A Taste of Sugar

by Marina Adair

  The size of a large child, Kennedy still was a little bit of a thing who didn’t know the first thing about life’s icing. Hadn’t had the luxury. Between her unstable childhood then working toward gaining fiscal stability, she hadn’t had a lot of time for dreaming, let alone something whimsical. Sadly, the closest she’d ever come to eating the icing was a fun four years working the morning shifts at a little bakery near campus to put herself through business school.

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

  “How about with one of these?” Edna pulled an old journal out from beside her and set it on Kennedy’s lap. It was pink, pocket-sized, had a well-worn spine and picture of a cupcake with sprinkles on the cover.

  The hurt and disappointment had settled so deep inside, it had turned into aching numbness by the time she’d walked out of her downtown loft for the last time, so she assumed any more pain would be impossible. Yet as she clicked open the gold-plated latch, which was rusty from years of neglect, and saw the swirly handwriting at the top, her chest tightened further.

  This disappointment felt different, as though it originated from someplace old and forgotten, and it packed the kind of punch that made speaking impossible.

  Kennedy wasn’t sure how she managed to let herself stray so far from her life’s goal. She hadn’t felt the kind of hope and excitement that was apparent in the words she’d written, since she discovered that while most people were looking for a co-pilot to happiness, not everyone had what it took to be more than just a brief stopover. Sadly for Kennedy, she’d figured out early on which category she fell into.

  “Rule number one. Life’s short so eat the icing first,” she read as her finger traced lightly over the words on the first page. Edna had given it to her the summer she turned thirteen, when Candice Sinclair had taken off with a truck driver from Ashland, leaving a brokenhearted Kennedy behind with her grandmother.

  Kennedy was still naive enough to believe that one day her mother would take her along, that one day the two of them would see the country together like Candice promised. By July, Kennedy had realized that if she were going to live an exciting life, then she’d have to make it happen herself. And pragmatic by nature, she took the icing rule to heart and entered a lemon buttermilk cake she’d found the recipe for in her grandmother’s cookbook in the State Fair. Her entry won third place in the junior category and earned her two tickets to go whale watching with her grandmother—something she’d wanted to do but her grandmother couldn’t afford.

  The following year, she made a three-tier coconut-cake, a recipe straight from her grandmother’s southern roots, and won second place and a trip to the Shakespeare festival. It was her third attempt though, a perfect southern pecan pie that took first place, then took her on a six week Down Home Sweets journey at the local culinary school, cementing her fascination with small town living, southern eats, and a deep love for baking.

  Kennedy carefully thumbed through the pages, past the map of Texas showing the birthplace of apple pie, past the photo of a Rodeo Princess in Alabama, skipping over the article on pecan pies to die for, and stopping when she found what she was looking for. At the back of the journal was an extensive and itemized list she’d assembled, her Life’s Short So Eat the Icing First list, complete with coordinating check boxes.

  Not a single one was marked off.

  With a shaky breath, Kennedy flipped the page and scanned each item, stopping midway through when her heart gave a little stir.

  #39 DANCE UNDER THE STARS

  She wasn’t sure that she had quite mastered the flair for ballroom let alone something as romantic as the stars, but since Phillip had robbed her of checking off the first and most important wish on her list, BE A PRINCESS FOR A DAY, she was taking what she could get. Because somewhere along the way she forgotten that she needed to be in charge of her own destiny.

  She’d remember now.

  “What I need is a job.” One that would allow her to get a new apartment, get back on her feet. Although she had some savings, she needed to make sure her basket had enough padding so that when she started writing those checks, they didn’t bounce.

  “Already got you one lined up,” Edna said handing her a printout of a job listing for a pie shop. “It comes with a little frosting, too.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Nettie’s Nuthouse and Piehole,” Edna said snatching the paper back and flipping to the next page to display several photos of a quaint brick storefront and their award winning pies. Between the seventeen Gold Tin Blue Ribbons hanging in the window and the title of best pecan pie in the south, it sounded as though Nettie was looking for a true southern baker. Kennedy was sadly neither. “My old friend Nettie owns it, she emailed me that ad.”

  “You called her? About me?”

  “Of course I did,” Edna tutted.

  “When?” Kennedy’s life was still shoved in her trunk.

  “The second you said you were heading home,” Edna said. “Picked up the phone to see if she was looking for some summer help. Even told her that my granddaughter is a college graduate with a fancy degree from a fancy school, and works at Le Cordon Bleu.”

  Kennedy was the first Sinclair to finish college, something that gave Edna bragging rights in her side of town. Because people who grew up in this neighborhood seldom got out. But Kennedy had, and there was no way she could go back.

  “I work in an office at Le Cordon Bleu. Writing checks and balancing payroll, not baking pies,” Kennedy reminded her grandmother.

  “You bake on the weekends,” Edna said. “And still manage to win awards.”

  “I was a teenager, it was the junior category, at the Oregon State Fair.” Kennedy looked at the shop again. It was exactly what she’d dreamed of working in when she’d been a girl. Charming, welcoming, and looked like a mother’s kitchen should look—sweet, warm, and a safe place to land. Then she read the address and her head started to pound. “The shop is in Georgia?”

  “Magnolia Falls. It’s a little town nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, perfect place to start a new chapter, in a state you’ve always wanted to visit.”

  That number thirteen, written on her thirteenth birthday, read RIDE IN A HORSE DRAWN CARRIAGE THROUGH SAVANNAH LIKE CINDERELLA made it hard to argue.

  “Magnolia Falls?” It sounded perfect. Even the way it rolled off the lips implied it was the exact kind of place she could go and forget about her problems at home. But running away from problems was a classic Candice move, and Kennedy would rather take dance classes from Gloria than be like her mother. Then again, she didn’t really have a home any longer, so it wasn’t as though she would be running away. “Isn’t that where you met Grandpa?”

  “I met him in Savannah, near where I grew up, but followed him all the way to Magnolia Falls, where we got hitched. Met Nettie there, too, she was the maid of honor in my wedding and when Harvey moved to Tuscaloosa, making it clear it was a journey for one, Nettie gave me a job selling pecans on her family’s plantation.”

  Right. Another reason to say no.

  Kennedy was a finance girl not a frivolous girl—and baking pies as a stopgap to get over a broken heart only prolonged getting her life back on track—and breaking that Sinclair curse. Which would only happen if she refused the urge to make a life-changing decision because of a man.

  “I don’t want to spend my summer baking pies. I need to buckle down and find a new job.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t just be baking, honey.” Edna leaned in and lowered her voice as though she was imparting a national secret. “I have it on good word that Nettie’s not looking for summer help, she’s looking to sell to a strong-willed, sensible woman, who loves southern sweets and is brave enough to carve out a little slice of the world for herself. Nettie might not be able to balance a checkbook, but she’s made a pie legacy that she’s ready to trade in for the good life. Already booked herself a cruise. Just waiting for the right ow
ner to come along. So rather than spending the next ten years pushing someone else’s pencils and dreams, you could start making your own.”

  Suddenly the ridiculous idea didn’t seem so ridiculous.

  Kennedy had gone into business because she loved the idea of owing her own company, building something of her own that no one could take from her. And this opportunity seemed to combine her two loves with what she was trained to do. But there was one thing Kennedy couldn’t seem to get past.

  She rested her head on Edna’s shoulder and admitted. “I can’t even plan my own life, let alone a business.” Especially a pie shop in po-dunk Georgia.

  “Honey, you came out of the womb planning. It’s what you do.”

  A slow panic started to churn in her stomach, moving faster and faster, until she regretted eating three dozen cookies. Because wasn’t that exactly what Philip had said? God, her night was getting worse and worse.

  “She’s willing to sell it to you for a bargain.” Edna pulled out a packet from underneath Amos, who let loose a throaty growl, and handed it over. “She almost sold it last year to another buyer, but changed her mind when the woman started talking franchising. Here is the contract she’d had drawn up, told me to have you look it over and give her a call if you were interested.”

  Kennedy straightened and flipped through the papers. Nettie and Edna had both gone through a hassle putting this together so quickly, it was the least she could do.

  She took her time, read every word and decided that it was a standard sales agreement, straightforward and easy to understand. Then she reached the overview of the financials and felt her eyes bulge a little. “Her pie shop made more money last year than Philip did.”

  “And it was a slow year since she closed up for ten weeks last spring to take one of those senior trips to Alaska,” Edna said sounding wistful.

  Kennedy looked over at the woman who had raised her and felt her heart turn over. The dreamy look on her face over the idea of a vacation was a painful reminder of just how much Edna had sacrificed. She spent some of her best years raising Kennedy, and most of her retirement savings sending Kennedy to UC Berkeley. Kennedy was diligent about paying her grandmother back, but with her student loans and bills, it was slow coming. Owning her own business could change all of that.

  “How much is she asking?” Kennedy wanted to know because it wasn’t in the contract.

  Her grandmother rattled off a number.

  “That’s it?” Not that it wasn’t a lot of money. It was. In fact, it would nearly wipe out Kennedy’s entire life savings. But based on the financials, it seemed extremely low. Which meant Edna needed to get her hearing aid checked or Nettie wasn’t being honest about the profits.

  “Oh, that’s the down payment, honey. But since Nettie owns the property outright, she’s willing to carry the note so you can pay her in monthly installments, with a small balloon payment due at the end of every fiscal year. She also said she’ll throw in an acre of her pecans for the lifetime of the shop and let you stay in her caretakers’ house for six months rent-free, so you can get the apartment above the shop cleaned up.”

  “It comes with an apartment?” This deal couldn’t get any sweeter. Having an apartment would allow her to save up enough money for a down payment on her own home someday—one that didn’t have a live-in-heartbreak waiting to happen.

  One that belonged to her.

  “The store, the apartment, her recipes, supplies, and name are all yours if you say yes.” Enda smiled. “Did I mention Nettie’s pecan pie is a nineteen-time Blue Tin winner?”

  Only the highest honor any pie in the south could receive, and explained the incredible numbers. It was too good to be true, which in Kennedy’s world meant it wasn’t.

  “What’s the catch?” Kennedy asked. “And what happens if I can’t pull it off? Or I can’t make a balloon payment?”

  “You forfeit the shop and pass it back to Nettie,” Edna said as if the word forfeit was no big deal. As if it didn’t cause perspiration to break out on Kennedy’s hands and her stomach to roll with unease. Because for a girl who had been passed back and forth only to eventually be passed over, time and again, by the people who were supposed to love her forever, it was terrifying.

  “Look at you, already planning yourself right out of an opportunity,” Edna said softly, taking Kennedy’s hand in her frail one. “The worst that can happen is that it doesn’t work out, you check a few things off your list, and have memories that will last a lifetime.”

  In true Sinclair fashion, Edna completely overlooked that she’d also wind up broke and homeless. Then again, Kennedy was already the latter, and she’d spent most of her life being the former. But she’d never been a failure—until now.

  Something she could change, she told herself, because what bothered her more than her fear of failing was the fear that she’d be sidelined for the rest of her life. Spend her career behind a desk, managing other people’s dreams and never stepping out to go after something of her own.

  Maybe this was her chance. Sure, it didn’t come in the package that Kennedy expected, but sometimes the best opportunities presented themselves in the most unexpected ways. And hadn’t she just been wishing for some excitement in her simple life?

  Kennedy turned to look her grandmother in the face and swallowing down all the what if’s that would normally have her wearing her cream ballet flats, she said, “When does Nettie want to leave on that cruise?”

  Chapter 2

  Whoever came up with the phrase, “easy as pie” obviously never had to shell their own pecans, Kennedy thought as she lifted the side cutter and carefully snipped the pecan hull. The trick was to cut off the ends of the shell and not her fingers—an important lesson she learned yesterday.

  The sun was beginning to set over the lush peaks of the Great Smoky Mountain Range, casting a warm glow over Bluebell Avenue and the historic downtown, when Kennedy flipped the closed sign, ending her first full week as the owner of Nettie’s Nuthouse and Piehole.

  She looked around the shop at the turn of the century decor, the white iron garden tables with bud vases, and the sold-out display case. A strange lightness bubbled up from beneath her chest. She had pie orders up the wazoo, enough dough to cover the Smoky Mountain Range, and hadn’t cried over Phil-ep once since she moved.

  She’d been too busy baking her way toward success. Independence. A real life. And it felt good. Liberating even.

  So what if she’d gained a few pounds sampling the merchandise? She loved, loved, baking. No spreadsheets, no unattainable expectations, and absolutely no one else’s agenda to distract her. Nothing but her and a never ending stream of possibilities in sight. Not to mention sweets.

  Pies, tarts, cake, cookies; Kennedy was an equal opportunity baker—and taster. Anything that made her shop smell sweet and homey. It didn’t take a genius to explain the appeal. Before living with Edna, there hadn’t been a lot of sweet and homey in Kennedy’s life. And any opportunity that had come her way, she’d fought tooth and nail for. Which made her driven, determined, and scrappy as hell.

  A good trait to have since business had been going so well she didn’t have enough shelled pecans left in the barrel to make a single pie—let alone the orders for tomorrow. Which explained the fifty-pound bag of pecans she’d had delivered today. Kennedy had no idea how expensive pecans were, or just how difficult they were to hull.

  So when the mini-pecan tart, sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf of the display case, started silently calling out to her, Kennedy ignored it, grabbed the Nut Buster apron she’d bought at the local home and garden store, and got hulling.

  Thirty minutes later, the sun had vanished and she sadly had enough pecans to decorate a cupcake. She might love baking, but hulling could suck it. Her fingers were raw, her nails destroyed, and arms muscles were getting quite the workout. Good thing for her, busting nuts was a skill she was determined to acquire in her new chapter.

  A rustle sounded from t
he back of the kitchen, scaring the life out of her and causing the sliders to jab her palm, slicing the skin. More immediate than the threat of blood was the shadow that could easily belong to Thor coming through her back door.

  A big and arrogant shadow because, yeah, it was definitely a male creeping into her shop and stomping all over her fresh start. Although he wasn’t creeping so much as smugly moseying—as if he owned the place. As if he had every right to help himself to her safe.

  Kennedy considered saying that she was closed and pointing to the sign on the window, but her burglar obviously knew that since he used the back door. The locked back door.

  Plus, he was built like one of those MMA fighters with broad shoulders and double-barreled biceps who went by names like The Undertaker or Tank of Terror. In fact, his only hope of sneaking into or out of any place unseen was if it were pitch black and he had a small planet shielding him.

  Kennedy grabbed her phone from her apron pocket to dial 9-1-1, when Tank bypassed the safe all together to grab—

  Oh, hell no.

  Her last six pecan pies. Which had been sold, lovingly boxed, and promised to Nettie’s favorite granddaughter, Elle.

  Nothing pissed Kennedy off more than breaking a promise. Nothing except someone playing her for a fool. That the someone in question was a smug man set on burgling away the good in her week only added to her furry.

  Acting on pure instinct, Kennedy grabbed the massive rolling pin off the counter. She might not be a trained ninja, but she’d seen Xena: Warrior Princess enough times to know how to handle herself. Doing some creeping of her own, she walked right up behind Tank and stuck the handle of the rolling pin in his back—hard.

  “Hands off my pies, big guy,” she said, then realized he wasn’t just big. He was massive. And smelled really good. Like fresh chopped wood, hot summer nights, and really bad decisions.