Reese removes her shades, sits them atop her head, and scans the one-acre plot of land she just bought after signing her book deal.
It’s not forty, and her mule is a six-foot painter with freeform locs, but she feels she’s finally arrived.
“This is where we’ll build our dream house,” she tells Matthew.
There’ll be a library, an office where she’ll pen her next bestseller, an art gallery to display all of Matthew’s paintings, and they’ll host showings every weekend, inviting the public and art critics from across the country.
He slaps her ass, “We’ll be the Black Gatsbys.”
© Nortina Simmons