27
An hour and a half later, Brandon was back at the spa. His shift was winding down, the club settling into a quiet lull as the daytime members filtered out and the evening crowd had yet to arrive. With nothing much left to do, there he stood, waiting for Sally to finish her massage.
The woman stepped out of the private suite wrapped in a plush towel.
Sally never failed to catch Brandon off guard.
He’d seen her lounging poolside in a one-piece plenty of times, of course, and knew that despite her years, she maintained a figure that would make any middle-aged woman green with envy.
But the tattoo was entirely new.
Brandon stared at the little heart inked above her left breast, topped with devil horns and a pointed tail, revealing a side of Sally he never would have guessed existed. Her skin still glistened faintly under the sheen of massage oil.
“The wild things we do when we’re young and reckless,” she murmured, catching his stare with an amused glint in her eye. “Bring my bag along, darling.”
Brandon retrieved her tote from the locker and followed Sally toward the dressing rooms.
“You’re still gorgeous, ma'am.”
“Just not so young, hm?” She chuckled softly, taking her things from his hands before slipping past the dressing room door.
“I was thinking about your date with Amanda, sweetheart. Your shift is just about over, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma'am. Just a few more minutes.”
“Wonderful. If you don't mind, I'd love for you to come home with me. Don’t worry, Wallace, my chauffeur, will drive you right back afterward.”
“I think that’d be alright.”
“Of course it is.” A moment later, Sally emerged wearing an impeccably tailored two-piece set. It didn’t show much skin, but it looked effortless and chic. “Shall we?”
Brandon was still lost for words, awestruck by Sally’s estate. The manor was historic, its dark woodwork lending an air of seasoned antiquity without any of the gloomy, oppressive weight old estates tended to carry.
When Wallace pulled the Rolls-Royce up the driveway, two house staff met them at the entrance. Sally greeted them with the very same warmth she showed Brandon, chatting as if they were lifelong friends.
Brandon didn’t see another soul in the house. He knew Sally had been a widow for years—decades, maybe—yet the sheer scale of the estate had led him to expect a small army of people.
“Now the tables have turned, darling. It’s my turn to ask: would you like something to drink? Inez can whip up anything you could possibly imagine; she has gifted hands.”
“I’m fine, really. You don’t have to.”
“Are you sure? Leave your club duties at the door; you’re my guest here.”
As welcoming as Sally was, Brandon couldn’t shake the sense of being a fish out of water. This was an entirely different world, one he’d never had access to. Still, he had to give her credit: Sally had a knack for putting his uneasy nerves at ease.
“Really, I'm okay.”
“Alright, then. Come on, it’s just down the hall, third door on the left.”
They ascended the sweeping staircase, their footsteps echoing softly through the foyer. The faint murmur of the courtyard fountain still reached them from out front. Other than that, it hardly felt like they were in Narrow Creek at all.
Sally pushed open the heavy door, finally answering his unasked questions. The room was a massive walk-in closet.
“I hope you don’t take offense or anything of the sort, but seeing you so anxious about your date made me realize this might solve a problem of my own, too.”
Sally stepped inside, flipped on the lights, and walked along one of the aisles, smoothing a hand over a rack of suits.
“I never could bring myself to get rid of his clothes, you know. I mean, throwing them out or pawning them off to strangers? It felt wrong. Looking at your build, they ought to fit you like a glove.”
Carrying a tailored suit on its hanger, Sally held it up against Brandon's frame, sizing him up with a practiced eye.
“Don’t worry, I keep everything pristine and ready to wear. Don't go thinking I’m digging mothballed relics out of an old trunk to dump on you.”
“I’d never think that, ma'am.”
In truth, the crisp scent of fresh dry-cleaning was unmistakable. The space was immaculate, lined with gleaming white shelves and drawers. Everything was categorized to perfection: formalwear, smart casual, leisurewear, and beyond. A far cry from how Brandon sorted his own wardrobe: clean or dirty.
“Well, if you don’t mind, why don't you try something on?”
Sally returned with an armful of options for Brandon to pick from. He had no clue what kind of date Amanda had in store, but he wanted to be prepared for anything. So, the first test was the suit.
“Where can I change?”
“Right here, darling. Don’t fret, I’ll turn around.” Without waiting for an answer, Sally faced the door.
Brandon hesitated for a fraction of a second before stripping down. The sheer quality of the fabric brushed against his skin like a whisper of pure luxury, practically screaming that this single garment was worth more than his beat-up Ford and camera equipment combined. It felt incredible.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Sally turned back around, her eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of Brandon in the full suit. “Oh, heavens. It’s perfect!”
The widow guided Brandon over to a full-length mirror, and he stared in disbelief at the reflection looking back at him. Aside from the shaggy haircut and the lingering traces of exhaustion, he could genuinely pass for one of the Sterling Grove Club's high-roller members.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything so... it actually fits my shoulders perfectly.”
“Then it’s yours.”
“I really don't think I can—”
“Nonsense. If I say I’m giving it to you, you say ‘thank you’ and accept it. Don’t be stubborn with me, boy.”
Sally beamed, reaching up from behind him to straighten his dress shirt collar. He stood almost a head taller than her, which hid her almost completely from view in the glass, but she soon stepped to his side with a warm, maternal smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sally.”
“Much better.” She drifted over to another garment rack, rifling through more hangers. “Besides, I’m certain my late husband would rather see all this put to good use than rotting away in the dark.”
Brandon murmured an agreeable hum, his attention still captive to the mirror and this alternate version of himself. Is this what I’d look like if I’d been born into money like Amanda and Isabella?
“Let’s find a few more pieces for you. Since your date is still a mystery, it pays to be prepared for anything, don’t you think?”
“Thank you so much, ma'am.”
“Please, darling. Just Sally for you.”
After a few hours at the widow’s estate, Brandon had acquired nearly an entire new wardrobe from the suits, separates, and designer shoes Sally insisted he take. Garment bags and boxes were piled high in the back of the Rolls-Royce, with Wallace patiently waiting in the driver's seat.
Brandon had done far more than play dress-up.
Afterward, Sally had given him a tour of the grounds and shared glimpses of her past. It gave Brandon the chance to examine the artwork adorning the walls up close.
His eye for photography and visual art came alive, marveling at the brushwork and composition of every piece.
Yet what struck him most was the conspicuous absence of a single photograph or portrait of Sally’s late husband.
Not wanting to pry, he kept the observation to himself.
Now, with twilight casting deep amber hues across the estate, the exterior manor lights had flickered on, giving the bubbling courtyard fountain an ethereal glow.
“Seriously, I don’t even know how to thank you.”
“You can thank me by telling me everything on Monday. I expect every single detail!”
“I will, I promise.”
Sally let out another of her delicate chuckles and drew Brandon into a warm, affectionate embrace. The gesture caught him off guard, but he melted into it without hesitation.
“Thank you, sweetheart. It’s been far too long since I’ve had such wonderful company around here.” She released him, giving his shoulder a fond pat. “Go on now, don’t keep Wallace waiting any longer.”
Brandon thanked her one last time and slipped into the car.