Sweet Love of Mine: Sweetly Southern

by Lindi Peterson

  SWEET LOVE OF MINE

  LINDI PETERSON

  Copyright © Lindi Peterson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover design: For the Muse Design

  Editor: Emily Sewell

  Welcome to the Magnolias and Moonshine series, where you’ll fall in love with the South.

  Twenty New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors joined together to bring you a taste of Southern charm in this brand-new Magnolias & Moonshine series.

  There is something for everyone with these ten sweet and ten sizzle contemporary romance novellas. You’ll enjoy stories with cowboys, weddings, county fairs, lovers reunited, and much more.

  Step into the world of the South and hear the cicadas, taste the mint juleps, see the stars, and smell the magnolias.

  Authors in novella release order:

  Ciara Knight (Sweet)

  Hildie McQueen (Sizzle)

  Beth Williamson (Sizzle)

  Susan Hatler (Sweet)

  Lindi Peterson (Sweet)

  Kymber Morgan (Sizzle)

  Amanda McIntyre (Sizzle)

  Lucy McConnell (Sweet)

  Sharon Hamilton (Sizzle)

  Lisa Kessler (Sizzle)

  Kirsten Osbourne (Sweet)

  Susan Carlisle (Sizzle)

  Tina DeSalvo (Sizzle)

  Raine English (Sweet)

  Amelia C. Adams (Sweet)

  E. E. Burke (Sizzle)

  Melinda Curtis (Sweet)

  Merry Farmer (Sizzle)

  Shanna Hatfield (Sweet)

  Jennifer Peel (Sweet)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Betrayal, desertion and thievery all before my first sip of coffee?

  It’s true.

  I, Eden Conrad, have experienced my fair share of bad days, but having the spiral begin so early makes me wish I was still slumbering on my cotton sheets, so Egyptian that my current situation shouldn’t be happening.

  Sunshine slowly spreads across the table, its rise into the world giving me hope.

  I look again at my phone, making sure the number I dialed is correct. It is. I brace for sheer torture and call it again. Like the auto-voice telling me the number is no longer in service will be replaced with a cheerful hello, in a sing-song voice. The voice that belongs to the caterer who I hired and gave good money to prepare food for my parents’ wedding anniversary.

  My debut into the event planning business.

  And now, well, now the auto-voice is back.

  The number is still no longer in service.

  The website, twitter and all other social media accounts that belonged to Elegant Dining Experiences Are Us have disappeared.

  Totally.

  And the party is in one week.

  I close my eyes, suck in a breath, like that will pacify the despair rolling through my stomach. My brain.

  Oh, on those Egyptian sheets might be a good place to hide for the next week.

  My phone lights up. A text from Sonya.

  Sonya Allen, my mom’s best friend. My saving grace in planning this thirtieth wedding anniversary for my parents. My sounding board and voice of reason, Sonya.

  I dread telling her about the caterer’s disappearance, yet welcome her it-will-all-work-out attitude I know she’ll respond with. I open her text message.

  “No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.” I clutch the phone in my hand, shifting my gaze upward. “God, please. Please…”

  Shame fills me at my selfishness. “Thanks for that reminder, God. Sonya first. God, help heal her broken leg.” Broken leg? She fell? My unspoken questions to God remain unanswered as I process this new turn of events.

  A quick series of texts reveal which hospital she’s at. I throw on some clothes, wash my face, skip the make-up and head out the door. The hospital isn’t far and there’s not a lot of Atlanta traffic this Friday morning as I wind my way out of Decatur toward the city.

  As I walk into the hospital I spot a stain on my T-shirt. Spying a water fountain, I stop and try to wash out the already dried stain. Of course, that’s not working. I think I’m subconsciously stalling. At the moment I decide to take a drink of water I notice I’m wearing two different tennis shoes. They both have pink laces, but one shoe is light blue and the other is gray.

  Really?

  I glance around relieved that no one is paying attention to me. My baseball cap and workout clothes are somewhat of a disguise, I suppose. And the no make-up aspect. I’m sure I won’t be recognized.

  And that’s a good thing.

  The first couple of Atlanta’s daughter shouldn’t be seen in such disarray.

  And she shouldn’t be thinking so much of herself when her pseudo-aunt has fallen and is in the hospital.

  I walk to the emergency area, my mismatched shoes squeaking occasionally on the shiny white floor with its little gray specks. After inquiring about my “aunt,” I make my way through the auto-open doors to her room.

  “Sonya.”

  She’s lying in a bed, her shoulder-length golden curls flattened on the white pillow. Her normally sparkling brown eyes are dark, like she’s in pain. And I’m sure she is.

  “Eden, honey. You didn’t have to come here.” She holds her arms out and I walk to her, bending into them, hugging her as much as I can considering she’s lying down.

  “Of course I did. Or rather, I wanted to.” My family is the closest thing she has to family, since her husband, Don, passed away barely a year ago, and her only child, Grant, lives in New York City. “You did call Mom, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I got her voicemail. She’s probably playing bridge.”

  “Or tennis. You know she just got a new coach. She says he’s ‘delightful.’”

  “I was supposed to meet with him. Thought about taking up the sport. But now, well, I don’t think I’ll be playing tennis any time soon. They are talking surgery, Eden. I can’t even think about it.”

  My heart drops. I don’t know what to say. Her husband Don passed away while on the table having a routine surgery. I can’t think of any words that might comfort her right now. I take her hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be here.”

  Neither of us mentions the party. The big surprise for Kenneth and Jane Conrad. Their wedding topped the social pages years ago, and now, thirty years later, they are more prominent than ever.

  This party has to be a success. It’s the only option.

  But right now, here in this hospital, Sonya is more important.

  Sonya taps her phone sitting in the bed next to her. “I called Grant. I got his voicemail, too. Doesn’t anyone answer their phone? That’s why I texted you. I’d have lost my mind if your call went to voicemail.”

  “You should have called. I would have answered.”

  She squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I hate hospitals.”

  “I know you do.”

  Sonya is a socialite like my mom. But Sonya is more approachable. I can talk to her easier than I can my mom. Maybe that is natural.

  Maybe it isn’t.

  Sonya’s eyes close, and I sit, not letting go of her hand.

  I hear a vibration and notice her phone has lit up. I grab it and realize it’s a text. From G
rant.

  The notification goes away, and I have no idea what the text says. It’s not my place to read her texts. When she opens her eyes, I’ll make sure I tell her he texted.

  Grant.

  I can’t help but smile as I remember him. He and I went to the same grade school. We were fast friends just like our parents. I dug in the dirt with him. He played dolls with me. We didn’t care. He used to chase me around the playground at school.

  Then there was the day he kissed me.

  Kissing when you are a kid isn’t like kissing as an adult.

  But I remember it.

  I remember the brush of his lips gone so fast I wondered if I imagined it.

  I remember my stomach fluttering, my mind racing.

  I remember the fluttering and racing stopped immediately when he said he just wanted to know what it was like to kiss a girl. I punched him in the arm.

  He stomped off.

  Then he went to private school and then onto college. I hadn’t seen him but a handful of times since then. The last two times I saw him we didn’t even speak. The first of those times was a crowded event, and he was too busy showing off his girlfriend, Peony. I swear that’s her name. When I first heard it I thought Sonya was really drawing out the name Penny, but no, Peony Swanson was Grant’s girl.

  The second time was his father’s funeral.

  Sonya pulls her hand from mine. “I’m sorry I dozed off for a minute.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m sure you need the rest. Oh, Grant texted. I didn’t read it, just saw it come through.”

  “Thank you.” She picks up her phone, her brows furrow as she reads the text. “Oh, he’s coming. I wish he wouldn’t. He doesn’t have time for this.”

  “Of course he has time for you.” I squeeze her shoulder. She shakes her head and clutches the phone tightly. “I wonder if I can talk him out of it.”

  “It’s Friday. Maybe he can take a long weekend. I’m sure he wants to be here for you.”

  Sonya looks at the phone again. “Hmm. Just says he’s coming. No mention of Peony. I wonder if he popped the question yet. Surely he would have let me know, don’t you think?”

  I shrug. “I would think so. But boys are different.”

  “Yes they are.”

  There’s a knock at the door. “Mrs. Allen? Hello, I’m Dr. Scranton. I’ll be your surgeon.”

  Sonya’s grip on my hand tightens. I look at her face. Her dark brown eyes are filled with fear. “It’ll be okay,” I whisper. “I promise.”

  How I can keep that promise I have no idea.

  But what I do know is that nothing can happen to Sonya.

  I’ve had almost no sleep the past twenty-four hours. After the hospital staff settled Sonya in a room yesterday, Mom came by for a few minutes but had an engagement she said she couldn’t get out of, so I stayed the night.

  Pacing the waiting room I smile at my mismatched tennis shoes. When I showed them to Sonya, she laughed. I’m glad I made the mistake. There wasn’t a lot for her to laugh about yesterday, especially after Dr. Scranton told her she had to have surgery.

  I rub my neck which is stiff from sleeping on the couch in her room. At least the nurses had given me a pillow. And an extra blanket as the temperature was set at freezing. This morning I splashed cold water on my face and ran my finger over my teeth with the toothpaste they brought for Sonya.

  The waiting room is crowded and I settle myself against a wall. There are seats available, but I feel restless. I can’t imagine sitting.

  I’m nervous.

  And the party.

  Now six days away and I have no food.

  Out of habit I pull out my phone, but remember the battery is dead. My charger is at home along with my sanity.

  I stare toward the waiting room and notice people staring my way. But they aren’t staring at me. Looking to my left, I see what they are staring at.

  Or rather who.

  A gorgeous male creature.

  A man.

  And of course that man is Grant Allen.

  Did he go to New York to be a model? No. But he could have.

  Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful smile, perfect face. Yes, that was Grant. Jeans, a dark polo, and black boots all enhanced the already too handsome man. A big, black suitcase sits next to him, his hand gripping the handle.

  As he looks around, his gaze comes my way. I don’t look away as I know he won’t recognize me. I have the advantage here.

  Except that our gazes lock and he heads toward me, suitcase and all.

  I pull my hat lower and look down.

  My two different shoes stare back at me.

  Laugh at me.

  “Eden.”

  How did he know this was me? I have no choice but to look up, so I do. His eyes seem calm, grounded. Steady.

  Yes, he’s that close. “Hi, Grant.”

  “Hi. It’s been a while. I guess Mom’s already in surgery. I tried to get here earlier, but we had a delay out of New York.”

  “Yes, she’s back there. It’s all going to be fine, I’m sure.”

  “It has to be. Do they know how long the surgery will take?”

  I nod. “They said a couple of hours, maybe. Depends on what they find when they get in there.”

  He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “I can’t believe this. What was she doing on the ladder anyway?”

  “Ladder?”

  “Yes, she told me she fell off a ladder.”

  When Grant called last night, I left to go grab a sandwich from the hospital deli, so I didn’t hear their conversation. Sonya said nothing to me about a ladder. “I’m not sure. I didn’t get the details. I was trying to keep her mind on other things.”

  “Thanks for staying with her. She mentioned you were spending the night. I appreciate it.”

  I smile. “No problem. We’ve gotten really close working on my parents’ anniversary party.”

  “Yeah. I hear that’s going to be quite the event.”

  Visions of no food and no help run through my mind. But I can’t bring that up now. “I hope so. I’m launching my business that night.”

  He nods. “Mom has told me a little bit about it. Congratulations.”

  “I’ll save the acceptance until after the party.”

  Grant looks at his watch. “I can’t imagine how Mom felt when they told her she was going to have surgery. It freaked me out.”

  He doesn’t look freaked out. But then again, like I told Sonya, boys were different. “I’ve been praying and praying since she heard the news.”

  “That’s cool. Although the prayers for my dad didn’t turn out for the best.”

  I don’t respond. How could I? His dad passed away for unknown reasons during a routine surgery. The last time I saw Grant was at his father’s funeral. He had Peony with him, all dressed in black, rubies, red lipstick, spiky heels. She looked stiff and proper, not like a Peony at all.

  Grant grabs his suitcase. “Enough of that. Can I grab you a coffee or something?”

  “I can probably use some. Although something creamy and frothy would require leaving these premises.”

  “Then hospital drudge it is. How are your parents doing?”

  We exit the waiting area and head toward the cafeteria, his suitcase rolling down the hall with us. One of his wheels must be out of whack as there’s a thump every few seconds. “They’re good.”

  “Their anniversary party is a surprise?”

  “Yes.” I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to say the caterer I hired ran off with my money and I have no food, and your mom was my main assistant and now she’s out of the picture for that role.

  It’s too much to think about.

  “It’s cool the way you are launching your event planning business at the party. Smart move.”

  Right now I’m not so sure. “I hope so.”

  “You know you’re wearing two different shoes.”

  “Yes.” Does Grant have me speechless or am I just exhaust
ed?

  We order our coffees. I pour countless sugars and creamers into my darker-than-night brew while Grant simply puts a lid on his.

  “Let’s go back up and sit. I don’t want to miss the doctor.” He nods toward the hallway.

  We walk to the waiting room, our silence broken only by the sound of that suitcase. I don’t know how I feel about Grant. He’s acting like we’ve never missed a beat since the sixth grade, but I don’t even know him.

  The only things I know have come through his mom.

  I’m not even asking about the possible engagement.

  To a girl named Peony, no less.

  A whole group of people vacate a corner section, and Grant and I grab two seats. It feels good to sit.

  Grant scrolls through his phone as I blow into the small hole in the top of my lid, the coffee too hot to drink.

  “How did you recognize me?” I speak the burning question into the universe. Then wish I hadn’t.

  “Your lips.”

  I blush many shades of pink, I’m sure. “Lips?”

  “Yeah. Remember you kissed me in grade school? I’d know those lips anywhere.”

  I sit straighter. “I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me.”

  He sets his phone on his thigh. “No. You were the initiator. Chasing me all over the playground.”

  Shaking my head I half-smile. “No. Not at all how it happened. New York must have erased your memory.”

  He smiles, and I almost admit he’s right. “New York has done a lot of things, but erasing my memory isn’t one of them. Do you remember you were wearing two different shoes that day, too? One black, one brown.”

  Faint recollections trickle into my mind. “Maybe. That was a long time ago.”

  “Some things never change, apparently.” He nods toward my feet.

  I need to change the subject. Maybe ask him about New York? But I really don’t want to hear about Peony. Not because I’m jealous, but because I’m not in that place in my life yet. I have girlfriends who are married or engaged, but my Prince Charming has eluded me so far.

  And I’m fine with it.

  I have a business to get off the ground.

  And now Sonya to take care of. “I know your mom will be glad to see you. Her eyes lit up when she told me you were coming.”

  “I can’t let her go through this alone. I wish I could have gotten here before they took her back.”