I sit on my bed in only a towel after the shower and reach again for my laptop, Baylor’s words still echoing in my mind.
Usually, a celebrity gets stalked. But, I am the one who generally does the stalking when it comes to the Mann family. There are a few sites I may have bookmarked on my browser; the Baylor-lovingVIPis one, andCeleb Newsis another, that will often carry pictures and gossip of the Mann family. I don’t like those sites very much. For one thing, my own experience speaks to how questionable any stories are in accuracy. For another thing,VIPhas a vibe with Baylor I never liked. Over the years, I have developed a sixth sense on when attention seems. . .off.
Maybe it’s just jealousy. Baylor is always the Mann brother that gets a lot of attention from that site, but not gossip, just pictures and the occasional story about him being at some gala or something.
As a group, the Mann brothers stay off of social media in their personal lives, but Mann Properties, Black Diamond, The Summit House, and the Mann Foundation, each have a vibrant social media presence. Hell, in the past year, Baylor’s brother Matt and his . . .fiancé? . . .husband? Theo have become certifiable Social Media darlings.
I saw Baylor’s biceps in one of their videos, one they did at their mom’s house, which I recognized from the background. That image fueled my fantasies for weeks.
I kinda know the schedule now, too. For example, Black Diamond does this anti-Valentine’s Day thing for the past few years that has gotten really popular. I even went to the first one myself.After, there is a lot of content from there. Pictures and videos. It’s a rabbit hole I easily fall down.
Summit House often shows its special events and anniversary of opening.
I scroll, finding a picture Mann Properties and The Summit House both shared onInstagram. In front of the impressive restaurant is the whole family, posed for a grand opening and then a pic next to it at the one and two year anniversaries of the place. It’s the last one I like the most.
Everyone looks partnered up. Jack is to the left of Matt, who stands in the middle. Jack and who I assume is Perrin are next to one another and I stare at their body language. They mirror each other, hard where the other is soft; Jack’s darker features contrast with Perrin’s golden curls. I love that for Jack. He has found someone who seems to be his perfect compliment. There is a dog at their feet, looking up at Jack and Perrin. One would think that they knew each other forever, not a couple who met in their thirties.
Matt stands in the middle, his arm wrapped around a twinky-looking guy with a model-gorgeous smile that feels genuine. Matt has a smile a mile wide, and his man tucked into his side like it’s the greatest place on earth. It is clear from the picture what Matt would say if anyone asked — that he couldn’t do this without his partner. The guy is the pastry chef at The Summit House, with his own shop in Bear Valley, too, that’s called Sweetness Bakery. I may have gone to its social media pages a few times. The way Matt and Theo look at each other makes it clear they are exactly the kind of couple that could work together and remain stupidly in love. Their videos together only second that idea.
Last year, I ran into them in LA, and the love was clear in person too, even in the maybe two minutes I had to speak with them.
Quinn is on the other side of Matt. Quinn has a smile that’s more smirk, one I remember well, and it clearly says, along with his stance, that he designed the impressive building behind him. Quinn has his arm around a blond all-American looking guy; the handsome guy is his fiancé, I guess. Their heads are touching, in almost a careless display of intimacy, and Quinn’s hand is protectively on the guy’s stomach. There is something cool and dangerous about Quinn’s man, Bishop, despite the casual posture. I snicker every time I see a picture of them. Quinn always did like a little danger. But, there is something relaxed and settled in Quinn’s face. Something different.
Pictures they share have changed over the years. At first, it was just Jack and Perrin as a couple, and the other single brothers. Then, the other brothers paired up and their spouses became included, and dogs, and hell, now I guesskidswill be next.
According to Caleb, Baylor’s niece, Piper, has a strong following on the apps for younger kids. Things likeBe Realand others that I barely know about. My life is curated on-line, just like Matt and Theo do with their food-centric presence that just gives little glimpses into their private lives.
I don’t give glimpses because I don’t have a private life.
I turn back to the picture. My purpose here is to check the postings from New Year’s and see what’s new. But my hands shake too much.
That song, theLast Song, has me rattled to the core.
In the picture I like, Baylor stands between his moms. His smile is proud. He is still the muscular, dark haired gorgeous guy I once knew. Even hotter, actually.
Every time I check social media, I wonder if this is the time. The time he’s not between his moms, but standing next to some guy who better know how fucking lucky he is to have my man. Some guy who, given the track record in this family, will undoubtedly be in complete and utter love with Baylor and vice versa. Just like all his brothers.
Then Baylor Mann sends me one of the last songs he’s going to write for me.
He sang it for me himself.
HeknowsI can’t pass on it.
It’s too personal, too real for anyone’s voice to touch it but mine.
It was made for me. Just like Baylor Mann himself.
The song is so goddamned tear-jerking it’s going to take some time for me to be able to sing it live and not lose my ever-loving shit right on stage.
And people will buy tickets just with the hope I sing this song, because it’s going to mean something to them, too. Just this one would justify their whole night.
For the first time, Baylor Mann has written me a love song.
Chapter 4 – Baylor
It’ll Be Okay – Shawn Mendes
“SorryI’mlate,”Itell my moms, Rita and Ellen, pushing back my ball cap so I can give each of them a kiss on the cheek.
