A Taste of Sugar

by Marina Adair

  “Yeah.” He managed.

  “I wanted to ask you if you’d teach me to drive while you’re here.”

  Jace looked at Cal to judge the exact size of the explosion that was about to go down. When Cal said nothing, just chewed a bite of brisket until it was dust, Jace said, “You gotta ask your dad about that.”

  “He says I can’t get my permit until I know how to change a tire and my oil. So I figured who better to teach me than the best mechanic in racing. Right?” Jace wasn’t sure about the best mechanic in racing, but he felt himself getting nice and buttered—and liking it. “Mason said that when I get my permit he’ll teach me how to drive a stick.”

  “Mason needs to keep his stick to himself,” Cal said. But instead of Payton storming out of the room and bursting into tears, her current MO, she calmly looked at Glory, who rested her hand on Cal’s arm. And, holy freaking hell, Cal took a breath and said, “Maybe Jace would let you help out at the shop with Hattie’s car. Show you the basics.”

  “You sure?” Jace asked, because Cal didn’t sound sure. In fact, he sounded like he was considering cracking Mason’s stick in two.

  Cal looked from Glory, who was smiling for all the world like he was some kid getting the mom-approved nod for using good manners, to Brett, who was snickering, and back to Payton. “Fine. Uncle Jace can help you with the mechanics, and then you and I can take my truck out for a drive around the property.”

  “Really? Thanks, Daddy.” Payton leaned across the table and kissed him on the cheek, as though that wasn’t her plan all along.

  Not that Jace was complaining. He actually found himself looking forward to working on the car with Payton, getting back some of that time he’d been missing out on. Being the kind of uncle he’d promised himself he’d be when she was born, and maybe passing along some of the love for cars he and his dad shared.

  And maybe he’d figure out what to do with the pretty doctor across the lake.

  Chapter 11

  What we are going to do is call Mercy Alliance, explain that although the fair won’t be held at the clinic this year because it has never been held at the clinic, Sugar is still a sound investment,” Charlotte said sternly—to her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  “That is what you should have said.” She slipped her dress off, pulled on her flannel pajamas, then narrowed her gaze. “Not that brown-nosing speech you made about teamwork and the good old Holden touch.” Next she let her hair free from its bobby pins and leaned against the counter—getting up close and personal with herself. “You are a chicken, Charlotte Holden. A big, fat, lying chicken. And a pushover.”

  When Charlotte was good and scolded, she gave one final disappointed huff then said, “No one likes a pushover, so time to get busy fixing that.”

  To that end, Charlotte marched into her bedroom in her pink fuzzy slippers and picked up the big, obtrusive duffel bag and work boots she’d found sitting next to the foot of her bed. Taking up her personal space. She’d had enough of controlling men messing with her plans for one night, so if Jace was determined to stay, he could stay on the couch. Which was where she ceremoniously dumped his things.

  Feeling stronger by the second, she dusted her hands off and walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the freezer. She opened it up, scanned the interior, and—

  “Damn it all to hell!” She slammed the freezer door.

  Someone had eaten her last ice-cream bar. Okay, that someone had been her, but if she hadn’t been so thrown off this morning by her unexpected houseguest, then railroaded by her parents in front of the entire hospital board, she would have remembered to pick some up at the store.

  Only now she was home, in her pajamas, with no ice cream—and no ideas on how to fix something that was so obviously broken. Well, she had ideas, but since strangling her dad was illegal and egging his car would horrify her mother, Charlotte plopped down at the kitchen counter and said a really bad word. Really loud.

  And then, because that was the same as acting grown-up, she said it again.

  “Well, that’s about the best welcome home I’ve ever had,” Jace said from the kitchen doorway, looking big, edgy, wind-rumpled, and the right kind of dirty. “You know we could do that.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway that led to her bedroom, those bad-boy vibes he was so good a producing in full effect. “Or we can do this.” He crossed the kitchen, that black cotton tee pulling just right across his chest as he set a paper bag on the island.

  It clanked.

  “We already played spin the bottle,” she informed him in her most unaffected voice. “You won, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember. Every moment of the night we met.” His eyes went a deeper blue, and she knew that he was replaying every wicked thing they’d done that night. In slow motion. “Are you offering a rematch?” he asked in a tone that left her a little breathless.

  His lips tilted up at the corners, and great. Just great! Now she was remembering that night. Remembering exactly what he’d won, how sweet his victory had been—for the both of them. “No.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes,” she answered, but her voice quivered. Damn voice.

  “If you’re sure?” She nodded, because she wasn’t sure, but she needed him to believe she was sure. He wasn’t buying it, but he went on, “Then how about making it a float kind of night?”

  He reached in the bag and—Lord almighty—pulled out a gallon of vanilla and a bottle of sarsaparilla. Her favorite. “I only brought one bottle, so your date will have to leave.”

  “There was no date,” she sighed, feeling like the biggest fool in Sugar, and with residents named Skeeter and Rooster, that was saying a lot. “Dinner was a setup.”

  “Ah, a blind date then.”

  “Worse.” It was a big, elaborate hoax for her father to announce the “good news” to the board and take the credit for Charlotte’s hard work while dumping the gigantic aftermath in her lap.

  “Worse than spin the bottle?” he joked.

  “Worse.” She tried to smile, but she just couldn’t.

  Jace walked around the island, turned her stool around, and stood between her legs. His hands went to her hips and hers went directly to those big shoulders of his, the ones that felt like they could carry all the weight in the world—even hers. “So we skip the bottle and go straight for the carton.”

  “Ice cream can’t fix this.”

  “Maybe not, but I bet I can.” He leaned past her and, pressing that I can shoulder anything you want to give me chest against her, grabbed a spoon out of the top drawer. Scooping out a big helping, he held it to her lips. “But a little ice cream never hurt.”

  She said nothing, and a flicker of challenge lit his expression. He slid the ice cream along her lips and a chill went up her spine that had nothing to do with frozen dessert. She loved it when he was like this, when she felt his strength mixed with a gentle understanding.

  “Mmm.” She took a bite and the big jerk grinned. He was right and he knew it. Ice cream did make it better. Or maybe it was that he was there, and she didn’t have to come home and try to figure out how to fix this alone. Isn’t that what Ben had said, that she had to give up control a little if she wanted a chance at something amazing?

  “Good girl.” He set the spoon on the counter, his hands immediately going back to her hips. “Now, what was so bad that you almost turned down ice cream?”

  “The entire Mercy Alliance board is coming here, to Sugar, to partake in the Founder’s Day Fair before they make a decision about the endowment.”

  Lord, saying it made it even more real. Made the panic she’d been keeping at bay wash over her. How had her father let this happen? While Charlotte struggled to add color to her black-and-white world, her father ran his world in the gray.

  And any good belle could tell you that gray is not the new black, and it never would be, because no one looked good in gray. No one!

  “And that’s bad because?”
<
br />   “Because they expect the fair to be held in the medical center’s parking lot as a token of the town’s support for the advancement of medicine in our community.”

  “Isn’t it always held on Maple Street?” He looked as confused as Charlotte’s dad had been when she’d voiced the same concern.

  “Not according to my mom. Who went on and on and on about how this town has rallied behind the center,” she explained, picking up the spoon and scooping herself a bite. “Jace, she flat-out lied.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “No.” Sadly, it didn’t. Not much that her parents did surprised her anymore. And wasn’t that a sorry state. “But then she even implied that all the proceeds were going to the center, and my dad didn’t correct her. When I tried, he said, “It’s not like they’re going to come to Sugar and check. Only…”

  Oh God, she was going to be sick, so she shoved the mouthful in and waved the spoon for him to continue when a hunk of sweet, cold ice cream got momentarily lodged in her throat.

  “They’re coming to check.”

  She nodded, her eyes watering past the brain freeze. “I broached the idea about uprooting more than a century of tradition and moving it to the center with the Sugar Peaches last week. Even explained how moving it would make the parade longer, because we can put more cars on display in the lot than on Main Street.” She shrugged. “We’ll vote on it at tomorrow’s meeting, but Darleen is seducing them with old-fashioned barn raising of Bluebell Hall dreams, and some of the older members are pretty set in their ways. It isn’t looking like enough of them can be swayed. And why should they be?”

  “Because that endowment can mean a lot to this town.” He stroked a finger lightly under her eyes, and she was surprised to discover just how close to real tears she was. “It means a lot to you, too.” She sniffled and he scooted closer, his strength and warmth wrapping around her. “And I can’t imagine that there isn’t anyone on the planet you can’t sway, Charlie. Sure, Bluebell Hall is flashy and a great sound bite for the gossip line, but you are all about heart. You turn that laser focus and soft heart on anyone and they’ll be on your side. I promise.”

  “Not my dad.”

  “Again, your dad’s an idiot,” he said a bit dryly, and instead of defending him this time, Charlotte laughed. Okay, it was more of a snort, but after tonight she truly believed that her dad had a screw loose. “He is. Any person with a lick of sense would know that. Sure, he’s good at schmoozing the clients, telling them what they want to hear, but you have so much passion and drive to do right in you, it’s contagious,” he said with such a level of awe in his voice that her knees went weak.

  “You make everywhere you go a better place, Charlie. You show people how they can be the best part of themselves, how they can be the best part of other people’s lives. You make the impossible a reality.” His voice dropped to a smooth timbre when he said, “That’s a special gift. Powerful, and damn impressive. People get a taste of that and they can’t help but follow you.”

  His conviction was so strong, so unflappable Charlotte wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe what he saw in her was true. And she almost did, only to remember that she had given him all her best parts and he hadn’t followed her.

  He studied her for a long beat then slowly shook his head. “I was an idiot, too. But even idiots can learn from their mistakes.”

  “You weren’t an idiot,” she whispered, cupping his face and loving how rough his jaw was with the day’s growth.

  Jace was just hurting. And scared. Had been for years.

  Having grown up surrounded by love the way he’d been, only to lose it all in one summer storm must have been paralyzing. But he never stopped to grieve like his brothers, at least not that Charlotte saw. He kept on moving as though his world hadn’t been broken.

  Most people in town thought Jace was wild, but Charlotte had come to understand that he was afraid of finding peace. Because he didn’t think he deserved it. So he kept busy with the wrong friends, going down the wrong path—anything to avoid any kind of real attachments.

  Then they’d had a chance meeting at a bar in Atlanta, where no one in the room knew their baggage, and things got serious fast between them. Jace asked the prissy hometown girl if he could buy her a drink, and to his surprise she ordered up a shot of Jack and enough tequila to throw a party, which they most certainly did. She laid one on him, right there in the bar, and they went from one night to forever in a matter of weeks, but when the dust settled Jace started looking for the next distraction. And at the first sign of happiness, he took off.

  “Can I get that in writing?” he said, leaning into her hand.

  “I thought you were going to help me fix this mess.”

  “Right, that part’s easy, we just need to find a good reason.” A smile crossed his face. “Parades are about floats and cars, and no one can say no to a fleet of fancy cars.”

  “A fleet of fancy cars?”

  “Yep. I know a guy in Atlanta who collects rare classic cars and happens to love showing them off.” He tightened his hand on her hip and gave a teasing squeeze. “Now, I can’t imagine anyone on the board, including Darleen Vander, who would turn down riding in the parade in a souped-up roadster.”

  That was actually a great idea. There was a long tradition of Sugar Peach board members leading the parade in the back of a hay-filled wagon. The last few years some of the older members had opted out of riding along because the hay irritated their psoriasis, or the wagon was too much for their hips to handle. But if Charlotte could offer a stylish, comfortable alternative that happened to support moving the parade route, then Darleen would be outnumbered.

  Except for the fact that she’d already stated the flaw in this plan. “The Peaches are about preserving tradition.”

  Jace shrugged. “Just because you move locations doesn’t mean you have to lose tradition,” he said softly. “Like every time I have a bad day, I bring home a carton of vanilla and bottle of sarsaparilla and drink my sarsaparilla float at the kitchen counter. Whatever counter I happened to be living at.”

  “You hate sarsaparilla,” she said, remembering what a hard time he’d given her every time she’d ask him to bring a bottle home from the market.

  “But you don’t.”

  “Jace,” she whispered, because if what he was saying was true, and Jace was a lot of things but he wasn’t a liar, then on some of those nights when she couldn’t get him out of her mind, just maybe he was sipping a float in another part of the country and thinking of her. Even right now, there he stood, right next to her, vanilla ice cream in hand, and she realized he’d only brought one bottle of sarsaparilla.

  “Did you bring this for me?”

  He looked into her eyes. His held a mix of raw uncertainty and relief. And something so heartbreakingly sad it had her reaching out to touch his arm. “I was hoping you’d be here, but I bought it for me.” He blew out a long, shaky breath and ran a hand down the back of his neck. “I had dinner at Brett’s.”

  “Jace,” she said gently, taking his hand in hers.

  All night she’d been sitting there wallowing in the disaster that was her family. Convinced that everything was over, that her dad had tossed away three years of hard work. And Jace had walked right into her drama, got shoulder deep, and told her how much she mattered, how special she was, and helped her find a solution. All the while his world was changing, too, since she was pretty sure he hadn’t been back to Sugar since Brett built a house on their parents’ property.

  “When was the last time you went out to your parents’ property?”

  He laced his fingers through hers, running his thumb back and forth across the inside of her wrist, saying nothing for a long while. “The day I left for the army.”

  Charlotte thought about that for a moment, knowing that he’d enlisted the summer after he’d graduated high school. “You’ve never gone back? Not even once?”

  “No. Never really saw the need. The hou
se was gone, my parents were gone.” He looked at her and gave a small smile. “But Brett and Joie have done a great job with the place. It looks just like the kind of place my mom would have built.”

  “Was that hard?”

  His face creased, perplexed, as though he had to think about his answer, so she slid her free hand around his neck, gently gliding her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. His eyes met hers and held. “Actually, tonight wasn’t as hard as it could have been.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” This time when he smiled Charlotte could see the exhaustion lining his eyes. In fact, everything about Jace seemed tired, the kind of bone-deep tired that came with letting go. With moving on after being stuck in the same place for so long.

  “So you don’t need a float?”

  “No,” he said, his mouth inches from hers. “I just need this.”

  He was going to kiss her. Charlotte saw it coming, saw the way his eyes slid closed as he got closer, but she didn’t move. Didn’t push him away, either. Nope, she just sat there as he closed the last little gap and took full possession of her mouth. Moaned when his hands slid around her, pulling her to the end of the stool and so fully against him that she could feel his heart pounding through his chest. Felt her body melt as he slowly took her night from awful to awfully hot with every seductive brush of the mouth.

  She felt her resolve melt, too, right along with all of the ten thousand ideas why this was a bad idea. Because she needed this. Needed to let go and live. That was her plan, right? And if this was what living with Jace felt like, even if just for a brief moment of time, then she was game.

  His lips were so incredibly soft, so purposeful and skilled, bringing her to a hard boil with the lightest of feather touches. His hands slid lower, cupping her butt and pulling her even closer, and she felt herself sigh when their body parts lined up perfectly.

  Everything about them lined up perfectly, she thought as he continued to drive her right out of her mind. Not out of her dress, she noticed disappointedly, as his hands stayed firmly on the outside of the fabric. She shimmied even closer, sliding her hands up and under his shirt, and hello!