The Sweetest Thing

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  “The lead singer has to have an operation or something. They returned their deposit and gave me a few referrals, so I’ll call Mrs. Moore and run them by her tomorrow.”

  “No, call Carl first and run the list by him,” she said, referring to the musical technician they often turned to for advice. “He’ll be able to tell you which ones are worth our time. Then call his first choice and make sure they’re available. If they can do the party and they are willing to commit, call Mrs. Moore and tell her we found her a wonderful replacement and for her not to worry. If you give her too many options she will back and forth you to death and then we won’t have a band at all for her party.”

  “Will do.”

  “I need to get back there. I’ve got too much work to do. And it’s freezing here. Do you know they’re actually expecting snow this weekend? Snow, Jasmine. I hate snow.”

  “When do you think you’ll be heading home?”

  “The attorney is doing the will thing on Monday so I’ll figure it out after that.”

  “Well, don’t worry about work. We really do have it under control. And go buy a winter coat. Sounds like you’ll need one.”

  Harper shook her head from side to side. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Get some rest,” Jasmine intoned. “Love ya!”

  Harper smiled. “Love you, too!”

  Harper had been in a deep sleep when she was suddenly startled out of a nightmare. Her heart was racing, beating heavily in her chest. Her eyes skated around the unfamiliar room as she struggled to get her bearings. When she suddenly remembered where she was and why she was there, she took a deep breath and then a second to calm her nerves.

  The first morning rays of the new day shimmered through the blinds that covered the windows. Peering through the slats Harper got her first glimpse of the snow that had been predicted the day before. Quentin and the weatherman had been wrong. Mother Nature had barely left a dusting of frost behind. Since he’d been so adamant, she couldn’t wait to tease him, maybe break down that chilly personality of his. Thinking about the man suddenly made her smile. Despite her initial reservations, there was still something about him that she found intriguing. There was suddenly a knock on the door, Quentin standing on the other side as if he had somehow read her mind.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning,” Quentin called from the hallway. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No,” Harper answered. She skipped over to the door and pulled it open. “Good morning.”

  “I heard you moving around and . . .” Quentin was suddenly speechless, his mouth agape. He wasn’t sure what he expected but he clearly hadn’t expected to have Harper standing half-naked in front of him.

  As his light brown eyes took in the view, hers followed and she looked down to see what he was staring at. Harper’s dark orbs widened in disbelief as she realized in her excitement that she’d forgotten her bathrobe and was standing there in nothing but a black-lace thong and matching camisole. She suddenly slammed the door closed in his face. Stunned, both stood silent.

  A few short minutes passed before Quentin knocked on the door a second time. “Harper?”

  Harper shook her head from side to side then took a deep, deep breath. She reopened the door just enough to peer back into the hallway. Quentin was still standing there in awe. He met her doe-eyed stare and then grinned, his full mouth lifting into a magnificent smile. Wholeheartedly embarrassed, Harper flew into a fury.

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  Quentin paused and then he began to laugh. The chortle was warm and full rising to a deep, belly-aching guffaw. His reaction infuriated Harper even more, her cheeks flaming a brilliant shade of red.

  “What’s so damn funny?” she said, her hand clutching her hip as she hid behind the door.

  He shook his head as he gulped for air, a tear rolling out of his eye. “You are,” he finally gasped. “Get dressed. I made you breakfast,” he said, still chuckling as Harper reslammed the door. As his laughter continued to echo off in the distance, Harper found herself smiling.

  Damn, that woman is gorgeous, Quentin thought as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Every muscle below his waist had hardened into steel as he reflected back on the encounter.

  Her hair had been a tousled mass of loose curls and spiked locks. He imagined that she had simply pulled her fingers through the short length as she’d risen from bed. Sleep had still clouded her eyes but her cheeks were bright and there had been the most beautiful smile on her face.

  The lace she’d been wearing had been sheer and he could see the outline of her nipples through her top, large dark areolas standing at full attention. Quentin had suddenly wondered what they would feel like between his lips, nubs of rock candy for him to savor. Then his gaze had dropped south to the slip of fabric that had barely covered the triangle of her pubic hair. It had taken every ounce of resilience not to trail his finger across the line of her body and twist one of those curls around his finger. And then she’d slammed the door in his face, wood just shy of slapping him in the nose.

  Her reaction had been priceless and when she’d finally reopened the door, hiding behind the frame at a veiled attempt in modesty, there was nothing he could do but laugh. Laughing had made him instantly feel better, his spirit not as frozen as it had felt just days before. But his laughing had made her mad and for some reason, he found her being angry with him even funnier. Harper appeared to be a woman with a spirited personality and had she been any other woman he might have enjoyed that challenge.

  He took a swift breath, fighting to stall the rising erection pressing hard against the zipper of his denim jeans. Thinking about Harper was proving to be a nuisance in ways he had not expected. As he took a sip of his morning brew he was hopeful that his body would return to a state of normalcy before the beautiful woman found her way into the kitchen.

  Minutes later, as Quentin rose to pour himself a second cup of brew, Harper entered the room. As he turned to eye her she sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes at him. This time she was modestly dressed in a white button-up blouse over a thigh-length navy blue skirt. Navy heels with shiny gunmetal stud accents and a silver-and-blue printed scarf draped casually around her neck completed her ensemble.

  He smiled, shrugged, and gestured toward the coffeepot. “Would you like a cup?”

  “Thank you,” she said as she dropped down onto a cushioned seat.

  “Sorry about before,” Quentin said as he dropped a large mug onto the table.

  “You still didn’t tell me what was so damn funny.”

  He chuckled softly. “You should have seen your face.”

  She tossed him an annoyed look. “I may have overreacted so I’m sorry as well. Let’s just forget it happened.”

  Quentin nodded, knowing that he had no intentions of ever forgetting what he had seen. “Are you hungry? I have eggs, bacon, fruit, and fresh-baked croissants. Or if you want, I can make you something else?”

  “No, that sounds really good. I’m anxious to try the croissants. Did you make them?”

  He nodded. “I did. We bake them fresh every morning.”

  “Is the bakery open already?” she questioned, glancing over to the clock on the wall. It was just past eight o’clock in the morning.

  Quentin nodded. “We’ve been open since six-thirty, for the breakfast crowd. It’s in good hands though. We have a great staff. Trustworthy, dependable, always willing to go the extra yard. You met a few of them last night.”

  Harper sipped her coffee while Quentin prepped her breakfast plate. “How long have you been here?” she suddenly asked.

  Quentin set her plate, and his own, onto the table. “I was downstairs all night. When I came up I heard you. That’s when I knocked on the door.”

  “Have you had any sleep at all?”

  “I’ll get a couple of hours this afternoon. Usually I bake through the night and the morning, then rest in the afternoon. At night, after I close up the shop, I’ll
start baking again. I grab a lot of naps during the day or whenever I can.”

  “Even more reason why I need to stay out of your way,” Harper commented.

  The beginning of the meal was relatively quiet. What little conversation they shared was polite small talk between bites of the flaky, buttered pastry. Then Quentin had a lot of questions about Harper and her life and she enjoyed answering them. The conversation was engaging as they slowly got to know each other better, a level of comfort billowing between them.

  Every so often Harper would catch Quentin staring at her, a coy grin on his face, and her cheeks would blaze red. Had she known him better she would have wiped that smug grin right off his face. As they continued to talk she found herself looking forward to that moment.

  “Do you have any plans for the day?” Quentin asked.

  Harper swallowed the last bite of her second croissant. “Not really. I need to start sorting through my father’s personal possessions. I’m sure there are some things that you and Troy would probably like to keep. Or not,” she concluded as she met his stare, his bright smile fading. The sudden sadness in his eyes seemed to flood the room and Harper resisted the intense urge to wrap her arms around his shoulders to comfort him. She bit down against her bottom lip.

  Quentin took a deep breath before responding. “I know it has to be done. I just didn’t think we’d have to do it so soon.”

  Harper tossed him an easy smile. “I get that,” she said, acutely sensitive to his feelings. “It can wait. I didn’t mean to push.”

  Quentin nodded, then changed the subject. “I need to go downstairs to check on things. Want to come?”

  “I’d like that. And if it’s not an inconvenience later, I need to go buy a heavier coat from somewhere for all that snow we have coming,” she said facetiously.

  Quentin tossed back his head and laughed. “You think I don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  Harper laughed with him. “I’m just saying, Mr. Weatherman! Did you look out the window this morning?”

  “Trust me,” Quentin cajoled, “that snow is definitely coming.” He rose from the table and cleared the dishes away. He watched as Harper took a quick glance at her reflection in the hall mirror, then with a quick nod of her head she followed behind him.

  5

  Harper didn’t expect the wealth of activity that was taking place on the first floor. The lines into and inside of the bakery were lengthy and for all that was happening in the dining area there was twice as much happening in the kitchen. She waved an easy hand to everyone she’d met the previous night at her father’s repast. There was Kitty and Linda who were manning the counter and cash registers and Duncan, Karl, Lila, and Amberlyn who were in the kitchen or running between the kitchen and the glass showcase, keeping the platters refilled. The room smelled heavenly, the aroma of baking cookies and bread teasing her senses.

  “Is it always like this?” Harper asked, glancing over to stare at Quentin as she took in the crowd.

  “Friday is a busy day for us. People stocking up for the weekend.” He gestured for her to follow him into the dining room to the only empty table. As she took a seat he moved back behind the counter and filled two cups with steaming coffee. Reaching into the glass display case he filled a small plate with an assortment of delicacies and returned to her side.

  Harper’s eyes widened. “I’m going to gain a hundred pounds,” she said with a soft giggle.

  Quentin laughed with her. “The only way to get to know about the bakery is to taste the product.”

  “I’ve eaten two croissants already, in case you’ve forgotten,” she said as she reached for a chocolate cookie. The nut-and-cherry-filled fudge delight tasted of a hint of cinnamon, topped with a touch of coarse salt. Harper closed her eyes as she savored the sensual flavors, the decadence of it just short of orgasmic.

  “Is it good?” Quentin asked, staring at her intently.

  Still chewing, Harper nodded her head.

  A customer standing in line chimed in. “Best damn cookies in Memphis,” he said. “I buy my wife a dozen every Friday.”

  Harper smiled. “Your wife is a very lucky woman,” she said as she patted a paper napkin against her lips.

  For almost thirty minutes the two sat and talked with the clientele, many offering their condolences on Everett’s passing and sharing with Harper stories of their favorite items from Just Desserts. A few of the regulars had menu suggestions for Quentin and almost everyone wished them a safe and well weekend.

  Taking the time to study the menu Harper was impressed with all the bakery offered. Baked goods included an assortment of biscuits, breads, muffins, and rolls. There were sweet treats of cookies and brownies, specialty pies and cakes. But besides the wonderful assortment of desserts there were breakfast specialties that included granola and yogurt, toast and homemade jams, and homemade muesli. Lunch specialties offered a traditional chicken potpie, meat-and-vegetable hand pies, and a bevy of sandwiches on fresh baked breads and wonderful salads.

  Quentin dropped into a moment of reflection. “Pop used to sit here every day and greet the customers,” he said. “In the evenings, folks would stop in just to listen to him play his saxophone while they had a piece of pie or cake. He always said that perfection was some soft music playing in the background, a comfy place to sit, a smiling person to help you get whatever your heart desired, and a beautiful display of delicious baked goods begging to be devoured. This was his dream come true.”

  Quentin took a deep breath and fought back tears. He glanced over to Harper who was eyeing him with a compassionate stare, the sweetest smile blessing her face. Quentin smiled back as he shook himself from the moment.

  When Harper had finished the last decadent cookie, Quentin steered her back into the kitchen and offered commentary about all that was going on behind the scenes.

  “Amberlyn and Duncan are testing a new recipe I created. I’m working on a honeyed sweet-potato biscuit and we’re figuring out how to produce them efficiently and cost effectively before we introduce them into the menu.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work,” Harper said.

  The man waved his head up and down excitedly. “It is but it’s all well worth it. Everything here is made from scratch using only the best raw ingredients. We purchase our fruits and grains from local farmers and only use natural and often organic ingredients. Nothing in here will ever be made with processed products like canned milk, corn syrup, artificial flavorings, or food colorings. For it to taste good I don’t believe in skimping on the good stuff.”

  Harper smiled at his enthusiasm. She watched as Karl dropped cookie dough onto an oversize baking sheet.

  Quentin continued. “Our daily operations change every day because our production needs change every day depending on what’s available at the market.”

  “How do you decide what to bake when?” she queried.

  “We run the kitchen using what’s called a baking down method. We bake all the highest temperature products first, then the cake productions, then the cookie products, and finally the meringues. Then everything is cooled, decorated, packaged, and sold.

  “We also partner with local suppliers. Our coffee roasters are five blocks over and we use their drip coffee and their espresso. A local beekeeper supplies our jarred honey and there are three sisters born and raised right here in Memphis who can our jellies and jams for us.”

  “Wow!” Harper exclaimed. “I didn’t realize all the hard work involved. I’ve always just ordered my cakes and picked them up when I needed them.”

  “That’s a whole other facet of our operation! I personally do about thirty, maybe forty wedding and party cakes each month.”

  “Nice!” Harper extolled. She took a step off to the side watching as Quentin maneuvered his way around the kitchen giving out orders. There was an overwhelming sense of accomplishment that blanketed his shoulders and it was sexy as hell. Harper admired the way he carried himself, his commanding demeanor
making women and men alike take notice. Harper knew beyond any doubt that he loved everything about the bakery and what he was doing. Without anyone telling her she sensed that his love and enthusiasm for those things he had shared with Everett had made him the old man’s pride and joy.

  Her breath suddenly caught in her chest as he turned and gestured for her attention. Moving to his side, she shook her head as he extended a hot buttered biscuit out toward her.

  “Taste this and tell me what you think,” he intoned.

  “Quentin, I couldn’t eat another bite!”

  “Just a little taste. Besides, as thin as you are you could use a little more uumph on them bones,” he teased as his gaze wandered over the lines of her body.

  He broke the small biscuit in half and as he moved it toward her face she clasped her hand atop his, guiding it toward her mouth. Her touch was heated, igniting something deep in Quentin’s core. Her eyes stayed locked with his as he tipped the piece past her lips, his fingertips lightly grazing her flesh. As Harper slowly chewed the sweet pastry, Quentin popped the remaining biscuit into his own mouth then licked his thumb and his index finger. The gesture was slow and seductive, firing every one of Harper’s senses. In that instant the young woman felt a rise of heat rush into every one of her nerve endings. The sensation was even more intense than what she’d been feeling when she’d stood half-dressed in the doorway.

  Her eyes skated around the room, as she hoped no one else was watching the heat rise to her cheeks. Attempting to toss ice water onto the moment she dropped a hand to her hip. “There is nothing wrong with my uumph,” she admonished. “And you need to stop looking at me like that! Stick with what you know ’cause that biscuit was really good.”

  Quentin shrugged as he moved to the sink to wash his hands. With the roll of her eye, the slight lick of her lips, and the easy toss of her head, it felt like she was serving him some serious flirtation and he really liked that. He tossed her a look over his shoulder and smiled brightly.