Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  Finally, she spoke. “Now, baby, I have all faith in you and you know that your grandfather had all faith in you. I do get that there is a lot on your shoulders and you feel like you must take on the world by yourself right now, but truly you don’t. And you don’t have to go full steam ahead trying to change the world in a hot minute just because your grandfather is no longer here.”

  Kellen felt like his teeth were on edge and sensed the possible beginnings of a migraine. Why couldn’t she see his way of things? “But, Grandma. This deal would be the first step in expanding our business. They have connections in a lot of major cities that we can use to our advantage. All they want is the Redheart.”

  “And where is it written that everyone should just get what they want?” his grandma calmly responded.

  “But this is pivotal to the deal,” Kellen said, trying for restraint while still showing the slightest bit of desperation in his voice.

  “Not everything in life is a deal!”

  Kellen stilled. His grandmother never yelled. Then he heard her sniffle and he swore someone took an ice pick to his heart. Please don’t let her be crying. He could take a lot, but he could not take her tears.

  She spoke again and thankfully sounded more like herself. “Baby, I know we have put a lot on your shoulders, you being in such a position at such a young age.”

  “I’m not that young, Grandma. I’m closer to thirty than I am to twenty. And I’ve been pretty much doing this job for five years, even when Grandpa was alive.”

  His grandmother sighed and once again Kellen knew he’d done it. He regretted bringing up his grandfather and the past. Dammit, he usually wasn’t so careless with his words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I guess I am young and dumb in some ways.”

  “No, baby, it’s perfectly fine for you to bring up your grandfather. And it would seem we’re both hurting. More than we may be able to say. You doing what you’re doing and continuing his legacy makes me happy and proud. And yes, you have been handling a lot for Kilborn for quite a while, quite beautifully. You’ve made us both very proud over the years. But, dear, you have to know I’m not budging on the Redheart. So, like I said, even though it may not make all the best business sense to you right now, we will not be selling. I don’t know if we’ll ever be.”

  Ever be? Her words sounded so final, it was like a steel door closing in his face and Kellen’s dreams of expansion and big city skylines seemed to crumble before his eyes.

  “Grandma, please listen to reason. The theater is pivotal to the Ronson deal, which means it’s pivotal to the future of our company. Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

  “Boy, you forget who practically taught you how to wipe your behind. Understand? You’d better watch yourself,” she snorted.

  Kellen felt more heat rise then, though not quite from anger and more like embarrassment. “Yes, ma’am.”

  His grandmother started to laugh then, which did nothing more than confuse and infuriate Kellen. What could she possibly have to laugh about? “Grandma, how could you possibly be laughing? This is very serious.”

  Suddenly, Kellen paused. Wait a minute. It had only been weeks since Grandpa passed. Maybe his grandmother was having some sort of grieving shock to her system. Guilt started to gnaw at Kellen. He knew he shouldn’t have left so soon after the funeral, but he had business to take care of. Now he wished he’d done a better job of convincing his grandmother to travel to Atlanta with him. It wasn’t like he’d had parents to stay with her.

  Just then, Kellen’s mind started to wander to his late grandfather and them casting out in that old fishing boat. The boat had seen better days long before Kellen, but his grandfather wouldn’t give it up and took pride in taking them both out on the lake in the early morning hours before the sun got too high in the sky and the Georgia heat unbearable. If his grandfather only knew how much he regretted never telling him how special those moments were. But it was too late for that.

  His grandmother’s voice brought him back to the here and now.

  “As a matter of fact, you don’t have to worry about the Redheart at all, young man, because I’ve got it all under control.”

  Suddenly, every hair on the back of Kellen’s neck rose to full attention. “What do you mean you’ve got it all under control?” he asked, fear making his mouth go a bit dry.

  “Just what I said—I’ve got it under control.” A hint of excitement lightened his grandmother’s voice and it had Kellen’s mind whirling. He never understood how his grandfather was able to put up with his grandmother’s wild mood swings. But he held on as she continued to take him on this emotional roller coaster of a phone call.

  “Well, I’ve come in contact with a fabulous designer, Alex. And the two of us have come up with great plans to continue the vision your grandfather and I had for the theater and make it even better. I reckon that by the next time you’re back in town, you’ll hardly recognize the old place. Why, as a matter of fact, I think I’ll hold a grand Hollywood-style party for the big rededication day. Doesn’t that sound terrific? And the best part is you don’t have to worry about a thing. Just leave it up to me and Alex and we’ll have the old girl shining in no time.”

  Alex? Wait a minute. What charlatan had gone and gotten his claws into his grandmother and messed up his potential deal while he was unawares?

  Kellen was momentarily dumbstruck, but he knew it couldn’t last; he had to find his voice. “Grandma, what have you gotten yourself into, going and hiring a designer? Please don’t do anything further and don’t make any more rash decisions. There’s too much that can go wrong with this plan and, like I said, I need that theater for what I’ve got going over here.”

  “Like you said? Like I said, you don’t have the theater. The theater is mine. Just like the company is mine. Don’t you forget it, young man.” She cleared her throat, pausing momentarily before speaking. “Well, I’ve got lots going on today, sweetheart. I really must go, ta-ta!”

  Ta-ta? Was she really dismissing him like that? And who said “ta-ta” nowadays?

  “Wait, we’ve got a lot to talk about. Grandma, don’t hang up. This conversation is not over,” Kellen yelled.

  But his grandmother’s laughter filled the air before trailing off, followed by a soft click and then silence.

  Kellen closed his mouth, refusing to be made more of a fool if only to himself. He made it through his last few meetings and his evening workout. Though he upped the pace on his run and went in extra hard with his Wednesday night basketball game, sleep still eluded him, and at three a.m., instead of slumbering as he should have to prepare for the next day’s meetings, he’d found himself on the road to Sugar Lake to have it out over the Redheart property with his grandmother.

  As he pulled his Mustang to the curb on Main Street in the early morning hours, Kellen was once again surprised by the rapid changes in town. There were so many updates. The new coffee shop, the trendy new boutiques, and an art gallery. Taking it all in strengthened his resolve to make the Ronson deal work. He didn’t want to think about regrets. He didn’t have the time or space for that emotion. Sugar Lake had never been truly home to him. In his heart, he knew he hadn’t found that home yet, and maybe he never would. But the closest thing he had to it was his office and the feeling he got when making good on a killer deal.

  Kellen’s brows drew together as he spied the front of the Goode ’N Sweet bakery. This was not the bakeshop he remembered. It had been a while since he visited Miss Joyce and the bakery, having skipped it on his last few trips to town. At first, he was taken aback by the look of the place—still country classic, but now there was an updated new twist. It still had the signature brown-and-pink stripes on everything with the Goode ’N Sweet name, but Kellen saw that the store had been updated with a new bit of whimsy, giving it a Southern-meets-Parisian twist. Also, gone were the old frilly curtains that had been in the windows darn near since he was a boy. Now in their place, the large pane glass window was ad
orned with a border of what appeared to be hand-painted pies and cakes that made a person smile upon looking at them and long to come into the shop and have a taste.

  Kellen frowned. Nothing about that whimsical border screamed Miss Joyce, the bakeshop’s proprietor. Though the woman was genius in the kitchen, and her baked goods had an undoubtedly whimsically delicious taste on the tongue, there was nothing about her that he would consider whimsical. Kellen hoped Goode ’N Sweet hadn’t changed ownership, because he really wanted one of Miss Joyce’s honey biscuits right now, and taking a few sweet treats to his grandmother wouldn’t hurt his negotiations. He’d learned that trick from his grandfather. Food wasn’t the way to just a man’s heart.

  Kellen got a glimpse of the CLOSED sign on the shop and frowned further still. He flipped his wrist and looked at his watch: 6:47. The shop didn’t open until 7:00. He still had thirteen minutes before he could attack the growling in his stomach. Kellen took a whiff of the air and caught the sweet aroma of Miss Joyce’s honey biscuits. Well, at least it smelled like Miss Joyce was still baking. He bounced on his toes as he saw a bit of activity in the back kitchen area.

  Surely Miss Joyce would let him in a moment early. He cupped his hands around his frames and peered through the window again. This time he saw a figure start to exit the kitchen, her arms laden with a couple of pies that she was bringing to put into the case. Kellen rapped on the door.

  The woman seemed startled seeing him and she jumped back a step. Crap, he didn’t mean to scare her. Kellen held up a hand, but stilled as her eyes, face—well, everything—connected with him.

  Who was this woman and where was Miss Joyce or Rena, Miss Joyce’s niece who usually helped out? This cinnamon-skinned beauty, who was currently giving him a look that could easily ignite a campfire, was definitely not the always good-natured Rena. It was now Kellen’s turn to step back.

  He watched as the young woman’s brows tightened and her full lips did the same in what seemed to be an innate sense of caution as her eyes pierced him with darts of fire. Kellen took another step back, though for what, he wasn’t sure. Still, it seemed somehow necessary for his own self-preservation. Then, without thinking, he leaned forward as if longing to get closer to her and see more.

  For a moment, Kellen felt as though his tired morning eyes were playing tricks on him. Her skin glowed in the most beautiful, almost ethereal way, and her full lips, tinted the color of eggplant, seemed to cast some type of spell. Was this some pie-wielding fairy? Her hair had the same spell-casting quality in the way it haloed her head and framed her face, then came together in a side sweep of long twist braids that flirted down past her shoulders. For a moment Kellen forgot to breathe as swirls of never felt emotion wrapped around him unbidden.

  But he did remember. He remembered when she jutted her chin out at him and gave a sharp yell, breaking the momentary spell she’d cast on him. “Still closed!” she barked before turning abruptly and hurrying back to the kitchen area without so much as a backward glance.

  Kellen swallowed. Closed ? Assuming it was now fast approaching seven o’clock, what kind of customer service was that? What happened to service with a smile and the customer is always right and all that? Frustration started to edge out his hunger and his momentary lapse of reasoning. Kellen wasn’t used to being dismissed and was annoyed it was happening more and more as of late. First with his grandmother and now with this bakery . . . being.

  Well, Little Miss Pie Witch would have something to explain when he gave Miss Joyce an earful about her. Sure, good help was hard to find, but Miss Joyce couldn’t just go around hiring anybody to open the shop in the morning. Hiring somebody of this type, she’d be out of business in no time. Kellen looked down at his watch and felt his anger go that much higher. 7:02. Closed? They were supposed to be open at 7:00.

  Kellen rapped on the shop’s door again and once again the cinnamon beauty came from the back, her arms once more laden with baked goods. And yet again, she didn’t seem to be in any bit of a rush. As she put the pies in the case, for some reason, Kellen felt the overwhelming need to rap on the door some more.

  He watched as she raised one of her perfectly arched brows a most satisfying way and her lips curled up on one side. Kellen couldn’t help but give her the same lip curl in return. She cocked her head to the side in a challenging way and suddenly that self-preservation need to step back hit him once again. His hand stilled as he stared. “Don’t move, man. Be strong,” he told himself.

  But all bets were off when she came from around the counter, and Kellen sucked in an almost audible rush of air. Whoa, was she a looker! Wait. Seriously, did he just think the word looker? Who did that? A 1940s sailor on leave? But really, she was, and it wasn’t as if she was wearing anything all that spectacular. The pie witch/fairy, or whatever she was, was wearing some sort of tank top and what appeared to be cut-off denim shorts with a pink-and-brown-striped Goode ’N Sweet apron over top, and that was it. All of it. The ensemble was finished. Done. All except what appeared to be well-worn black motorcycle-type boots that Kellen got a glimpse of when his eyes finally made it down the long, expansive trail that was her perfectly sculpted legs. By the time his eyes were done with their descent, his stupid heartbeat was so loud in his ears that as she finally made her way to the door, that he had to make an effort to tell himself to listen carefully or be made a fool.

  He heard her flip the lock on the front door and open it. There was the tinkle of a chime. All the while his blood rushed and there was a thump, thump, thump. She looked at him, then past him to his car, then back at him with shrewd eyes that made him suddenly and for inexplicable reasons want to throw some mud on the shiny black sports car and dirty it up. But then she spread her pretty lips in a smile of welcome that didn’t quite hold the Southern charm he was used to, and right then and there, Kellen knew he was in serious trouble.

  “You gonna let my arm break off or what, Suit?”

  “Huh?” He was confused by the question. Her words seemed familiar but somehow not quite right, and were totally unexpected.

  “Oh, did I forget? Welcome to Goode ’N Sweet. Now, my arm is getting a bit tired. You gonna let it go numb or what? You were the one who seemed in an almighty rush to get in.” Her voice held the slight edge of fast-paced business to it and none of the Southern lilt that he was used to from the townspeople of Sugar Lake. Kellen blinked.

  Wow, she was tall. He was tall and she could almost meet him eye to eye with only the stacked heels of her boots on. Then things started to register.

  “Wait, did you just call me Suit?”

  Her brow rose again.

  Kellen decided then and there to get his head together and that she might be a little bit too, well, everything, for her and his own good. Though he was wearing a sports jacket, it clearly was not a suit and even if it was a suit, what right did she have to go calling him Suit and tagging him with some sort of a nickname? Yes, she may be beautiful, and he could tell she already knew she was, but she also needed to realize her place, which right now was serving the paying customer.

  “Your sign says you open at seven and it is now well after seven. I mean, if you’re not open for business on time, you could lose potential customers that way.”

  With that, she turned and looked at the clock on the back wall, then slowly turned to look back at him with a shrug. “Three. It’s three minutes after.” She sighed. “So, it would seem you’re right. I am so sorry to keep a punctual man like you waiting. But, wait you did.” She looked at him incredulously, gave him a quizzical up and down and cocked her head to the side. “Well, sir?” she asked, her voice now dripping with honey. The Suit dropped, and the sir said not with half as much reverence. He honestly didn’t know which was worse. “You said you are in a rush, so what are you still doing out there on the sidewalk? Like I asked before, you going to let my arm fall off?”

  Suddenly feeling ridiculous through no fault of his own, Kellen walked into the shop, on the way catching
some sort of intoxicating scent that had nothing to do with the biscuits. He was suspiciously afraid that it might be emanating from her. Hibiscus? A slight musk? Whatever, it was all the way heavenly. He cleared his throat and walked further into the shop, his hands tightly fisted at his sides.

  Kellen could hear the sounds of more people in the kitchen area. He immediately recognized Miss Joyce as she was speaking with someone else in the back and he felt a bit of relief at the familiarity of it. Whew. He didn’t know why, but this woman made him nervous. However, he knew he couldn’t very well go and ask for Miss Joyce to come out. Kellen decided to just go and take a seat at one of the tables by the window. He still had a little time before it was safe to wake his grandmother. Maybe he’d just have a biscuit or two and a cup of coffee before grabbing a few sweets to take up to her. Flies, honey, and all that. He should at least be properly nourished and armed for that upcoming fight.

  Kellen looked up from his seat, then noticed the odd expression on the young woman’s face. “So, uh, not in a rush then?” she said slyly. “Can I get you a menu? Though most people prefer to just go to the counter to choose what they’d like to have.”

  He gave her a tight smile. Though he understood her confusion, having never seen him before, she probably thought he was one of the tourists in town and didn’t know he already knew Miss Joyce’s menu backward and forward. He shook his head. “I’m not most people. Still, there is no need for a menu. I’ll take a coffee with three sugars, no cream, and two honey biscuits.”

  Though she’d tried her best to keep her expression neutral, Kellen still caught the briefest, slightest frown from the pie witch before her expression went back to a fairy smile. He tried not to smirk at the tiny victory of besting her. “Be right up,” she said. “I should have known you were decisive as well as punctual.”

  Just like that Kellen wanted to sneer at her backhanded compliment, but she turned on her fast-heeled boots and was off to get his coffee before he could respond. Instead he adjusted his glasses. He wouldn’t complain, as he was given the amazing view of those long legs.