The Sweetest Thing Read online

  He nodded his head against the mattress. “So, we’ll wait six months,” he said, conviction ringing in his tone. “We’ll get to know each other, date, and see what happens.”

  Harper sank lower beneath the covers, reclining on her back. Both lay staring up at the ceiling, only the tips of their fingers touching. Harper closed her eyes, the silence embracing them. As he lay there, Quentin imagined that he heard a saxophone playing somewhere in the distance and then a few short minutes later both were sound asleep.

  The alarm on Quentin’s wristwatch chimed in his ear startling him out of a comfortable slumber. Opening his eyes he realized he was still in the bed with Harper, the woman sound asleep in his arms. Her body was curled against his, her buttocks pressed tight against his groin. She lay beneath the blankets and he was still lying on top of them.

  Her breathing was easy, each breath slow and deep. He had no memory of how they’d managed to twist themselves into that position. His male organ suddenly twitched for attention as he became aware of her body heat igniting his own.

  He brushed a slow hand across her shoulder and down the length of her arm, passing over the thin line of her waist to rest his fingertips against the fabric that covered the lush curve of her hip. He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to the back of her neck. Her perfume teased his nostrils and made him smile. In his arms she was his angel. His muscles twitched and he suddenly realized that six months was definitely going to be five months way too long.

  He took a deep breath, kissed her neck one last time, eased his body from hers, and slid off the bed. He reached for a second blanket at the foot of the bed and dropped it gently against her lean frame, wanting to insure she was protected from the chill in the room. Turning to take one last look he headed down to the bakery to start his day.

  As the room door closed behind Quentin, Harper pulled her legs to her chest, curling into fetal position as she pulled at the pillow beneath her head. She pressed her fingers against the back of her neck, tapping at the spot where his lips had just lingered. Smiling, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

  For three weeks straight Harper worked the bakery, learning the front end of the business. She waited tables, swept floors, served customers, and rang the cash register. When she wasn’t in the bakery she was going through her father’s books and papers, sorting through those things they could donate and those things that would pass down their family line.

  Taking things slow took on new meaning as she and Quentin got to know each other better. They debated politics, Barack versus Hillary; authors, Mosley versus King; music, Mariah versus Whitney; and food, sushi versus burritos. They also played a dangerous game of touching with their eyes. More times than not they were undressing each other as they sat across the table, from opposite sides of a room, fighting to keep their hands to themselves.

  Harper couldn’t help but wonder about the bulge of manhood that materialized every time they were in touching distance of each other, Quentin forever seeming to struggle to conceal the rise of nature between his legs. Nor could she stop the moisture that puddled between her creases or her nipples hardening whenever she fantasized about his lying between her legs, bringing her to ecstasy. Every thought Harper had about Quentin, or him about her, had them both yearning for more of each other, six months feeling like an eternity.

  Quentin discovered quickly Harper’s obsession for new shoes, her fear of spiders, and her fascination with all things country. Reality TV could easily distract her from getting anything accomplished, and to his ears, she had the most engaging laugh. Harper laughed on a regular basis and every time she did, it made him smile.

  She was quick to learn their customers’ names, coffee preferences, and favorite morning treats. In no time at all familiar faces were searching her out to share stories of their lives or seek advice on everything from relationship tips to mixing and matching fabric prints. Harper had made herself quite comfortable on Beale Street and Beale Street had welcomed her with open arms.

  “So are you ever coming home?” Jasmine asked, leaning into her camera as she rested her head against her hands.

  “Of course I’m coming home. It’s just taking me longer to get through all of my father’s stuff,” Harper replied.

  “You sure that’s the only thing keeping you there?”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “Cut me some slack, Jasmine.”

  Behind her, Quentin moved through the room, reaching for a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. He paused over her shoulder and waved at the computer screen. “Hey, Jazz!”

  Jasmine sat straight and grinned. “Hey, Quentin!”

  “You doing good, girl?”

  Jasmine nodded. “I’m just missing my friend!” she answered.

  Quentin dropped a hand against Harper’s shoulder and leaned to kiss the top of her head. He tilted his face next to hers as they both stared at the screen. “Your friend misses you, too, Jazz,” he said softly. “So go easy on her for me.”

  Jasmine’s grin widened as Quentin waved good-bye, moving back out of the room. Harper tossed a quick look over her shoulder, pausing until she heard the door close and his footsteps headed down below. She shook her head into the camera as Jasmine crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Damn, that man is foine!” Jasmine exclaimed.

  Harper laughed. “Get your eyes off my man, please!”

  “See, I knew there was something else keeping you there. I’m going to tell your grandmother.”

  “You better not.”

  Her friend blew a deep sigh. “Harper, I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “That’s the point, Jasmine. I’m not doing anything but taking things slow and getting to know the man.”

  Jasmine was still shaking her head.

  “Change the subject,” Harper said. “How did the Moran-Bailey wedding go? The pictures look great and you got them up on the website fast!”

  “Really well! The new girl is good and clients seem to really like her.”

  “That’s great. That takes some pressure off of me.”

  Jasmine glanced at her computer’s clock. “Harper, I have to run. We have a new client who I’m taking to Vista Gardens for a site visit. It’s an evening wedding with seventy-five guests.”

  “Ceremony or reception?”

  “Both.”

  “That dock would be spectacular for the ceremony, especially if you could do a floral arch coming up from the water at the end of the pier.”

  “That’s what I was thinking too and the bride wants those floating lanterns to release over the lake.”

  “That could be very pretty but we have to keep it tasteful.”

  “Don’t I know it! Who there should I run things by?”

  “Definitely not Miss Edna, she vetoes everything. If you can, work with Mr. Price. If something can’t be done he’s more willing to give you some options.”

  “Good to know. I have some other ideas I want to run by you so I’ll shoot you an e-mail and we can talk later.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Jasmine! Love you!”

  “Love you more!”

  Staring at the blank computer screen Harper felt a pang of homesickness wash over her spirit. She was missing her grandmother, her home, her friends, and her business. Staying in Memphis hadn’t been a remote consideration when her grandmother had ordered her to attend her father’s funeral. Now, weeks later, here she was considering what Memphis might actually have to offer her.

  Quentin was completely devoted to the business. He loved food and his excitement for the new recipes he often created was infectious. Harper liked how easily he balanced his responsibilities to the bakery with all the other things he loved. He really was quite the saxophone player and had been spending more time sharing that with people. Customers were now coming on the weekends to hear him play as he showcased his talents with a tight-knit group of musician friends who enjoyed playing with him. He was also quite the bibliophile with a passion for t
he classics, the writings of Homer, Shakespeare, and Tolstoy in his collection. Troy had joked about Quentin’s having read Brontë’s Jane Eyre some twenty times but he hadn’t been far from the truth.

  As she sat in reflection Quentin called her name. He stood at the bottom of the steps and he smiled when she peered out the door, looking down at him.

  “Hey, Rachel’s on the phone for you.”

  “For me?”

  He nodded. “Line two. You can pick up the extension up there in the kitchen,” he said.

  Moving back into the center of the home Harper answered the line. “Hello?”

  “Harper, hi! It’s Rachel Harris.”

  “Hey, Rachel. What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you had some time this afternoon to meet someone who’s interested in the bakery?”

  “A buyer?”

  “Quite possibly. He’s a longtime Memphis resident and owns a large food services company. He’s just presented me with a very generous offer that I think you should seriously consider.”

  I’m sure you do, Harper thought to herself. Out loud she questioned what time Rachel was considering.

  “He and I can drop by in the next hour if that’s okay with you?”

  Harper nodded into the receiver. “That’s fine, as long as he understands I haven’t made a decision yet about whether or not I want to sell. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression.”

  Harper heard the pause in the other woman’s voice and she could just imagine the expression on Rachel’s face.

  “This will just be a quick meet and greet for you to simply consider your options,” Rachel finally said.

  “I’ll see you in an hour!”

  10

  Harper was seated at the corner table when Rachel entered the bakery. She entered by her lonesome and waved her hand eagerly in Harper’s direction. “Hi.” Harper took a quick glance over Rachel’s shoulder. “Where’s . . . ?”

  “He’s following in his own car. I actually wanted you to review the prospectus before he got here,” she said as she passed a spiraled document into Harper’s hands.

  Taking a quick glance at the purchase offer Harper’s eyes widened at the multimillion-dollar bid that was being presented. “Is this for real?” she questioned, tossing Rachel a quick glance.

  Rachel nodded. “It most certainly is which is why I thought you needed to see it. Is Quentin here?” she asked, changing the subject.

  Harper pointed toward the kitchen. “He’s in the back,” she said. “And Troy is in the office.”

  Rachel dropped her handbag and briefcase onto the seat beside Harper. She took a quick glance over her shoulder before turning and giving Harper a concerned stare. “Look, Harper, we don’t know each other very well, but as the family attorney I wanted to give you a little advice.”

  Rachel dropped into the seat opposite Harper, her hands folded in front of her on the table as her voice dropped two octaves. “I know you think holding on to this place is important to Quentin and Troy, but it’s not. Not really. This was Mr. Everett’s dream. Because they loved him so much, they did this for him. This might be the only opportunity those two will ever have to pursue their own passions and do what it is they really want to be doing.

  “So really think hard about this. You could take that money and fund whatever dreams you all have and still not make a dent in the principal. Don’t hold them hostage because you want to soothe your own soul for not having a relationship with your father. They don’t deserve to be put in the middle of that. With this deal you can spend the rest of your life on some shrink’s couch to feel better about yourself. It’s bad enough Mr. Everett tied them to this place while he was still living. None of you should have to suffer with it now that he’s dead.”

  She pulled her hands through the length of her red hair and took a deep breath. Moving back to her feet she ran her palms down the line of her skirt. “I’m going to go say hello to everyone,” she said as she moved toward the counter, heading for the kitchen. “Just think about what I said.”

  Harper stared, her gaze following until the woman disappeared out of sight. She was stunned, Rachel’s terse comments spinning through her head. She was suddenly frustrated and confused, not sure what she needed to do and wondering if Rachel might really know what Troy and Quentin wanted better than she did. They did have history together and she had only been in their lives for a month. Maybe, Harper thought to herself, maybe she didn’t know the two men well at all.

  She blew a deep sigh, took a few deep breaths, and turned her attention back to the document in her hand, studying it carefully. So intent, she only took a quick glance up when a family of four came through the door in search of cupcakes.

  Minutes later the two kids were excited with their peanut butter cake, grape jelly–filled, cream cheese–frosted treats. As both parents sat in conversation over steaming cups of coffee the two little girls danced on the stage pretending to be country-western singers. The oldest girl, who appeared to be no more than six years old, stood between the burgundy curtains and sang a very sweet rendition of a Carrie Underwood song. Harper was impressed with her performance and even found her younger sibling’s mumbled efforts endearing. Their youthful exuberance was a nice diversion from the task at hand and made Harper smile.

  The handsome man caught her eye as he came through the door. He was one tall drink of dark chocolate and Harper wasn’t the only woman in the room to stop and take notice. Both women behind the counter came to a complete halt. Kitty stood stunned, her mouth open in awe and Linda was grinning brightly as she stepped forward hoping to be of some assistance. Even the woman at the table with her husband paused, no longer focused on the conversation her spouse was having.

  The handsome stranger was tall, but not as tall as Quentin, Harper mused as she found herself comparing the two men. His skin was Hershey’s chocolate dark and smooth like black ice. His eyes were ebony; deep dark orbs of black coal. Harper suddenly thought if Idris and Denzel could have a baby together it would look like that man.

  He sported a black silk suit, a black silk collarless shirt, leather dress shoes and a black leather coat. His attire was expensive and fit him to a T. As he moved into the room he pulled at the black leather gloves that covered his hands. He took a quick glance around the room, his gaze settling on Harper. He gestured with a nod of his head as he slowly sauntered in her direction. The man’s smile was a brilliant display of pearl-white teeth; so perfect that Harper assumed they were veneers. No matter what they were, though, they were pretty. As he approached the table she lifted her eyes to his and returned the smile.

  “Good afternoon! Are you Harper Donovan by chance?” His voice was a deep, rich baritone, reminiscent of a young Barry White from back in the day. Harper could thank her beloved grandmother for even knowing who Barry White was.

  She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Donovan. My name is Dwayne Porter. I’m the owner of Home Grown Foods.” He gestured toward the document in her hand. “Rachel Harris asked me to stop by to introduce myself.”

  He extended his hand to shake hers and like magic her fingers disappeared beneath the large appendage. Her eyes rose from his hand to his eyes. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Mr. Porter. Please, have a seat,” she said as she pointed to the seat across the table. “Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?” she asked. “It’s the best in town!”

  His smile widened and Harper found herself staring at the curve of his lips. The man had great lips.

  “That would be wonderful. Do you think I could also trouble you for one of your fruit pastries? They look wonderful!” He pointed toward the display in the glass case.

  “Oh, most definitely,” Harper said, nodding as she stood up. As she moved from the table to the counter she could feel his eyes on her, his stare skating over the lines of her body. She was suddenly self-conscious about the side-to-side sway of her hips, knowing that he was watching her so earne
stly.

  By the time Harper made it to the back of the counter Kitty had already poured the man’s coffee and Linda was dressing a dessert plate with a warmed peach-and-blueberry tart. Both looked at her with wide eyes and even wider smiles. Harper shook her head at them both as she took the tray being passed to her. She pulled a smile back onto her own face as she moved back to where the man was sitting, one leg crossed easily over the other.

  She set the pastry and coffee down onto the table in front of him. The man smiled, the seductive tilt of it off-putting. Harper felt a wave of heat rush down her spine and it unnerved her. She dropped back into her own seat.

  “So what do you think about my offer?” Dwayne Porter questioned, taking the first bite out of his tart.

  “It’s intriguing. Obviously, I need to read through the fine print.”

  The man nodded and took another bite of his dessert. Harper watched as he slowly chewed. The easy twist of his mouth and full lips was sensuous and then he licked his tongue past his lips, swiping it from one side of his mouth to the other. Harper’s eyes widened.

  He smiled again, tossing her a quick wink of his eye. “This was good,” he said, his eyes dropping down to the crumbs on his plate. “Very good.”

  “We have the best bakers in town.”

  “Is Quentin Elliott still in charge of your kitchen?”

  “Do you know Quentin?”

  Dwayne Porter smiled as he leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands easily in his lap. “I know he has an outstanding reputation in the industry.”

  Harper nodded. “Rachel says you’re from Memphis?”

  “Born and raised. You’re new to the area, is that right?”

  “It’s my first time in the state of Tennessee.”

  “We have a lot to offer. I hope you have an opportunity to do some exploring while you’re here. If you’re ever in need of a tour guide I’d love to volunteer,” he said, locking his gaze with hers. His stare was deep and intoxicating.