gingermansim

No more beard...

Shaved off the beard, just have a few days growth due to laziness, HOWEVER

I am updating my blog somewhat and hopefully have new content SOON!!

Not sure what I will be posting, but I hope all my followers are still around and we can catch up. I'm living in Florida now, back with my man and lovin' the beach!

That evening when Ace arrived home, Leland said he wanted to talk to him about something.

“Ace… Could I talk to you for a minute, before you start dinner?”

“I was just going to order out, you want sushi?”

“Could you just sit down for a minute. I really need to ask you something.” Ace sat down, realizing this must be something important. He still wasn’t used to being a parent.

“Okay, what’s up Lee?”

"Today Lance was talking about Prom, and he asked if I thought it was a good idea if he brought a guy to prom. I asked him was there a guy he had in mind that was gay. He shut down and said he just wouldn't go. Then he said... I LOVE YOU, Dude."

Ace exhaled sharply through his nose, "You know he meant platonically."

"I don't think so. I felt bad, but at the same time, I realized I loved him too, or something... for some reason. So, I asked him if we should go to prom together as friends."

. "And?"

"He said sure, if that's what I wanted to do. I told him yes. Ace, I think I like him more than just a friend... I also well... think I may be into guys too. I don't want to hurt our friendship, so before I say ANYTHING to him, I want to be sure."

Ace leaned forward, his eyes softer than Leland had ever seen them. "Lee," he said quietly, "There's no surefire way to know. When he walks into the room, do you feel your heart maybe beat a little faster."

Leland swallowed hard. "Yeah." The word came out barely audible. "But what if—what if I'm wrong? What if I lose him?"

"You know what? Lance is a very smart guy. I think if you shared these things you are saying to me, he would understand that you are trying to find out who you are, you are not going to lose him. Tell him how you feel but also tell him you are trying to figure things out. Be honest. That's the best answer I can give, bud."

"Just... what if I tell him and he thinks I’m just saying it because he’s my best friend? Or worse—what if he thinks I’m mocking him?"

Ace snorted, leaning back until the chair creaked dangerously. "Kid, have you met Lance? That boy’s got a sixth sense for bullshit. He’d sniff out insincerity faster than you can say ‘bad prom photo.’" He paused, "But here’s the thing—if you’re this twisted up over it, that’s your answer right there. Straight guys don’t lose sleep over their bros like this."

"What do I even say? ‘Hey Lance, turns out I might wanna hold your hand during the slow dances?’" His voice cracked on the last word.

Ace grinned, tapping his fingernail against his own beer bottle. "That’d work. Or go classic—‘Don't say anything, just take his hand and go to the dance floor. That would say it all. Leland the point is—you don’t need some grand speech. Just do what you are feeling. Follow your heart, Lee."

"What if... what if I really want to kiss him?"

"I think there is your answer to your questions, Leland."

"But—"

Ace held up a hand. "No buts. If you’re imagining locking lips with the kid while you’re supposed to be paying attention in trig, that’s your body telling you something." He smirked, "Hell, I spent my sophomore year mentally undressing the captain of the debate team during chemistry. Trust me, denial’s a shitty cologne."

"This is so fucking hard."

"What's harder is hiding it, if that is how you really feel."

"First time I told Beck I loved him; I tripped over a damn fire hydrant and spilled my Slurpee all over his shoes. Romantic as hell."

"Prom is coming and we have to ask a date. There are plenty of girls at Nordhaven Girl's Prep School and seeing how I'm probably the only gay man at Nordhaven Boys, I honestly don’t want to take a girl. Do you think it would be wrong of me to ask a guy?" He seen Leland put down the book and look at him...

"Well, I understand, but is there a gay guy that you’d want to ask? " Lance looks somewhat disappointed

"Oh, yeah, I never really thought about it that way. Never mind then."

"Who was it you had in mind asking, seeing as you are the only gay guy that we know of at our school?" He chuckled

"I said never mind. It was a stupid question." He went back to his book. Leland just looked at him with a confused look on his face.

"Do you really want to go to Prom anyway? I don’t. Those prep schoolgirls all wear those stupid plaid skirts like it's fucking 1952. It makes them look like they're in cosplay." Leland sighed, tapping the book's spine against the table. The sound echoed through the nearly empty study section.

Lance snorted, but his fingers tightened around the edge of his book. "Still better than our khaki prison uniforms. I love you dude…" Suddenly he got a blank look on his face, and eyes went back to his book. Leland didn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah, I know.” He wasn’t being sarcastic, but he didn’t want Lance to know that he had some kind of feeling for him, not sure what it was but he did… “Lance?”

“Yeah?” He said not even looking up.

“How about you and me go to the prom together… as best friends, you know?”

“Are you serious Leland? I mean if you want, sure.”

“Yeah, I am sure. I think we’d both have much more fun going together than you not going, and me going with some girl I don’t even know.” He smiled at Lance. “So to make it official… Lance will you be my date for Prom?”

When Ace arrived home, Leland was out. He’d left a note saying he and Leland went to the library to study. It was just as well, he was still in a state of disbelief about the Music store owner being Beck’s doppelganger. First the camera being found that had been missing, and now today’s events. He made his way up the stairs. He needed a shower, maybe that would help him get his act together and lose the anxiety.

Friday, the following day at Nordhaven Academy...

"So, Leland, what do you think your uncle is getting you for your birthday." Lance asks him looking up from the book regarding the history of Sims County

"I'd hope a car, but I doubt that will happen. Not that I need one. I have my bike and Nordhaven isn't all that big. I'm not sure .He shrugged and continued.

"Bet you five bucks it’s another video game," Lance muttered, flipping a page of the county history book without looking up. The library’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows across the unevenly shelved books.

"You already have almost everyone ever made." Lance laughed "Could I ask you a serious question?"

"My birthday gift was a serious question, but yeah go ahead, what's the question?" Never looking up from the book.

"Don't be mad, and answer how you really feel, I will not be upset either why."

"Whoa, this must be serious, okay..."

"Prom is coming and we have to ask a date. There are plenty of girls at Nordhaven Girl's Prep School and seeing how I'm probably the only gay man at Nordhaven Boys, I honestly don’t want to take a girl. Do you think it would be wrong of me to ask a guy?" He seen Leland put down the book and look at him.

"So, how much is this one?" Ace asked, trying to bring himself back to reality.

Cord smiled—a warm, easy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That model usually goes for nine-fifty, but I could do eight hundred today." He wrapped the guitar's strap around his palm thoughtfully. "Considering the birthday."

Ace wasn't sure if that was a deal or not, but... "Okay, sold, but can I leave it here until Saturday?"

Cord's eyebrow arched—the exact skeptical lift Beck used when assessing a tricky exposure. "You trust us that long?" The words held a teasing challenge Ace remembered painfully well. He then chuckled. "Of course we can hold it for you. I will put a sold sign on it. Your name?"

"Ace, Ace Tierney." He replied.

"Oh, okay you are the guy my boyfriend told me about. He said a photographer friend may stop by to look at guitars. Thanks for coming in." Cord walked toward the counter

"Jake is your boyfriend?" He asked, almost with a gasp.

"Yeah. Again. We were together for a while, then broke up, and now we are back together. I guess it was meant to be, huh?" He rang up the guitar. "That's 825 with Tax."

Ace handed him his credit card.

The cold plastic felt solid against Cord's palm—too real. Ace tried to focus on the mundane: the whir of the card machine, the scent of incense thickening in the silence. Cord tapped the screen, brow furrowed slightly—Beck’s exact expression when calculating aperture settings. "Cash or credit?" Cord asked reflexively, then flushed. "Sorry. Habit." He handed back the card, fingers brushing Ace’s knuckles—cool and dry, exactly like Beck’s. Ace got the receipt and started toward the door.

"Thanks again, and I will see you Saturday, if I am not here, I will let my brother know you are coming to claim the guitar."

"No thank you, and yes, Saturday." He said as he walked out the door his heart was pounding out of his chest. He got into his car and just sat there in silence for what seemed like forever.

Ace forced his feet forward, boots scuffing softly against the worn wooden floorboards. His gaze remained locked on Cord's face – that familiar curve of the lower lip, the slight dimple that appeared only when he smiled tentatively, just as Cord did now.

"So, what is it you are looking for?"

"A Guitar. A birthday present for my nephew."

"What kind?" Cord asked, gesturing towards the wall. "Acoustic? Electric?"

"Acoustic." He responded and shook his head ever so slightly to wake himself up from this dream. But it wasn't a dream. This guy was remarkably almost identical to Beck.

"Well..." Cord hesitated for a moment as if trying to make a decision, then gestured toward the back corner. "The acoustic section is over here." Ace followed him and Cord continued.

"I think we have something that might suit a young musician. What kind of music does your nephew play?" He then picked up a sleek, deep mahogany guitar hanging on the wall. "This Gibson is popular with beginners. Solid spruce top, warm tones. Easy action." Cord's fingers brushed the strings lightly as he took it down, releasing a soft harmonic hum that vibrated through the air.

Ace noticed the movement—the fluid grace, the way Cord tilted his head slightly when concentrated—identical to Beck while focusing on something.

Ace forced himself to breathe evenly. "He plays rock mainly, but I'm hoping he'll branch out." He watched Cord's hands meticulously adjust the tuning pegs. The scent of pine resin from the new strings mixed with the shop's incense, sharp and nostalgic. Cord's knuckles, Ace noticed, bore the same faint scar across the right index finger where Beck had cut himself repairing a shutter years ago. Impossible coincidence piled upon impossible coincidence. Or was his mind playing games with him, and he was seeing all these things through his mind and they really were not there.

"Solid choice," Cord murmured, strumming a bright C chord. The sound resonated cleanly through the hushed store. Ace felt the vibration in his ribs. "Great projection. Has your nephew ever played a Gibson before?" Cord's eyes flickered up as he asked. They were Beck’s eyes—blue flecked with silver, framed by the same thick, dark lashes. Ace swallowed hard. He was sweating profusely.

"No, he... his old guitar wasn't fancy." Ace’s fingers clenched against his thigh. He needed to touch the instrument, anything to ground himself. Cord handed it over, their fingers brushing briefly. The contact sent a jolt through Ace—Beck’s hands had always been cool. Cord's felt exactly the same.

"Careful," Cord said softly, almost apologetically. Ace fumbled slightly, the guitar’s weight unfamiliar yet anchoring. He plucked a string; the note hung trembling in the incense-thick air. Behind Cord, the woman he’d been speaking to earlier slipped into a back room, leaving them alone.

One of Ace's clients told him about this small music store in Gammelvick. It just opened a few months back in a quaint restored neighborhood. He decided to go check out their selection of guitars, as Leland didn't bring his from the house and wasn't sure what his dad did with it, so he wanted to get him a new one. As he pulled up to the restored home, and the small building next to it that housed the music store he was impressed.

The inside had soft lighting that glowed warm on polished wood floors. The walls were adorned with framed artwork that depicted landscapes, posters, neon lights and guitars hung on the walls.

Then Ace saw him. "Beck" was sitting behind the counter talking to a woman whose face Ace couldn't see as her back was to him. He froze as "Beck" looked up and the bell above the door jingled softly. It looked as though "Beck" froze too, his eyes locking onto Ace's.

Ace felt a painful rush of memories flooding over him. The scent of coffee beans and sandalwood incense filled the air. He noticed "Beck" hadn't changed much. Same blonde wavy hair, and the piercing blue eyes yet his eyebrows looked lighter today against his pale skin. "Beck" turned to the woman and said softly, "Excuse me," while walking toward Ace.

"How can I help you?" He asked.

"Uh..." Ace was still frozen.

"I'm Cord Wells, My brother and I are the owners here. Is there something you are looking for?"

Cord? Cord Wells? What the hell? Ace closed his eyes to one, hold back the tears, and two to clear his vision looking at this man, that said his name was Cord, that could have been Beck’s twin.

Beck had been dead for almost two years. Well missing, presumed dead.

Yet here he stood—same angle of the jaw, identical constellation of freckles across the bridge of the nose, even that slight crook in the left pinky where he’d broken it playing rugby. Ace’s throat tightened like a vise. He forced air past the lump. "Cord?" The name felt alien, jagged in his mouth. "You look... remarkably like someone I knew."

"Yeah, I get that all the time. I guess I just have one of those faces, right?" Ace couldn't take his eyes off him "So, how can I help?" Cord asked looking oddly at the handsome guy standing in front of him.

A few months later, Ace got a visit from their new neighbor. Dr. Lloyd Mitchell. He was right, he knew the name Mitchell was familiar to him.

“Well, well if it isn’t Ace Tierney, you’ve certainly grown.” Dr. Mitchell said as Ace invited him in.

“Yes, I have. I knew it may have been you when Leland said Dr. Mitchell, when he was talking about your son. Hard to believe my pediatrician is now my neighbor. Welcome to Nordhaven.”

“Thanks, and thanks for letting Lance know about the townhouse. It’s a perfect fit for the family.”

(Dr. and Lance Mitchell are creations of Simkhira in her save that I dropped Ace into and where I am currently playing. You may see more of her creations as we go along)

Also over the next few weeks and months, Lance and Leland became even closer friends.

The doorbell chimed, sharp and insistent, cutting through the low murmur of the documentary I was half-watching. Rain lashed against the windows, distorting the glow of the streetlights outside into watery streaks. Lance stood on the stoop, shoulders hunched against the downpour, clutching a large pizza box radiating warmth into the damp air. The scent of tomato sauce; melted cheese, and… pineapple… hit me immediately.

"Hey Mr. Tierney! Pizza delivery!" he announced, flashing a grin that crinkled his eyes, though droplets clung stubbornly to his lashes.

Behind him, Leland shoved playfully. "Move it, Mitchell! Pizza’s getting soggy!" They tumbled into the house shaking water from their jackets onto the mat. Lance looked away, focusing on wrestling the steaming box onto the kitchen bar.

"Extra pineapple, as requested by the heathen," Leland declared, already flipping open the lid. The pungent sweetness mixed oddly with the lingering scent of rain.

"Boys, eat up, I have to run over to Gammelvick, and I will back in a few."

"Why you going to Gammelvick, Ace?" Leland asked as he stuffed his mouth with Pizza

"It's a secret. Someone has a birthday next week, remember?" He smiled at his nephew as he went out the door. Thinking to himself it was so hard to believe that Leland was going to be sixteen.

Leland and I sat most evenings in the living room after dinner. Me watching some style shows to stay caught up with current fashions, and he doing his homework.

“Things going okay at School, Lee?” I asked during a commercial.

“Pretty good, I suppose. No one seemed to care that I lived in a trailer park

“Leland, you don’t live in a trailer park now.”

“No, I live with my single gay uncle in his overpriced townhouse that is decorated in red, everywhere. and is filthy rich." He laughed

I smiled. "I am not rich, filthy or otherwise and you have a point, but you're forgetting something.

"What?”

"You forgot that you're also smarter than half those rich kids combined at Nordhaven Prep."

Leland snorted but looked pleased. "True, but my girlfriend  broke up me when I told her I was moving here”

“Really? You didn't tell me that you even had a girlfriend." His nonchalance felt rehearsed.

"Yeah, I lost interest in her anyway. But my best friend Lance Mitchell got a scholarship to Nordhaven Prep, so at least I will have him here. And you of course.”

Lance Mitchell. The name pinged something distant.

"Mitchell? He lives in Willow Creek?" I asked.

“Not anymore. His dad started a new practice here in Nordhaven, Mitchell Pediatrics, here last month. They are crashing at the Harbor Inn Hotel until they find a house.”

Outside, the damp air smelled of brine and impending rain.  I got up and shut the front door.

“You should let them know the townhouse next door is empty and up for sale.”

"For sure! That would be great if they lived right next door. Lance says his dad is obsessed with some new sonar technology. Sounds boring. You think he could come over later tonight and hang?"

"Sure, I'd love to meet him."

Leland tapped away on his phone, grinning. "He says he'll bring pizza. Extra pineapple." He paused, hung up and wrinkled his nose. "Weirdo. If he wasn't my best friend, I'd not be hanging with him." He laughed. “Oh, and by the way he just came out last year after the school year. He is Bi-sexual."

"Wow, that is great for him. I’m so glad people have the freedom to feel they can be themselves."

At the Nordhaven Mall, Leland tried on clothes with the enthusiasm of someone navigating a minefield. He kept glancing at me for approval, his gangly frame swallowed by oversized hoodies. "This?" he'd ask, holding up a violently orange sweatshirt. "Too loud," I'd say, trying to channel parental wisdom I didn't possess. He settled on muted blues and grays, practical jeans, and sturdy boots.

The haircut transformed him—shorn close at the sides, messy on top—revealing sharp cheekbones and Beck's stubborn jawline. "Looking sharp, Lee," I said, handing the stylist my card. He grinned, running a hand through the unfamiliar texture.

Over burgers at 'The Salty Gull', Leland demolished his meal while I picked at fries. The Hasselblad sat heavy in my messenger bag. "So," he mumbled through a mouthful, "what happens now? School starts Monday." He wiped ketchup off his chin. "Dad said Nordhaven Prep's decent. Strict uniform policy, though." He wrinkled his nose. "Hope they don't disfellowship me on day one." "Discipline, and it's fine. We'll get it all sorted." "Ace, you okay? You seem distant." Leland said with his mouth full of a bite of his mushroom burger. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about Beck." Leland swallowed his bite, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He hesitated, then added, " He drew that awesome sketch of the haunted lighthouse at the Brindleton Bay that used to hang in your old kitchen." "Yeah," I managed. "He had a good eye." I needed to change the subject and move on from Beck, but it was really hard. "So, what do you want to do now?" "Well… I know how you are about keeping your house clean, I mean spotless, so I should go back and get my room all done. What time is the furniture being delivered?" I glanced at my watch. "Two hours. Plenty of time, but first, we need groceries."

The next few days and weeks flew by. Leland started school, and I had a few photoshoots to do, and worked out daily, trying to keep my mind off of Beck and that damn camera.

Leland's furniture arrived and we got his room situated and it looked perfect, and he seemed to love it as well. He seemed good. I hope his father leaving didn't affect him negatively.

"I have an idea, Leland. Let's go get you some new clothes, and a nice haircut. Then have some lunch. What do you think?" I smiled at him.

"Okay, sure. We going now?" Can I put my bag in my new room?"

I gestured vaguely towards the door, still processing the sudden shift from solitude to shared custody. He hoisted his duffel bag with surprising ease for someone so gangly and vanished into the room, I followed. I had the contractors, paneling the room, it was going to be my office.

The silence returned, heavier now, filled with the muffled thumps of him moving around. I stared at the 'Garage - Fragile' box he'd left on the side table. What teenage treasures warranted such a warning? Old action figures? A stolen street sign?

"Leland, what is in your box in here? You want to put it in your room?" I spoke loud enough he could hear. He stepped out of his room and back into the kitchen.

"That's Beck's stuff, Dad found it in your garage back home."

The words landed like dropped china. My throat tightened. Leland shuffled his oversized sneakers on the hardwood, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on his sweater sleeve. He didn't look up. "Dad said it was junk you forgot to sell. Said I could have it. But If… if you wanted it back…" His voice trailed off, hesitant.

Slowly, deliberately, I put the box onto the floor, then I knelt beside the box. The faded 'Garage - Fragile' label mocked me. Fragile. Beck's stuff. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled back the flaps. Inside, nestled in crumpled newspaper, lay familiar ghosts: Beck's chipped coffee mug shaped like a grinning skull ("For my favorite ghoul," I'd joked), a worn leather-bound sketchbook filled with his messy architectural doodles, and a sleek, black external hard drive.

Beneath them, wrapped carefully in bubble wrap, was the vintage camera I'd given him for our fifth anniversary. I was the photographer, but he collected vintage cameras. It was the one he'd used to photograph me laughing on the porch swing, the one he repaired, the one that vanished with him. The police had searched everywhere for that camera. They'd searched my garage. I sat the box and the camera back up on the table and Leland walked into the dining area.

Leland shifted across me. "He… Dad said it was just old junk. Said you didn't want reminders." His voice was small, apologetic now. "I didn't know."

The old camera's chrome accents gleamed dully under the overhead light. Beck had cherished this camera almost as much as he'd cherished me. Its absence had fueled Detective Riggs' suspicion – Why would a thief take only the camera? Unless the 'thief' was staging a scene. I ran a finger over the cold metal body, remembering Beck's careful hands adjusting the focus ring. The police had torn apart our garage twice. They'd found nothing. Yet here it was, nestled in newspaper like contraband.

"Stuart packed this?" My voice sounded strained, unfamiliar. Leland nodded, wide-eyed.

"No, I suppose Beck did. Dad said he found it way in the back behind some old paint cans when he was clearing stuff out for you." He swallowed hard. "I thought… I thought it was just cool old stuff. Dad said you wouldn't mind." He looked genuinely stricken now, the sly grin gone. "I'm sorry, Uncle Ace."

'It's okay Leland. You can have what's in the box, but this camera was a gift to Beck from me. I will keep it; you can have the rest."

"Okay." Leland looked relieved. "Can I go unpack?"

"Sure." My voice sounded hollow. I kept staring at the vintage camera's worn leather grip. Beck's fingerprints were probably still embedded in the grain. The police had torn our garage apart searching for this camera. Now here it was. Maybe now Beck will return as well…

Probably not.

Stuart was leaving the country with his wife, Justine, not Leland's mother. Leland's mother Lillian lives in Windenburg now. So… Stuart has asked if Leland, who is fourteen, almost fifteen, could stay with me for a while, Until he and his third wife return. I told him we'd discuss it.

That was yesterday. Now, Stuart and Leland were standing on my doorstep. Stuart had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder that he sat on the floor. Leland clutched a cardboard box labeled 'Garage - Fragile'. The boy shifted his weight, put the box down onto the side table, eyes darting past me into the cluttered townhouse. "Dad said there'd be waffles," he mumbled, not meeting my gaze.

After the waffles we sat down to discuss Stuart's request.

"Stuart, are you sure, you want to leave him with me… for how long?"

"Two years."

Both Leland and I said it at the same exact time. "TWO YEARS!!?"

"He couldn't stay with Brandon?" That was Stuart's oldest son.

Stuart shifted uncomfortably on the sofa "Brandon's… preoccupied." Translation: Brandon was knee-deep in a messy divorce with none other than Beck's younger brother, and a cryptocurrency obsession. Stuart rubbed his temples. "Look, it's two years. His mom's got that new husband and the twins in Windenburg. No room.

And Leland…" He trailed off, glancing at the boy hovering awkwardly by the fridge. Leland stared intently at a magnet shaped like a deformed pineapple, pretending he wasn't listening. "…needs stability. Somewhere quiet. Nordhaven seemed… safer."

He turned and looked at both of us. "Hello!… I can hear you, I'm right here."

"Then sit down and join us, son."

Leland slid onto the sofa next to his father, fidgeting with deformed pineapple magnet. The silence stretched, thick as the Nordhaven fog outside. Stuart cleared his throat. "Two years. It's solid. We've got contracts in Sulani—big resort build. Can't pass it up. And Leland…" He met his son's eyes. "Needs somewhere steady. Windenburg’s chaos with the twins screaming. Brandon’s couch smells like crypto despair. And yes, Ace, I trust you. Plus, Leland likes you."

"Again… I'm right here, Dad. I can speak for myself. I like you Uncle Ace, but do you like the color red or something? This place really has a lot of red."

My favorite color is red, and the entire townhouse is decorated in red. Once again, Leland gave me that sly grin.

After about another forty minutes of talking and discussing the financial end of this and getting Leland's input. I agreed. I no longer would be alone. I have a fourteen almost fifteen-year-old nephew living with me, who is almost already six feet tall, who I have nothing in common with, other than we come from the same bloodline.

Stuart goes over and kisses his son on the cheek, and then they hug. Leland seems unphased by all of this. As he goes out the door, Stuart throws his hand up…

"Thanks Ace. I will call when we land. Lee, I will call you every week."

"Yeah, okay dad…" I could tell he did not believe his father's statement.

Now that Ace has returned, I have made a character bio page for the Sims in the story thus far. Go check it out if you like.

"Did you pack my Maoist pamphlets?" The voice crackled through the phone speaker, tinny and urgent. "The good ones, with the annotations?"

"Rachel, it's 7 AM. And why would I pack your political manifestos? You moved out six months ago." Outside my new Nordhaven townhouse window, the morning fog and light rain clung stubbornly to the cobblestones near Lighthouse Lookout, muffling the distant cry of gulls. The damp chill seeped through the glass, settling into my bones. It felt appropriate.

Her sigh vibrated down the line. "Because someone," she emphasized, "might need enlightening before Nordhaven's annual 'Founders Day' parade. Those bourgeois merchants need a wake-up call." I pictured her gesturing wildly, probably tangled in one of her thrift-store kimonos. Rachel was my anchor, my cousin and chaotic best friend, the only person who hadn't looked at me with pity or suspicion after Beck vanished. She believed the alien abduction theory instantly.

A sharp knock echoed from my door – a firm, official-sounding thud. "Hold on," I muttered to Rachel, padding barefoot across the cold hardwood. Peering through the fisheye lens, I saw a tall figure silhouetted against the foggy morning light. Red-headed, with an older brown headed man. It was my brother Stuart and his youngest son, Leland. "I will call you back Rachel, Stuart just showed up."

"At 7 in the morning..." she questioned... I hung up. If not, I'd be talking to two chaotic people at once. Not this morning!

"Surprise!" Stuart boomed as I opened the door, pulling me into a bear hug smelling faintly of stale coffee. Leland shuffled behind him, clutching a battered cardboard box that he sat on a side table, labeled 'Garage - Fragile'.

Way back in the not-so-distant past (2022) I began one of my favorite OC's story, Ace Tierney with Ace & Beck. It told the partnership and the love affair and later marriage of Ace and Beckham "Beck" Hightower.

Well... a lot has happened since the last post of Ace & Beck in July of 2024.

But, I will let Ace tell you all about it.

Introducing;

Single in Nordhaven, with Ace

Yes, I'm in Nordhaven. I really don't know how... yeah I do. I had to get away from everything that reminded me of Beck. If you've ever lost someone, you'll understand. I refer to it as lost in the literal sense. He is lost. Or as they say on "Missing Sims" disappeared. (which his case was documented for the world to see, his mother's decision) He went to work one day and never returned.

Of course, the police thought I killed him and disposed of his body. If you know anything about ME, you know I am not even close to being smart enough to get away with something like that. The police finally cleared me, stopped searching and his annoying, self-righteous, judgmental, and outright mean, Mother had him declared dead.

What do I think happened? Not that anyone would even listen to me, but I think he got "Bella Goth'd". You know, swept up into an alien spaceship and who knows what they did with him. He could be in Strangerville with amnesia. But he isn't. We already investigated that. Not a sign of him.

So I packed up everything I didn't sell and found a townhouse in Nordhaven, near Lighthouse Lookout in Iverstad. Yes, I still have my photography studio, and I work as a freelancer for several large magazines, and advertising companies. I have done well for myself, but...

I'm alone, again.

But not for long.