The Sweetest Thing Read online

  He dropped a hand against her knee and gently stroked it. Harper jumped ever so slightly feeling as if she’d been touched by a hot torch. The heated sensation swept through her muscles and each one quivered for attention. Quentin leaned forward then hesitated, meeting her stare. Her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly as she leaned in to him, allowing her mouth to meet his. The kiss was soft and gentle and brief. Quentin closed his eyes and sighed softly.

  Harper leaned in a second time. This time the kiss was more urgent, the passion rising as she opened her lips ever so slightly, allowing his warm searching tongue to enter and tangle with her tongue. They both tasted sweet, like the sugared dessert they’d just shared, hints of banana and chocolate between them. She moaned and he moaned with her as both his hands gripped the sides of her face.

  Quentin traced his finger across her profile, over her cheeks, her nose, each of her eyelids. Where his fingers led, his mouth followed with a damp trail of kisses. Every bit of her tasted like sugar and he suddenly couldn’t get enough. Harper suddenly gripped his wrists, stalling the path his hands were determined to make over her body.

  “What are we doing?” she whispered, as she breathed heavily.

  “You know what we’re doing,” Quentin whispered back.

  Also by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  All I Want is You

  with Kayla Perrin

  Published by Dafina Books

  The Sweetest Thing

  DEBORAH FLETCHER MELLO

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  Teaser chapter

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  To our little princess,

  JoAnna Alaina Woody.

  I love you very much!

  Acknowledgments

  Gratitude first, and foremost, to my Lord and Savior, for without His many blessings, none of this would be possible. I owe everything to a generous and loving God and I am grateful beyond measure.

  I am blessed to be living my dream. Being able to weave life into my words and spin stories that lift my spirit and touch the souls of others is a dream come true. I have much love and appreciation for all those who have traveled this road with me. To the family who continue to support and love me, please know that I value each and every one of you. And much appreciation to those friends who continue to motivate and support me. I’ve got much love for you all!

  And lastly, a very special thank you to Eliana and the team at ellyB Events, Inc., and our friends at Bridgeman Foods, Inc., for taking the time to answer all my questions.

  1

  Quentin Elliott suddenly grabbed the pastry dough he’d been kneading and flung it across the room, watching as it slammed harshly against the brick wall. On the other side of the space Troy Elliott paused, his own gaze moving from the wet dough sliding toward the polished concrete floor to his baby brother’s face. Tears misted Quentin’s eyes, stealing past his forest-thick lashes to roll down his cheeks.

  “Do you feel better?” Troy asked casually.

  Quentin shrugged his broad shoulders as he swiped at his eyes with his forearm. “Who is she? And why didn’t Pop ever talk about her?”

  Staring at his computer screen and the document he’d been working on, Troy paused momentarily before answering. “You know exactly what I know, Quentin. Maybe she’ll be able to tell us why her father never told us anything about her.”

  “I just want to know why he’d leave her in control of the bakery. Didn’t he trust us?”

  “I don’t think this has anything to do with trust, baby brother. Harper Donovan was his blood.”

  Quentin bristled. “But we were his family,” he said defiantly, meeting his brother’s intense stare. “Where was she when he was sick?”

  Troy sighed deeply. “We may never know, Quentin. We can only hope and pray that everything works out when it’s all said and done.”

  Quentin paused, his own stare moving back to the pastry that had puddled in a thick lump on the floor. “I miss him already,” the man whispered loudly.

  Troy nodded. “I miss Pop, too,” he answered. “Now, clean up your mess and get back to work. Until she gets here we still have a business to run.”

  “He left you a sweatshop?”

  Harper Donovan rolled her eyes skyward, meeting her best friend’s gaze. Jasmine Holt’s dubious expression almost made her laugh out loud. Almost. She shook her head and frowned instead. “A sweet shop!” Harper exclaimed. “Sweet! It’s a pastry, bakery thing.”

  Jasmine’s eyes widened with understanding. “Ohhh! Okay, that makes so much more sense.” She paused for a split second. “So, what are you going to do with a sweet shop? And, one in Memphis, Tennessee, of all places?”

  Harper shrugged her narrow shoulders, feigning indifference. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anything from him.” She stared down at the certified letter that rested in her lap.

  News of her father’s death had come three days earlier, that letter detailing the date and time of his homegoing service. A telephone call from his attorney earlier that afternoon had confirmed her attendance and informed her of her inheritance. Since learning of her father’s passing Harper hadn’t been able to focus on much of anything. And now all she wanted was to ignore it all until it went away.

  “You might not want it but you still have to deal with settling his estate,” Jasmine reasoned, dropping down onto the sofa beside her.

  Harper shook her head as she pulled her manicured fingers through the length of her short pixie haircut. “No, I don’t. I really don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. And right now I’m not interested in dealing with anything Everett Donovan had to do with.”

  The conversation was interrupted by Harper’s maternal grandmother, the matriarch clearing her throat as she moved into the room and took a seat in her favorite chair. She tapped her cane harshly against the hardwood floors.

  “You will not disrespect your father,” the old woman admonished. “The man’s dead and you owe him better than that.”

  “Mama Pearl, I’m not disrespecting him,” Harper countered. “I didn’t know him well enough to disrespect him.”

  “That wasn’t all his fault,” Pearl Townes answered. “Your mama had a lot to do with that.”

  “Maybe, but what was his excuse after my mama died?” Harper questioned.

  The matriarch met her granddaughter’s gaze. “Good question. It’s one you need to ask yourself.”

  “You say that like it was my fault!”

  “Harper, I imagine between your mama and all her evilness, and you just being ugly for no good reason, refusing to meet him halfway every time he reached out, that you two put that poor man through some things.”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “I didn’t put him through anything,” she said defiantly.

  Mama Pearl scoffed. “Okay,” she said, her head bobbing up and down.

  “I didn’t!” Harper insisted.

  “Maybe not,” Mama Pearl countered as she wagged her index finger in Harper’s direc
tion, “but I done told you time and time again that you and your mama both were wrong. When you had the chance to do better you should have. Now it’s too late.”

  “I cannot believe you’re blaming me!”

  The old woman blew a deep sigh, her head waving from side to side. “No one is blaming anyone, Harper. I’m just saying that now is not the time to disrespect your daddy’s memory with your foolishness.”

  Harper threw herself back against the sofa cushions, her lips pushed into a full pout. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Jasmine laughed softly. “So, when do you leave for Tennessee?”

  Harper shrugged her shoulders a second time. “I don’t know. I really don’t want to go but . . .” She hesitated as she cut an eye in her grandmother’s direction.

  Mama Pearl interjected. “She’s leaving tomorrow morning ’cause her daddy’s funeral is on Thursday. And you will not miss your daddy’s funeral,” she said firmly, leaning forward in her seat to meet Harper’s stare.

  “But I don’t want—” Harper started, her voice rising.

  Mama Pearl cut her off midsentence. “You don’t get to say this time, Harper. I’m saying. You will honor your father by going to his funeral. Are we clear?”

  Harper stared back, both women knowing just how much Harper hated the thought of attending any funeral. Something out of turn always happened when her family was sending off a dearly departed. If it wasn’t some relative’s bad behavior, it was a family secret being spilled because some cousin or uncle talked out of turn. Family weddings weren’t much better.

  At the last family gathering it was Harper’s cousin Tuck whose tongue got to flapping around before anyone could stop him. The occasion had been Harper’s mother’s funeral where her aunt Bernice’s third child found out Tyrone Taylor wasn’t his daddy. Tyrone had only fathered Bernice’s first two children, before Bernice had gotten into the bad habit of hopping from bed to bed across the great state of Louisiana. And although everyone knew Ullman James was the little boy’s daddy, no one had ever dared to speak it out loud. No one until Tuck said something while they’d all been standing together in Hyco Zion Baptist Church’s fellowship hall and Bernice’s little boy just happened to be standing by her side. The ensuing drama still had family not talking to one another. Harper didn’t want to begin to think about the secrets that might come out at her father’s funeral.

  “Tch!” The young woman sucked her teeth, her eyes spinning skyward as she threw her torso back against the couch for the second time.

  “Girl, if you roll your eyes at me one more time,” Mama Pearl admonished, shaking her cane in Harper’s direction. “You will never be that grown!”

  Her eyes wide with amusement, Jasmine repeated her question. “So, when will you be leaving?”

  Harper sighed, blowing warm breath past her full lips. She looked over at her friend and tossed up her hands in frustration. “I guess I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

  2

  From the back of the church sanctuary Harper studied the two men who stood together in front of the stainless-steel casket. Emotion seemed to walk a tightrope between them as they both paused to reflect on the history that they had shared with Everett Donovan. Their grief was cutting, the depths of it seeming to move everyone in the sanctuary to tears.

  She hesitated, wanting to change her mind and run, when one of the funeral-home directors gestured for her to step forward for her turn at viewing the body. Harper inhaled deeply, wanting instead to drop down onto a back pew and pretend she wasn’t there.

  As the two men stepped off to the side, Harper instead took another deep breath and moved to stand in their place. Having no expectations, Harper was not prepared to see her reflection on the body that rested in the satin-lined casket. But there was no mistaking the resemblance between her and her father. She was suddenly overcome with emotion, her knees beginning to quiver harshly as her body suddenly swayed from side to side.

  She was grateful for the large hand that suddenly supported her elbow, an arm wrapping warmly around her thin waist. When she lifted her eyes to thank the person who’d come to her aid, saving her from crashing to the floor, she was immediately comforted by the compassion that shimmered in the man’s deep gaze.

  Troy Elliott smiled warmly, his hand gently caressing her lower back. He smiled and introduced himself as he guided her to the front pew to sit down.

  “You must be Everett’s daughter. You look just like him,” the handsome man said warmly.

  She nodded her head. “Harper Donovan and you are . . . ?”

  “Troy, Troy Elliott and this is my brother, Quentin.” He gestured toward the man who sat on her other side.

  She recognized Troy’s name from the letter. With his magnanimous smile he seemed very approachable. Quentin, on the other hand, was tight-lipped, his facial muscles strained, his demeanor unwelcoming. He was staring as he gave her a quick nod of his head. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he whispered loudly just before averting his eyes from hers.

  Harper nodded back as she settled down on the pew between them. The line to view the body was still lengthy and she imagined that it would probably take forever for the service to start, let alone be finished. As she sat waiting she scanned the funeral program.

  Her father’s beaming reflection decorated the cover, his sunrise and sunset dates printed boldly beneath his full name. The inside pages included the order of service, the man’s biography, and select images that someone thought reflected the best of his life. She was suddenly surprised by the notation that Everett Donovan had not only been survived by his only daughter, but that he had also been survived by two sons.

  The statement caught her off guard and her eyes skated from one man to the other as she tried not to let her surprise show. If she knew nothing else about her father, she did know he had never had any other biological children; yet the two men who sat with her were considered his family. Harper was suddenly curious to know more about them.

  She turned back toward Quentin whose face was buried in his own copy of the funeral program. Although she sensed that he was acutely aware of everyone and everything around him he pretended to be oblivious. She couldn’t help but wonder if her being there had something to do with that.

  Once the service started it passed quickly. Harper was in awe of the number of people who had come to pay their last respects to her father, each stopping to shake her hand and offer their condolences. She was also in awe of the two brothers who felt more like Everett’s family than she ever had. Knowing the reasons that had kept her and her father apart for so many years broke her heart and facilitated the tears that everyone else mistook for grief.

  She was grateful when they finally closed the casket for the last time, the congregation parading behind it toward the cemetery. Making a quick escape, Harper disappeared into the ladies’ room to splash cold water on her face and to regain her composure.

  Quentin was standing outside the bathroom door when she made her exit. Leaning against the wall, his stance was tense and it was clear that he wanted to be somewhere other than where he was. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw him and he met her curious gaze. The look he gave her was startling, the depths of it so intense that Harper felt her breath catch somewhere deep in her chest. As she dropped her eyes to the tiled floor, struggling to catch her breath, Quentin made his way to her side. The nearness of him was suddenly disconcerting.

  “We’re having the repast at the bakery,” Quentin said softly. “I didn’t know if you had a car or not, or if you even knew where the bakery is located.”

  She eyed the man warily as he towered above her. Her gaze swept from the top of his curly head down to the tips of his highly polished leather shoes and back. The two brothers were both tall, standing somewhere in the vicinity of six feet plus a few inches. Beneath the dark suits they wore it was clear that neither was lacking muscle, their frames solid. Quentin’s complexion was a light café au lait; a robust coffee with much,
much cream. Troy’s was classic caramel, like the Werther’s candy her grandmother favored. Both had full heads of dark, honey-brown waves, smoldering chestnut-colored eyes, and full, plush lips. There was no denying that he and his brother were both quite attractive.

  Quentin seemed to bristle beneath her stare, annoyance suddenly painting his expression. He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles tightening his stance as he waited for her to respond. She took a deep inhalation of air before answering.

  “I came by taxi. To be honest with you I hadn’t thought about the repast. I was just thinking that I would just go back to my hotel.”

  “Have you ever seen the bakery?”

  She shook her head no.

  Quentin gestured with his head. “My car’s outside. I’ll take you.”

  As he spun on the toes of his leather shoes the deep timbre of his voice was commanding, offering her no way out of the commitment. Harper was taken even further aback by her willingness to comply as readily as she followed on his heels. Something about Quentin Elliott was off-putting and made her uncomfortable. But there was something equally intriguing about him. So although she’d already convinced herself that she liked his brother much more than she would ever like him, she was still interested in knowing him better. She looked around, curious to know where his brother Troy had disappeared to. Quentin seemed to read her mind.

  “Troy rode to the cemetery. I figured I would go help get the food ready for the repast.” He opened the passenger-side door to a Ford transit van. Harper paused to admire the paintwork. The vehicle was painted a delicate shade of celadon green with the bakery’s logo affixed to the side. The name JUST DESSERTS gleaned in chocolate brown, the font simple and elegant. There was something endearing about its presentation and it made her smile, her lips lifting ever so slightly.

  Quentin gestured for her to get into the vehicle. When she was seated comfortably inside, the seat belt secured around her torso, he closed the door and sauntered to the driver’s side.