Gimme Some Sugar

by Juliette Poe

  I scan the restaurant, noting most people have gone back to eating, although a few are still gawking at us. Some are even whispering while watching us, making it clear we’re the topic of the conversation.

  When I give my attention to Larkin, I see her also glancing around, perhaps soaking in how much of a spectacle we’ve created just by walking in.

  “I bet you know every person in this place,” I comment, and that has her gaze snapping my way. “In fact, I bet you know them pretty well.”

  Larkin’s lips curl as she considers my challenge, but then her eyes start moving again. Cat-like, hazel eyes that are framed by thick, dark lashes roam the room.

  When they return to me, she appears smug. “Know everyone in here but you.”

  “Oh, you know enough about me,” I reply with a laugh. “At least enough to chance dinner with me.”

  “You’re intriguing,” she demurs. “I’ll give you that.”

  I spread my arms wide. “I’m an open book. But I bet you have a very savvy intuition when it comes to people. I also bet this comes from being part of a large family. I know you mentioned one brother, Lowe, but I’m betting there are at least three, four… five of you, right?”

  Larkin’s eyes grow round. “Five. How could you possibly guess that?”

  “I have good intuition too,” I reply with a wink. “So lay them on me… where are you in the pecking order?”

  Crossing her forearms on the tabletop, Larkin leans in. “I’m the fourth, but only by two minutes.”

  “A twin.” I’m intrigued. “Identical?”

  “Yup, except I just cut my hair off not long ago so we’re distinguishable now. Her name is Laken, and she’s a veterinarian. The baby below us is Colt, and he runs the family farm. Just above us is Lowe—he’s a carpenter and now my partner in Millie’s—and the oldest is Trixie. She’s a lawyer.”

  “Family farm?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer right away because Muriel returns with our teas.

  Once she has them deposited, Larkin opens a straw and plops it into the dark brown liquid. She takes a small sip, then proceeds to give me the history of the Mainer family farm, which has been passed down for eight generations on her mom’s side of the family.

  “I’m guessing Mancinkus isn’t a local name.”

  Laughing, Larkin shakes her head. “Lithuanian. My dad is from the Pittsburgh area, but he went into the Marine Corps. When he was stationed down here, he met my mom at a USO dance. She wasn’t leaving the family farm, so he decided to become a Southerner and stayed here after he left the military.”

  “Regional differences are so fascinating,” I remark thoughtfully. “Bet you’ve got some really great blended stories.”

  “Too many to count,” she says with an empathic nod. “And I mentioned my pap to you. He moved down from Pittsburgh, then opened Chesty’s.”

  “So do you identify solely as a Southerner, or do the Northern genes poke through?”

  She thinks a moment, twirling her straw in her iced tea. “It occurs to me,” she says slowly. “That you know an awful lot about my family and me. Just a few minutes ago, you said you were an open book, yet I know nothing about you.”

  “What do you want to know?” I pick up my tea, then take a sip.

  “Have you been in prison before?”

  When I suck in air, tea goes right into my lungs. I start coughing, pounding my fist into the center of my chest a few times, all while staring at her in astonishment.

  When I’m finally able to gasp in some air without choking, I ask, “Why would you ask that as your first question?”

  She shrugs. “It’s the whole biker thing you got going on. You’re big, dangerous looking, and you totally dress the part. It’s intimidating.”

  “And yet, you don’t seem intimidated by me at all,” I drawl with a smirk. “But to answer your question… I’ve never been in prison. Never been arrested for that matter.”

  “God, you’re dull,” she says dramatically, and I can’t stop the bark of laughter that erupts from me.

  She grins and asks, “Give me the condensed version, and I’ll ask questions as necessary.”

  I take another sip of the tea, then set the glass down. Rubbing thoughtfully at my beard for a moment, I consider my life and what she’d find interesting about it. “Let’s see. I went into the Marine Corps when I was eighteen. I was an aircraft mechanic and worked on the MV-22s.”

  “The Osprey,” she says with a keen nod of her head.

  My eyebrows shoot up and I’m duly impressed, because when her dad and grandfather served, the Osprey wasn’t in existence.

  She gives a wave of her hand. “Don’t be too impressed. My dad and grandpa watch a lot of military stuff on TV. I’ve picked up a few things here and there.”

  “What’s the third verse of the Marine Corps hymn?” I ask with narrowed eyes.

  Larkin pulls her chin inward, disbelief I’d even challenge her apparent, then belts it out for not only me, but also the surrounding tables to hear.

  “Here’s health to you and to our Corps

  Which we are proud to serve

  In many a strife, we’ve fought for life

  And never lost our nerve.”

  She takes in a breath, opening her mouth to continue, and I hold up both hands with a wave of defeat. “Okay, okay. You’re a Marine brat, through and through. I’d say your upbringing was more than just ‘picking things up here and there’.”

  Larkin laughs and swirls that straw in her tea, which is really damn charming for some reason. “My dad and Pap are clearly proud of their service.”

  “And you’re proud of them,” I say confidently.

  “Yeah,” she says softly. “I am. But you’ve once again managed to turn the conversation away from you to me, and I wonder if it’s intentional.”

  “Not at all,” I assure her. “Fire some questions.”

  “Well… what’s your family situation? I’ve figured out you’re not from around here. Since you first rolled into town weeks ago and are back again without any noticeable timetable, you must not have a traditional job as you’re leading a pretty nomadic life.”

  Smart girl.

  “Short version… I’m from Idaho. My dad and stepmom along with two stepsisters live there still. I’m not overly close with them. I spent nine years in the Marine Corps, got out, and continued doing the same work as a civilian contractor for the same amount of danger but ten times the money. Did that for several years and banked up enough I can just work when I want. While I’m by no means rich or financially independent, I work about six months out of the year. Sometimes, I’ll take contracts to work on aircraft. Other times, I’ll work in something like construction, but, most importantly, I work where I want to. I like seeing the world.”

  “The world?” she asks with wide eyes.

  I nod. “Been a lot of places, Larkin. But for the last few years, I’ve been traveling the United States. Just so happens, I’m in small-town North Carolina having dinner with the prettiest girl I’ve laid eyes on in a long time.”

  “Why aren’t you close to your family in Idaho?”

  I shrug, not to be dismissive of them because they’re legitimately nice people, but because it’s not something I really care to fix. I’m happy being on my own, and they’re happy that way too.

  Larkin’s hazel eyes darken a tad. Her mouth draws downward, appearing saddened I’m not closer to my family. I’m sure that’s hard for her to fathom, since I figured out quite quickly she’s incredibly tight with hers.

  Before I can even attempt to assure her that I’m golden just the way I am, Muriel returns and puts down two heaping plates of food. The restaurant had smelled wonderful when we entered, a blend of savory scents that made my stomach rumble. But the divine fragrance of down-home Southern cooking that hits my nose makes me practically ravenous.

  “Mmm,” Larkin says appreciatively as she leans over and sniffs at her plate. “Looks and smells amazing as always, Muriel.�
�

  “You’re a dear,” Muriel replies as she bats her eyelashes. “Okay, you two. Dig in while it’s hot. I’ll bring a pitcher around to freshen up your teas in a moment.”

  Larkin and I both pick up our forks, our eyes meeting over the table. I take the moment to divert the conversation. “So answer me something,” I say, letting the words hang to make sure she’s okay with me moving away from my life and back onto hers. Like I said, I’m not that interesting.

  “What’s that?” she asks, then cuts a piece of meatloaf with the side of her fork before stabbing at it.

  “Do you cook like this? Or are your talents in baking?”

  “I’m a decent cook,” she says with a half smile, then holds her fork up to study the meatloaf on the end. “But my strength is totally on the bakery side.”

  “Where did you learn that from?” I ask, then scoop up some collards. I’m a bit of a foodie, and there’s hardly anything I don’t like.

  Larkin starts talking about her mom, Catherine Mainer, and how she taught her to make her first blueberry pie when she was ten so she could enter it into a county fair bake-off.

  As I eat, I listen and wonder if I should kiss her tonight after I walk her to her car.

  CHAPTER 5

  Larkin

  Diary Entry

  Friday, December 21st

  Dear Diary,

  Christmas is right around the corner. Like always, I’m incredibly behind on everything. I procrastinated with my gift buying so, unfortunately, I’m getting ready to spend a very painful morning shopping with Laken. While I love my twin, you know she is the absolute worst to shop with. One of those who have to ponder and agonize over every buying decision. I expect I’ll want to stab a dull spoon through my eye before the day is over.

  On a completely different note, Deacon didn’t kiss me last night after dinner. He’s either making a very apparent point he’s nothing like I’d stereotyped, or I’m not enticing at all. Maybe I shoveled meatloaf and mac and cheese into my mouth too fast to be considered sexy? Regardless, he did do something.

  After he walked me to my car, he demanded I call his cell so he could have my number. It implied he wanted to be able to contact me.

  I did as he asked, but I don’t have high expectations.

  Like I said… he’s out of my league. I’m sure I’m probably just a cute distraction for him.

  Still… he’s nice to hang out with and yummy to look at. No telling how long he’ll be in Whynot, and I have no clue because he’s exceptionally good at keeping the conversation directed away from himself.

  Oops… gotta go. Laken’s out in the driveway honking the horn.

  As always, thanks for listening…

  Love,

  Larkin

  CHAPTER 6

  Larkin

  “Why are you so quiet?” Laken demands before we’re even five miles down the road. We’re headed to Raleigh for our holiday shopping.

  “I’m not,” I reply softly as I watch the countryside whip by. Laken is a total lead-foot.

  It’s one of those weird weather days in the South. December could bring anything from warm humidity to snow and ice. Today, it looks frigid outside with gray clouds blotting out the Carolina blue sky and the leaves finally dropped from the trees. But it’s broaching almost seventy-five degrees, so I opted for a pair of lime-colored capris and a flowing blouse of printed flowers. I look like I’m just begging for spring to come early, but winter has hardly even started.

  Laken throws a short punch to my upper arm, hard enough to get my attention but pulled just in time so as not to leave a mark.

  “Ow,” I yell as I rub my arm.

  “Sissy,” she mutters out the side of her mouth. “Now, tell me why you’re so quiet or I’ll punch you again.”

  She would too, because she’s a complete bully when trying to exercise this sacred twin right to share all and know all the details of each other’s lives. Normally, I’m all about that too, but Deacon isn’t something I had thought to share with her. He just seems a little too… unreal, so why even bother?

  So I change the subject by putting the spotlight on her, choosing a topic I know she’ll be happy to dish about.

  “When is Jake coming in for the holidays?” I ask as I shift slightly in my seat to face her.

  Jake is Laken’s soul mate, and he’s perfect in all ways but one.

  He lives in Chicago and runs a multimillion-dollar company based there, while my sister runs her veterinary practice here in Whynot. Granted, they’re in the process of trying to get Jake here mostly full time, but it seems one urgent business matter after another has called him away. It’s been frustrating to Laken.

  “He’ll be in late Sunday evening,” she replies. Although she has her chin lifted and a smile on her face, I can read my twin well.

  “I know it’s tough on you.” Reaching over, I give a playful bump of my fist to her arm. “But things will settle down soon, I’m sure.”

  “You think?” She turns to give me a quick look of hope that I know the secret answer to her woes.

  I give her a confident smile. “What I know is Jake loves you, is crazy about you, and he considers you and Whynot to be his home. He will get things in order, I’m sure of it.”

  Laken’s eyes soften, going dreamy. “The long-distance thing sure sucks, but he more than makes up for it when he returns to me.”

  My initial instinct is to roll my eyes or make a gagging motion by sticking my finger in my throat, because as the last Mancinkus sibling still pathetically single, sometimes I hate hearing this stuff. But for some odd reason, the slight sexy purr in her tone makes me think of Deacon. Not for the first time, I wonder what type of man he’d be in bed.

  I’m betting slightly rough… but not in a stupid way like he’d be unaware of his own strength. I bet it would be intentional and designed to—

  “What in the hell is wrong with you?” Laken snaps, once again hitting me.

  “Ow,” I snarl, immediately striking back at her. I land a menacing but not painful punch into her upper arm.

  “Ow,” she yells, taking her eyes off the road briefly to glare at me.

  “What’s wrong with me?” I ask sarcastically. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she says with a shake of her head and a wag of her finger before putting her hand back on the wheel. “We’re going to talk about you. What’s wrong with you? Normally, if I even hint at discussing my sex life with Jake, you feign disgust. But your expression turned all sappy. So what’s up with you?”

  “I’ve got stuff on my mind,” I mutter as I slouch into my seat and cross my arms over my chest. My stare turns hard and stubborn as I watch the road in front of us.

  “Must be that biker you had dinner with last night,” she replies smugly. I whip my head hard to look at her in amazement, a pain shooting up behind my right ear.

  Rubbing at it, I demand, “How do you know that?”

  Laken gives me a brief look of incredulity I’d even ask such a thing.

  I huff out my frustration. Of course she knows.

  The Whynot Gossip Mill.

  Anything of interest in this town got passed around faster than a hot knife cuts through butter. It could have been passed among several people until it reached Laken, or perhaps someone at Central Cafe called her directly.

  It doesn’t matter who or even how it reached her ears, but it had, and now she wants to talk about this dream man who I refuse to believe is real in any way, so I keep my expectations modestly low.

  “It was nothing,” I mutter as I turn to stare out the passenger window.

  “Oh, it was something.” The smugness in her voice grates at me, so I refuse to say anything.

  “I’m your twin for God’s sake, Larkin.” Now her tone is sweet and empathetic. “This is the stuff twins should talk about. Hot men, fantasies, and dreams. You and I are exactly alike, so I get this attraction you might have to a bad boy.”

  There�
�s no sense in fighting with her because Laken is the one person I can tell my deepest, darkest thoughts to. She’d never judge me or break my trust.

  Straightening up in the passenger seat, I once again shift so I can turn toward her. She gives me a brief glance with an encouraging smile.

  “Okay,” I drawl hesitantly, not sure where to begin.

  “Skip ahead to dinner. I already know he rolled into town a few weeks ago, checked you out while you babbled like an idiot, then showed up at Millie’s just to see you.”

  My jaw drops.

  How did she know all that?

  Then I snap it shut when realization hits me.

  The Gossip Mill.

  Shaking my head, I focus. “Okay… so dinner was nice. He’s got the total danger vibe going on by the way he dresses, he rides a motorcycle, and his voice is all deep and grumbly, but he was a perfect gentleman. And that’s just kind of weird, you know?”

  “Not really.” Laken offers another perspective. “You don’t really actually know any bikers so anything you believe about this guy is probably formed from what you’ve seen on TV.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Sons of Anarchy, most likely,” she adds.

  I ignore her and continue. “At any rate, dinner was nice. He walked me to my car and didn’t even kiss me. He has my phone number, but he hasn’t called.”

  Before Laken can reply, my phone starts ringing in my purse. I’m not one of those people who have a ringtone programmed for everyone. Instead, I rely on the one that came factory programmed. Fishing my purse out, I stare at the screen in disbelief.

  “It’s him,” I gasp, shooting a panicked glance at Laken. I’d been convinced he’d never call, so I didn’t practice how a conversation with him could possibly go.

  Should I ignore it?

  Or answer a little breathlessly, like I was just rushing out the door or something, because I’m a busy woman and I certainly don’t have time to sit around wondering if he’ll call.

  Or maybe—

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, answer the damn call,” Laken says as she flicks her eyes at the phone. She can clearly see his name on the screen.