Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  Also by K.M. Jackson

  The Sugar Lake Series

  As Good as the First Time

  The Unconventional Brides Series

  Insert Groom Here

  To Me I Wed

  The Betting Vow

  Holiday Temptation

  (with Donna Hill and Farrah Rochon)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Too Sweet to Be Good

  K.M. JACKSON

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 - One Sweet Day

  Chapter 2 - Working Girl

  Chapter 3 - Who’s That Girl?

  Chapter 4 - Persuasion

  Chapter 5 - Serendipity

  Chapter 6 - Breakfast at Goode’N Sweet

  Chapter 7 - The Way We Were

  Chapter 8 - Beauty and the Suit

  Chapter 9 - Somewhere in Time

  Chapter 10 - Waitress

  Chapter 11 - Hope Floats

  Chapter 12 - When Suit Met Boots

  Chapter 13 - Hush, Hush, Sweet Boots

  Chapter 14 - Love and Basketball

  Chapter 15 - I Want My Old Suit Back!

  Chapter 16 - As You Wish

  Chapter 17 - Something He Can Feel

  Chapter 18 - Big Spender Indeed

  Chapter 19 - Sweet, Sweet Charity

  Chapter 20 - Speed

  Chapter 21 - Blush Meet Bashful

  Epilogue - Sweet Home, Sugar Lake

  Recipes

  Teaser chapter

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Kwana Jackson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1711-5

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: August 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1712-2 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-1712-0 (ebook)

  To Will

  Sitting in the dark with you

  still gives me a thrill

  Acknowledgments

  When it’s time to write the acknowledgments, it feels like the hardest part of writing the book because I always fear I’m leaving out some critical person and, in the process, muddling the book before chapter 1. That said, I’ll start with a heartfelt and sincere thank you to each and every person who has given me any word, smile, wink, nod, or nudge my way during this process. Each of you has been so very dear to me and I can’t begin to explain how much I cherish every bit of encouragement. Writing is so solitary, and at times as a writer you get stuck in your own head, with only your own voice. When that voice turns on you and whispers to you words of self-doubt and fear, those words, winks, nods of “you got this” and “ you can do it,” no matter how small, can mean the world and make the difference between going forward and giving up.

  I’d like to also and as always thank my editor, Selena James, and the wonderful team at Kensington Books for believing in me and supporting me once again to bring something new to the public with the fictional Sugar Lake world. Thank you.

  I’d like to thank my ever patient, kind, and amazing agent, Evan Marshall, for his grace and for being in my corner.

  A huge, special thank you to my friend Farrah Rochon for bringing me all the way home with this one and never giving up on me with her tireless encouragement and daily words. You are such a blessing to my life.

  Another huge thank you to Sasha Devlin. I never knew what a gift I’d get when we became buds on Royal Wedding night, but I’m so grateful for it. Let the fandom always bind us and never break us apart, my friend!

  Thank you to the Destin Divas: you ladies are so very amazing and inspire me beyond words. And thank you to the wonderful women of Fiction from the Heart. I’m honored to be a part of your group.

  My undying gratitude and thanks also for the grace, kindness, and friendship of: Falguni, Priscilla, Kristan, Sonali, Barbara, Rochelle, Hope, Sally, Donna, Jamie, and Karen, you all are amazing!

  As always, this and everything I do is with the love in my heart of my family, especially my dear twins, Kayla and William. You two inspire me every day.

  My husband, Will. You are such a blessing and still the hero I’ll probably never be able to capture in words.

  Thank you, dear readers, new and those returning (Wow! Did some of you come back? *blowing you all the kisses*): The thought of you spending time with me and my words is truly humbling and I’m so very honored.

  Finally, and firstly, thank you, God, for all these blessings. I hope I’m doing you well.

  Always,

  KMJ

  Chapter 1

  One Sweet Day

  Alexandrea Gale stifled back a yawn as she carried her sister’s latest concoction from the kitchen to the bakery’s front display counter. This one was something Olivia was calling “Oh Honey Yes You May Pie,” and though Drea’s yawn was held back, her eye roll could not be contained.

  The pie was an almost sinfully sweet, triple layer makeup of peaches, plums, and apples with thin layers of puff pastry in between, topped with pecans and drizzled with honey. It was a sticky, gooey, all-out-decadent taste sensation, and Drea was certain there were enough calories in the pie to expand a person’s hips with just a hard enough look. As a matter of fact, maybe she shouldn’t be looking at the darned thing straight on. She should probably just squint and take it in sideways.

  Drea had been living in Sugar Lake going on nearly a year now, which was way past her limit. The lifestyle change of not racing through New York sidewalks at breakneck speed while trying to make a downtown train or crosstown bus to her next audition or part-time job was wreaking havoc on her what used to be audition-ready hips. Instead she was driving to and fro while living off both her Aunt Joyce’s and her sister’s cooking.

  Drea gave the pie a hard look and frowned. Who was she fooling? Like squinting mattered when it came to Liv’s baking. You could squint, but you couldn’t hide. The pie would always find you. If not by sight, then definitely by smell, using that enticement as a sensory precursor of what was to come. She took a long whiff of the air surrounding the pie. Sweet, and somehow smooth. Drea could practically taste how delicious it was without even taking a bite of the luxurious treat.

  Thankfully, she knew she’d get a reprieve from this particular new concoction. With the way Liv baked, the folks in town would not give a hoot about the calories and the pie would be snapped up in no time. For one: This was the South and Drea had quickly come to learn that though there may be the few who ordered a diet soda with their chicken fried steak, this was the land of the sweet tea, and butter here was measured in sticks, not pats. And for two: Her sister’s pies were out of this world. The tastes were spectacular. Olivia, or Liv as she called her, was quickly gaining a reput
ation as one of the top bakers in the county, and her pies were seriously starting to rival those of Aunt Joyce, who was a local legend in her own right. It seemed since Liv had won last year’s big Founder’s Day competition—well, no, since she’d come back and finally, once and for all, faced facts and solidified her relationship with single dad, hot firefighter, honey-maker, and all-around Mr. Perfect, Clayton Morris—everything she baked had turned to edible gold. Goode ’N Sweet, the family’s bakeshop, could not seem to keep any of her new confections in stock. They sold out almost as fast as she could bake them.

  Drea’s lips twisted as something in her heart twitched uncomfortably. She fought to inch away from the feeling as recollections of New York, big dreams, broken promises, and lost hope threatened to take over her thoughts. She forcibly pushed them back. It was all good. Great even, she mentally told herself, and put her mind back on her sister. Since she’d rekindled her love with Clayton Morris, Liv’s creations were packed with an undeniably more passionate punch. It was as if she’d found her calling, in more ways than one.

  Ugh. Now, with phone calls and passion on her mind, Drea wished her own phone would get to ringing. She shut her eyes again and let out a sigh. Why would her phone ring though? It wasn’t as if she’d had a job audition or a date in forever. And Drea knew any potential leads she’d gained over the years, were now long forgotten. She snorted to herself. As if those with influence were ever actively pursuing her.

  What was she sighing for though? Her sister worked hard, was talented, and deserved every bit of happiness coming her way. And Lord knew Drea didn’t actually need or want anything that looked like any part of a man, influential or not, or the befuddlement that a man would undoubtedly bring to her life. But the passion and finding your calling part? Now that she could get behind.

  Sure, thankfully—well, technically—Drea was still happy with her decision to stay on in Sugar Lake, even though Aunt Joyce had long since healed from her hip surgery and the shop was well back to running at full steam. But it was coming up on a year since she’d left New York, and a year was a mighty long time in the life of a twenty-something who had dreams of making it as an actor/entertainer. Her career clock felt like an hourglass that was quickly running out of sand. Maybe, at not even thirty and still a few years from it, she shouldn’t be feeling this way, but in the entertainment world, twenty-seven and no significant cred on your sheet usually meant you were toast.

  Now that she’d made room for the newest masterpiece, Drea stepped around to the front of the pie case to survey how the rest of the baked goods looked. Returning behind the counter again, she made a few small adjustments, just to be sure that everything was lined up and there were no empty spaces. Though it gave her a sense of satisfaction to make sure all was in its place in the shop and she did take pride in how updated the old place looked, it all felt like busywork since the early morning rush was over and they were in a bit of a lull.

  Drea tapped her moto-boot-clad toes and looked around. Really, what else was there for her to do in the shop at this hour? Her sister was happy as a clam, busy baking in the back, and her cousin Rena had run Aunt Joyce for a quick follow-up at her doc’s office, though she seemed once again as fit as could be.

  Liv heard a surprising and uncustomary humming come from the kitchen as she caught the tune of a popular upbeat love song. She smiled. Well, at least Liv was enjoying what she was doing. She was pretty much Aunt Joyce’s right hand in the kitchen. And though Aunt Joyce contended that Drea was quite the help to her—having updated the interior of the shop and a little of the exterior with the new back patio area—Drea knew there was only so much updating one could do with Goode ’N Sweet. Between her and Rena helping out, along with Liv in the kitchen with Aunt Joyce, things were pretty much getting on track with the shop. Though no one out-and-out said anything, Drea couldn’t help at times but feel useless. Like a glorified space and time filler.

  When she’d first arrived at Sugar Lake, she’d been running from dreams that didn’t quite pan out. And for a while, being here was good enough. A safe enough hiding space while she regrouped and thought of how she’d piece together some sort of career once back in New York. But the mask she’d been wearing as the easygoing, flighty sister without a care was starting to wear thin. She’d done her part with helping out Aunt Joyce. It was clearly time for her to pack up and head back to New York and real life. Drea frowned, then shook her head.

  New York and real life. That statement should have filled her with excitement, but instead it gave her a sense of despair.

  * * *

  Betty Kilborn was mad. No, she was angry. She didn’t particularly like the word mad. It was too coarse a word, so she much preferred the word angry. It hit the ear in a much more genteel way; that is, in a manner she felt better suited her position and advanced age. Not to mention her newly widowed status. She let out a sigh.

  Who was she fooling? If she was being honest—and she prided herself on being so, at least when it came to squaring things in her own mind—she was more than angry, mad, or any such word. No, she was seething. Better yet, she was furious, enraged, incensed even. And the worst part was that she didn’t have a way to properly ease her current state of duress.

  So, Betty slammed the door of her pristine 1979 Thunderbird convertible. With something pricking in the back of her mind, she gave a glance at the back tire and made a mental note to run by Ed’s place when she had the time. The thought of the tire brought Henry to mind again, which only made her angrier. Betty knew in the moment she was being immature. This was not how a widow of her status was supposed to act. But still that slam, her little fit of immaturity, was rewarded by the momentary release of frustration when she heard the loud wham of the metal on metal, and it satisfied her. Somewhat.

  “Ease it back a notch, Betty. The world can’t handle you when you fully unleash.”

  Betty smiled to herself as the sound of her beloved Henry’s voice came soft and soothing to her mind. He always knew how to calm her. Bring her back down from a rolling boil to a low simmer, where she could see clearly again. Betty quickly blinked. Forcing threatening tears back behind her eyes. She didn’t know what she’d do without his ever-calming presence by her side. She gave her head a small shake, gray curls catching the slight breeze as she let out another sigh. Nope. Temper tantrums and tears in the middle of Sugar Lake’s Main Street would definitely not do. That she did know.

  Feeling slightly more herself, Betty let out a calming breath as she adjusted her flamingo-pink cardigan and tucked her old Chanel bag under her arm. She took care to wriggle her mouth in an attempt to smooth her normally smooth features. Sure, wrinkles were inevitable at her age, but she would not let her current state, not to mention that stubborn grandson of hers, bring them on any faster than necessary.

  With a quick glance up and down Main Street, Betty could see that though the hour was still relatively early, the town was already abuzz with activity. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lottie Douglas and Liz Holiday coming out of Cartland’s Cart-Away grocery. Once again, Betty fought to keep her expression neutral as the two women caught sight of her, then gave each other knowing glances before making their way in her direction.

  Betty stifled an audible groan. Of course, she should have expected this; this is what she signed on for when she made the decision to come into town today. But seeing the two women now as they prepared to pounce, Betty was starting to feel like this morning’s outing wasn’t the best idea. Maybe the solitude of home wasn’t all that bad if coming into town meant that she once again had to deal with the usual, “How are you making out without him?” and “Isn’t it so lonely up in that big old house all by yourself?” questions.

  Well, Betty figured she’d better get her answers together and fast with Lottie and Liz making quick tracks her way. Betty’s eyes went wide as she watched the two women, their little feet shuffling at an almost cartoonlike pace. It would be comical if she wasn’t their intended targe
t. Despite their advanced ages, the two women were coming upon her at a breakneck speed, so Betty knew she couldn’t very well turn and get back into her car to make a quick escape.

  Of all the pickles! Squaring her shoulders, she decided to encounter them head on and took a step forward onto the sidewalk right in front of their path.

  “Lottie, Liz,” she said with a smile she knew was probably about as weak as communion wine, “you both are looking well on this beautiful morning. Getting your shopping in early, I see. Smart, before the sun really makes things unbearable. Any time after ten and it’s just about too much to take.”

  Both women gave her kindly smiles, the oldest of the two (though when you were seventy-eight and eighty, respectively, did that hierarchy really matter? This was the South and these were Southern women. Of course, it mattered.), Lottie reached a hand out and gave Betty’s a light pat. “Look at you, dear,” she said. “Out and about, looking just as fine as you may be. And Henry not being gone, but what, a month of Sundays now? I’m sure he’d be tickled seeing you as pretty as a picture in your pink today.” Lottie’s light tone made this seem as though it was a compliment. But the slight sting Betty felt as the words zapped her squarely in the heart let her know it was not.

  Lottie looked around as if she expected someone else to pop up from behind Betty’s back. Betty turned around, then looked back at Lottie.

  “But are you out to do grocery shopping alone?” Lottie asked. “Why didn’t you just call up Bob and have what you needed delivered? If you didn’t want to do that you could have rang up either of us or any of the women of the auxiliary circle. We’d have made sure your shopping was done. This is what we’re here for. To pitch in during times like this. I know it’s hard not having anyone to rely on with your family being what it is. . . .” She dramatically paused and in that pause Betty prayed for the strength not to go off completely on the woman, or at least for the spiritual hand of her dear Henry to come on down and hold her back.