broke his heart.

She never looked more beautiful than when she was in love, and I killed it, Travis thought as a pang of regret hit him in the chest. Sitting up, he set the iPad on his desk and put his head in his hands. They had been stupid—were still stupid—and he mourned the loss of their love like he would mourn the loss of a person. He thought he’d put those feelings behind him, but just the brief encounter with her had rekindled every burst of love he’d ever felt for her.

Sitting up, he decided he’d send her a message. Maybe she feels the same way, he mused, his eyes closed as he sat back in the comfortable chair and let the idea wash over him. Her rejection would hurt should she not care for him anymore, but the idea of a renewed relationship with Diana gave him the courage to pick up the iPad to type out a message asking her if she’d like to go to dinner with him.

Before he’d typed one word, though, his phone rang, and when he glanced at it, he frowned. He couldn’t ignore his mother, as much as he sometimes wanted to. The woman was adamant about his marrying again now that he was over thirty. She was dying for grandchildren. He picked up his phone and schooled his voice to restrain the annoyance at being interrupted.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, baby! What are you up to this morning?” she trilled, always so happy to talk to him. He felt a little guilty for letting the idea of ignoring her pass through his mind.

“Not much, considering it’s only eight in the morning,” he responded with a laugh. His early morning habits had been inherited from Ayana Hodges, so they usually spoke in the morning rather than the evening.

“How did your meeting go?” she asked, a smile in her voice.

“Well, as usual,” he answered. “What are you and Dad doing today?”

“The same thing you’re doing, baby,” she answered, her pet name the same as it had been when he was a toddler, a teenager, and a grown ass man.

His brow furrowed. He had risen and headed to the kitchen during the conversation for more coffee, so his calendar wasn’t in front of him. “What’s that?”

“Boy, I swear. You forget everything!” his mother admonished. “This is exactly why you need a wife.”

“A secretary is more like it,” he corrected as he poured the last of the coffee into his mug and contemplated another pot as he shoved his hair back again. He loved the way it looked and refused to cut it, but it did drive him mad first thing in the morning before he pulled it back. “What am I forgetting and when am I supposed to be there? Oh, and where am I supposed to go?”

“Jesus, boy, you have the memory of a goldfish,” she tsked, and he imagined her lips pressed together in irritation at his son.

“Sorry, Mom,” he replied automatically as he grabbed the coffee and scooped more into a fresh filter he’d placed in the coffee pot.

“What is all that racket?”

“Making more coffee,” he answered.

“Might try some water occasionally,” she warned, always concerned about the state of his health.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Are you going to tell me where I’m supposed to be?” He hit the button to start the pot brewing and leaned against the counter rather than walk to his office to retrieve the mug he’d left in there. He’d hired a cleaning service to come in once a week to handle the hard stuff, and they had left him a note about the eight coffee cups in various states of mold in his office. An apology had been sent along with a bonus for the cleaning crew.

“Always such a smarty,” she murmured. “You promised you’d attend the Save the Tatas luncheon this afternoon, remember?”

“The Tatas?” he snorted. “What the hell?”

“Breast cancer awareness, young man,” she corrected loudly.

“Oh.” Travis was immediately contrite. “Sorry. I remember now. What time and where? I’ll be there with money in hand.” His mother was a survivor of breast cancer and a committed activist when it came to breast cancer research. She’d lost both her mother and grandmother to the disease.

She chortled at his hastily offered apology. “One o’clock, and make sure you look good.”

His suspicions rose as he listened to the final drip of coffee into the pot behind him. He turned and reached for another mug. “Why do I need to look good?”

“Well,” she hedged, “you know you always look handsome, but there will be several young ladies there who I think you would find incredibly attractive.”

“Attractive like actually pretty, or attractive like you want me to think they’re pretty?” he asked skeptically.

“That is just plain rude, Travis.”

“Mom, the last time you introduced me to an ‘attractive’ woman, her teeth nearly hit me every time she turned her head in my direction,” he reminded her, shuddering. The poor woman had looked like a beaver had somehow had a human baby.

Ayana attempted to suppress her laughter but failed. “Yes, I’ll admit that was a poor choice on my end, but she really is one of the nicest young ladies I’ve ever met. And she’s from our tribe.”

Travis rolled his eyes and thanked the gods his mother couldn’t see him. Since his childhood, she had told him stories of the great tribe from which they descended. His grandmother and grandfather were full-blooded Mosopelea and had nearly disowned Ayana when she’d married a white man, his father, Gus Hodges. Though she had chosen to marry outside the tribe, she had hoped he would find a nice Native American woman, even if she wasn’t Mosopelea.

Against his better judgement, he decided to say, “So I ran into Diana last night.” Silence answered him, and he knew he’d made a mistake. “Mom?”

“Did you speak to her?” Her voice had changed from the motherly love she always exuded to full-on malice.

He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee to buy time. “Um, yes. Very briefly. I bought her a drink for her birthday yesterday.”

“I don’t know why you would,” Ayana replied stiffly. “She kicked you out on her birthday. Nothing to celebrate, as far as I’m concerned.”

Travis sighed as he prepared to defend a woman he wished was still in his life. “Mom, I was as much to blame for the end of our marriage. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”

“She broke your heart. Therefore, as your mother, I will always hate her,” Ayana replied haughtily. After a moment of quiet, she continued in a sad voice. “She was such a nice girl, though.”

He smiled at his mother’s kind heart. She couldn’t really hate anyone, though Diana was the closest she’d ever come to the negative emotion. “Still is.”

Ayana gasped quietly and whispered through the phone, “You miss her.”

“How do you do that?” Travis asked, not at all surprised that even through the phone his mother had known his thoughts.

“The gods blessed some of our tribe with knowledge beyond what can be seen,” she intoned, then chuckled. “Or I just know my son. I know your heart, Travis, and you never stopped loving that woman.”

Travis opened his mouth to deny it but decided against it and changed the subject, false lightness in his voice. “What should I wear? Tuxedo? Or is that too much?”

Ayana hesitated on the other end, and Travis held his breath, hoping she’d let the topic change without an argument. He released the breath when she said, “As much as I love to see you spiffy in your tux, nice slacks and a polo would do. If you have a pink polo, that would be best.”

“I’m not sure if I do, but I have time to swing by a store and pick one up,” Travis offered.

“Don’t go to the that much trouble, baby,” she replied. “Any color will do.”

“Okay. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“No, your father and I are going together,” she informed him.

“Oh, good. I won’t be the only man there,” he said with a laugh. “Is Dad wearing pink?”

“Of course!”

“Yeah, if I can’t find one I’ll get one,” he decided. “Love you.”

“Love you, baby. See you this afternoon,” she replied and ended the call.

Travis’ parents meant everything to him. When he’d been able to, he’d paid off the last of the mortgage on their house and handed them the title with their names on it. His mother had cried, and she’d cried even harder and griped at him when she found out six months later that he’d paid off all her medical bills from the cancer. They had lived for him, gone without so he could have, so paying off their house and bills had been so much less than what he owed them. He’d do anything for either of them, even attend a celebration of tatas and spend money on random auction items.

With a sigh, he refilled his coffee, which he’d sipped throughout the conversation, and carried it upstairs with him to search for a pink shirt. He was certain he’d have to stop at Nieman Marcus.

* * *

Travis walked into the ballroom of what was supposed to be one of the most haunted plantation homes in New Orleans, and his morbid side wished the breast cancer event had occurred after dark to encourage the spirits to visit. He was a great believer in the spirits who resided in this realm, regarding the spiritual world as being as real as the world in which he resided. His mother had instilled in him these beliefs, and he often meditated and listened for the voices he knew were just out of his reach.

He’d studied his mother’s tribe and had visited the reservation where the surviving members still lived. He loved his heritage and was incredibly proud of it, and one thing he’d always loved about Diana was that she accepted his heritage, learned about it, and had included it in her life. He’d thought she was perfect, and she had been close.

His thoughts reminded him he hadn’t sent her the message, and he frowned at his forgetfulness. When he’d searched for a pink shirt, as he’d assumed, there hadn’t been one. Getting to Nieman Marcus and finding what he wanted as well as getting to the venue on time had been tricky, so it was no surprise he’d forgotten. I’ll send it when we sit down for the lunch, he promised himself, jiggling his phone in his pocket as he searched for his parents.

He felt the looks rather than saw them and tried for a nonchalant expression. Without being narcissistic, Travis understood he was a handsome man, but he tried not to use his looks to gain the upper hand. Except in business if he thought it would work. He glanced to his left and saw a gaggle of women jerk their heads in every direction but his and sighed. The attention was usually unwanted, like it was this afternoon. If he was truthful with himself, he would admit only one woman’s attention was needed, and he wasn’t sure she wanted to give it to him.

“Travis!”

His mother’s voice pulled his head around, and he lifted a hand to wave at her as he made his way across the room. He kissed her on the cheek and hugged his father before taking his place at a table for ten.

“This is an awfully big table, Mom,” Travis commented as he glanced at the still-empty chairs waiting for their occupants.

“Your mother bought an entire table for us,” Gus announced, smiling indulgently at his wife, whose black hair—which had many more threads of gray than it had before the cancer—was loose around her face. She flicked her hair back and smiled at her husband’s tone, kissing him softly on the lips.

“Do you mean we’re sitting at the table alone?” Travis asked, surprised by the idea though not unhappy.

“Oh gosh, no, silly boy,” Ayana gushed, slapping his leg. “Every seat will be filled.”

“With women, son,” Gus warned him, giving him the look.

“Mother.”

“Don’t ‘mother’ me,” she chided as she lifted the glass of white wine in front of her and sipped. “You never date, so I invited a handful of lovely young ladies to join us at our table.”

“This feels suspiciously medieval,” Travis grouched, looking around for a waiter. He remembered there weren’t any and asked, “Where is the bar? I’ll need a couple of stiff whiskeys to get through this afternoon.”

“I’ll lead the way,” Gus announced as two twenty-somethings sidled up to the table and greeted Ayana. He grabbed Travis’ arms and said, “If you’ll excuse us.”

As they hurried towards the bar, which was across the room, Travis hissed, “I think Mom is trying to pimp me out.”

Gus laughed gruffly, turning several heads. The man was small of stature, so the loud, low voice that emitted from his mouth was often a surprise. “I think she wants you to get married again.”

“Yeah, she’s mentioned that about eight-hundred times,” Travis informed him as they reached the bar. He ordered a whiskey neat, and his father ordered the same.

“I think we should hang out at the bar for a bit, don’t you?” Gus asked, chuckling when his son nodded his head emphatically.

“Start a tab, my friend,” he told the bartender as he handed over his card. “Do the proceeds go to the cause?”

“Twenty percent, sir,” the bartender told him as he tucked the card away.

“I’ll drink to that,” Gus bellowed, lifted his glass, and swallowed half. He coughed a little and hissed, “Smooth.”

Travis laughed. “Very smooth. When you sip it.”

“I need more than a sip to get through this,” Gus told him. “Did your mother tell you about the show?”

“Show?” Travis asked, his interest piqued.

“The local fire and police departments have volunteered a handful of men to model bras decorated thematically,” Gus told him, raising his bushy eyebrows in a questioning-their-sanity look.

Travis choked out a laugh. “Well, that will be a show. Will they have clothes on under the bras?”

“Dear Lord, I hope so,” Gus answered, shaking his head. “Each bra represents something you can bid on.”

“Huh.” Travis didn’t really have a response to that, so he lifted his glass and drained it without thinking. He hissed and made a face, then turned to the bartender and asked for two more.

“So, your mom tells me you talked to Diana last night…” Gus started, allowing Travis the opportunity to fill him in.

Travis looked down at his father. He stood nearly four inches taller, but he’d never defied the man. “I did.”

Gus nodded. “Well, your mom didn’t like the idea of you talking to her.”

“She made that clear,” Travis acknowledged with a grin.

“I bet she did,” Gus said. He sobered and added, “You know, Travis, I always liked her, even when she was in trouble and the two of you split. She’s a good girl.”

Travis stared at his father, surprised. “So you don’t think it’s a bad idea for me to talk to her.”

Gus took a deep breath as he accepted his drink from the bartender with a nod. He looked into his son’s eyes and said, “Son, I want you to do what makes you happy. I know she used to. So I guess you have to decide if she still can.”

Astounded by the information, Travis didn’t speak for several minutes. Finally, he asked, “How do you know I’m even thinking about talking to her again?”

“Your mom knows everything. You know that,” Gus told him, shaking his head as if his son was daft. “I’m heading back to the table. You ready?” The subject of Diana was closed.

Travis braced himself as if heading into battle, eliciting a laugh from his dad. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Just rescue me if they try to drag me off.”

“Your mother won’t let me,” Gus said seriously as he pushed away from the bar. Travis laughed and followed him, preparing for an onslaught of unwanted female attention for the next few hours.