“Tess Two” referred to my new bakery, which was not so much an annoyance as a huge time suckage. Martha was still getting her feet and she knew me, she understood my vision, she’d spent a lot of time in Tessa’s Cakes, she’d been there when the concept was developed, but she loved me and she didn’t want to mess up. Therefore, she involved me with everything that had anything to do with “Tess Two,” even though I agreed with her on practically everything she’d asked for confirmation on.

And Martha didn’t shut down at five o’clock. She didn’t even shut down at seven. Martha was on a mission to get Tessa’s Cakes in LoDo off and running and therefore it wasn’t unheard of for Martha to phone whenever Martha needed to phone. This included once (and only once) Martha calling at eleven thirty at night, a time when both the boys were in bed asleep and Brock and I were busy.

This happened only once because Brock snatched up the phone, looked at the display, touched the screen, and growled, “Not a good time, never a good time, unless you’re dyin’ or you killed someone. We’re in bed. When we’re in bed, no one is in this bed but me and Tess. Ever. Now, are you dyin’ or have you killed someone?” He paused, then, “Right.”

Then he touched the screen, turned off the ringer, tossed it back on the nightstand, and came back to me. I thought it was prudent not to request details but I knew who the caller was and when Brock came back to me, he immediately resumed our interrupted activities, activities I had been thoroughly enjoying and wanted to recommence. Therefore, I made the decision to concentrate on said activities and explain things to Martha the next day.

So I did (though, she’d already guessed).

She never called late again and she also didn’t get mad. She’d done an about-face with Brock, learning I loved him, he loved me and made me happy, so now she thought he was the bomb (and told me so).

And she adored his sons.

“Raul,” I answered Brock.

“Fuckin’ shit,” he muttered.

“He said he has to push it back another week. I told him, essentially, he was fired though I have to admit he’s waiting for your call to confirm that,” I went on. “I’m at a mall, you’re dealing with homicides. Do you want me to call him back and confirm that so you don’t have to?”

“You call him, darlin’, that’ll deprive me the opportunity to tear him a new asshole. So, no, I don’t want you to call him back.”

Hmm. I kind of felt sorry for Raul.