Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, this is wonderful! I’m so happy to see you two finally meeting. And don’t you both look lovely up there on the stage? Just like something out of an old Hollywood movie.”

  Both he and Boots turned at the same time, Drea dropping her hand and Kellen bringing his up to shield his eyes. They watched as his grandmother walked down the center aisle, her smile wide and her eyes twinkling. “Just perfect, Kellen. You’ve finally met Alexandrea. And now that the three of us are all together, I’m sure we can come to some consensus on how to restore this theater and bring it to something even better and stronger than its former glory.”

  Kellen gasped. He didn’t know it was out loud, but the woman next to him turned and clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle back the snort of laughter emitting from it. His grandma, on the other hand, did nothing to hold back and she just guffawed out loud. “And they say I’m the dramatic one in the family,” his grandmother said. “Boy, you really can go on when you want to.”

  She was talking, but Kellen was already on his way down the theater steps toward her. “Alexandrea? Drea? Not Alex but Alexandrea?”

  “Boots, too, if you want to get technical about it,” the now not-mystery woman said from way too close to his back.

  Kellen turned quickly, and she almost banged right into his chest. He put his hands up. “I do not. Getting technical could have happened this morning, or”—he turned to his grandmother—“last night or last week!”

  What was he supposed to do now? How could he not only destroy his grandmother’s dreams and plans—that was bad enough—but then on top of it he was kicking out Miss Joyce’s niece and taking a job from her too? Might as well, when he packed his grandmother up to move to Atlanta, make the decision to never come back to Sugar Lake again. Going against the Goodes was sure to make him and his family hated, to say the very least. Kellen let out a sigh.

  Once again his grandmother chuckled. “First a gasp and now a sigh? What? Have you been taking some sort of improv class and not telling me about it? This is getting to be a bit much even for me, Kellen.”

  She was right; it was much more than a bit much. Boots was Drea who was Miss Goode’s niece who was the Alex that was helping to stop the deal he needed to take Kilborn Properties to the next level, and she happened to be—Kellen side-glanced her way and was rewarded by a way-too-smug side glance back—annoying, prickly, and attractive to him as all get out in a way he couldn’t quite get his head around.

  “Why don’t we step out into the concession area, have a seat and we can talk this out? Like we planned.” He let out a breath and looked toward this Alex, Boots, Drea, whoever she was. “Miss Goode,” he started, but she cut him off.

  “Please call me Drea. I’ll call you Kellen and we can pass on the Boots and Suit. Is it a deal?”

  His grandmother coughed. “Pardon.”

  “Don’t ask, Grandmother. Please.”

  His grandmother raised a quick hand though she had a smile on her lips. “Fine by me, Kellen, but Boots and Suit sounds awfully cute. And sure, we can go out to the concession and talk. As I said earlier, there really isn’t much to discuss; my ideas and my plan still stand firm. I will see this through and you being here to meet Alex is nothing more than a formality. She and I will work lovely together. We’re on the same page. Now, if you have any renovation suggestions, I will welcome your input. You are my grandson.”

  “Thanks for remembering,” he said in a low voice.

  But his grandmother barely gave credence to that. “Any more than your helpful suggestions will not be tolerated. Any plans to thwart what I’m doing won’t be taken lightly.”

  Kellen didn’t miss the seriousness in his grandmother’s tone with her last comment. He wanted to practically grind his own teeth to bits, but looking at his grandmother and the take-no-backtalk expression she had on, all he could do was give a tight nod counter to Boots’ wide grin of satisfaction. But then his grandmother wiped the smile off her face and stuck it to Kellen even more.

  “The more that I think about it, the more I’d like you helping out with the project, Kellen.”

  “Huh?” Both he and Drea said in unison.

  His grandmother chuckled. “See, you two are on the same page already.” She waved a hand and went on to explain. “I’m not saying a huge commitment, Kellen. I know how busy you are, but surely during this important time you can make yourself a bit more available for me. You seem to have very distinct feelings about the theater, budgeting, and well, everything. So why don’t you make yourself a bit more involved? You and Alexandrea here can both work with me. It can be Grand, Boots, and Suit! The three amigos!”

  He and Drea both looked at her and then at the theater doors. At that moment, Kellen had a feeling Drea was thinking the same thought as he was. Run!

  Chapter 6

  Breakfast at Goode’N Sweet

  It was 6:50 a.m. and once again Kellen found himself outside Goode’N Sweet.

  This time he was pacing.

  Back and forth he traveled. Five steps forward, five steps the other way in front of the shop as he waited for her to open. It to open! The shop to open! Not her. He wasn’t waiting for her. “Definitely not,” he mumbled to himself by way of assurance. Boots, he meant Drea, or was it Alexandrea, not Alex? Whatever her name was, he was not there, once again before the shop’s opening, in order to see her.

  Kellen stopped pacing midstep and let out a long, slow breath. Who was he fooling with that lie? In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was there, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t to get another look at the unpredictable Ms. Boots Gale. This is what being blindsided and a night with only two hours of sleep, at best, followed by a night with less than that, would do to a man. He had no reason to be in front of the bakeshop with way more pent-up energy than he knew what to do with.

  Kellen flipped his wrist and looked at his watch. 6:55. The heart rate monitor on his watch started to pulse brightly, then flip to the numbers display. What? He was in the official cool down zone of an aerobic workout. It chimed and gave a condescending, in as much as an inanimate object could be, thumbs-up signal, which caused Kellen to grimace. Had he really been pacing that hard? Serves him right for showing up here like this, probably looking a right fool.

  Well, at least she’d have nothing to say about today’s outfit. Kellen looked down at what he was wearing. He was sans sports jacket—he purposely left that at home, not wanting to hear any of Miss Smartie Boots’ wise comments—and was in a casual, button-down cotton shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. But thanks to his power pacing, he was wrinkled and bordering on sweaty. The morning heat came on fast.

  “This won’t do,” Kellen mumbled out loud before thinking to himself, How would he look giving her the piece of his mind—which he wasn’t able to do yesterday with his grandmother on the back of his neck—looking like something the cat dragged in? He shook his head and turned to go back to his car when the door behind him opened with a familiar light musical chime.

  “You going to just walk off after pacing for the last ten minutes? What, are you getting cold feet or something?”

  Kellen spun around at the sound of her voice. He looked down at his watch—6:57—then back up at her. “Not ten minutes. You opened three minutes early, Boots.” Kellen winced as the words he was thinking came flying out of his mouth. “Wait, um, sorry. I meant to say Drea, and I wasn’t going anywhere. I was just uh, checking my car,” he said.

  She gave him a raised brow. “And there it still is.”

  Kellen fought against the heat he felt licking up the back of his neck. Starting out smooth as silk, Kilborn, he thought to himself as he waved his hand exaggeratedly and pressed the button on his key fob. The locking and relocking of his car doors was loud and obnoxious in the early morning quiet. Kellen cleared his throat in embarrassment. Great. Now he just seemed like a rich guy showing off his expensive model car. Beep freaking beep. He looked back at Drea. “We
ll, good for you opening early.”

  She smirked at him, and he realized there was no fighting the embarrassing heat as she gave him a slow up and down. “Too late, Suit. You realize you’re not making it any better the more you ramble on. You threw the name out first this morning and now the die is cast. I guess the names are sticking. With that little slip of the tongue it seems you’re setting a precedent. Boots and Suit.” She pretended to mull it over in her head and smiled.

  Kellen tried his best to look annoyed while his heart felt anything but.

  She continued. “Besides, I think your grandmother said something about it sounding cute. Since she’s embracing it, why shouldn’t we?”

  He frowned. She was pretty free and easy with her use of words like we. Kellen decided to give her no comment either way.

  “Come on in since you are definitely not running back to your car. What can I get you this morning?”

  Fine, so he wasn’t running back to his car. Not since he was caught anyhow.

  Kellen let out a breath and sidled past her into the coolness of the bakery, letting the sweet, warm smell of butter, sugar, and her own special scent take over as he made his way to the front counter.

  This time he wasn’t left alone with Boots—darn it, he was doing the name thing again—because Miss Joyce came out from the kitchen quickly and gave him a bright smile. “Two times in one week, lucky us. Why, aren’t we lucky, Drea?”

  “Are we? Should I head over to the deli and pick us up some lottery tickets?” she countered dryly. He really wanted to laugh, but fought to stay stoic.

  Miss Joyce chose to pretend she didn’t hear and continued on. “I would say that this is due to you and not the taste of my biscuits yesterday.” She raised a brow at Kellen, who opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by her continuing to go on. “It’s not like my biscuits hardly ever brought you in two days in a row before. I can only think it has something to do with my niece here and her working with your grandmother now, or something like that.”

  Miss Joyce was a shrewd one. There was so much behind her “or something like that” at the end of her little speech. Kellen was grateful for the out. “Now, Miss Joyce, you know your biscuits are excellent—why else would I be here? However, I can say I was a little surprised to find out that your talented niece was the one behind my grandmother’s grand new plans for the Redheart. Why didn’t you tell me yesterday when we met?” He gave her a challenging stare that was filled with just enough teasing to make it not disrespectful.

  Miss Joyce stared at him hard before she smiled. “Now, Kellen, you know that was for your grandmother to tell and not for me to go blabbing about. What goes on with her business is her business. And besides, why would I ruin the surprise before she was able to share? That wouldn’t have been sportsmanlike, now would it?”

  “I suppose not, ma’am.”

  “Well, you could have given your own niece a heads-up as to who he was yesterday when I was running around getting biscuits and sausages and all that.” It was Boots now who was chiming in, giving Miss Joyce a little bit of pushback.

  But Miss Joyce, being Miss Joyce, came back just as quickly. “Now, where would the fun have been in that? From what I heard you two had a right good first introduction.” She gave her niece a gotcha grin, then turned back to Kellen. “Aren’t your grandmother’s plans for the Redheart exciting?” Miss Joyce smiled as she looked into Kellen’s eyes. “I think this is going to be so good for her, Kellen. She needs this, that I will share with you. Your grandma, she’s a strong one and I know she’ll survive. And who knows? Maybe even thrive in her own way, without your grandfather. I don’t know, but I do know this here. This reno is the first bit of her old spark that I’ve seen in way too long. I’m happy to see her doing this; it will be good for her spirit and, if I do say, good for the community.”

  Just great, so Miss Joyce was totally on board too. That meant she would be just as angry as he’d feared she would be if he went with his real morning mission and took her niece’s job at the Redheart away. Well, doubly so; he couldn’t forget about the breaking-his-grandmother’s-heart-in-the-process part. Wait, triply so since he’d also be letting the community down.

  Kellen let out a groan that he didn’t know was audible until Miss Joyce chimed in. “What’s troubling you, boy?”

  Kellen almost laughed at her easy use of the term boy, something he’d never heard from mouths in New York or Atlanta. It wasn’t something he’d take from the wrong mouth, but in Sugar Lake where a respected older woman like Miss Joyce was like a mother, you took what you took and you did it with respect. Kellen didn’t mind.

  He welcomed it even. Especially the way she said it. Soft and honestly heartfelt, as if she wanted to truly know what was on his mind.

  Kellen spoke. “Truthfully, Miss Joyce, I came to Sugar Lake to convince my grandmother that taking this theater renovation on was not good business sense for us as a family. What she wants to do is directly the opposite of what I want to do with the Redheart. I also worry that she’s taking on more than she can handle, both physically and emotionally.”

  Miss Joyce nodded and something about the way she did it let him know that she already knew most of the story, probably from his grandmother. Kellen gave her a knowing look. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” he said.

  “I can’t say I didn’t guess at your reason for being in town,” the older woman responded. “And I can’t say that I agree with you or fault you since I won’t go minding your business, just as I won’t mind your grandma’s. Besides, I don’t know a thing about your numbers. What I do know is that emotionally your grandmother is strong. Stronger than you think or give her credit for, so in that you don’t have to worry. I know you may not understand, but this thing with the Redheart will probably help her to fulfill something that will bring a type of closure that she very much needs right now.”

  “But,” Kellen started, “it’s not just emotional. There are other things to consider. There’s her age . . . and well . . .” He felt his voice begin to falter as fears he didn’t really want to mention strained to make their way out. Thankfully, Miss Joyce threw him a lifeline and he wasn’t further pushed into the abyss of embarrassment.

  She shook her head and gave him a soft smile. “There you go, doing as you always had as a boy. Your mind going ten steps into a future you and nobody but God has any control over. As for physically, Betty has got a strong support system here. There’s me and Drea, who will help her every step of the way. You don’t have to worry, she’ll hire the right people, get the help she needs, and we will all watch out for her. It’s not like she’ll be up on ladders and doing the reno herself.”

  With that Boots cleared her throat loudly and Miss Joyce shot her a look. “No chiming in from you. I learned my lesson last year. No more roof climbing for me. Just you hush it, missy.”

  Boots laughed. “I didn’t say a thing, Auntie. Besides, if it weren’t for your fearless ways, Liv and I wouldn’t be here enjoying your lovely company.”

  Kellen didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. He remembered the incident when Miss Joyce broke her hip last year taking it upon herself to clean her own gutters instead of hiring help. So that was what had brought Boots and her sister to their sleepy little town. He looked at Miss Joyce. Though she was clearly admonishing her niece, he could now see the pride and joy having her in town and in the bakery was bringing her. He had to admit that though he and Boots may not have hit it off, she was a bright spark to Goode ’N Sweet and it would seem her aunt’s demeanor and newly refurbished shop.

  Miss Joyce’s voice pulled him back in. “You go on and do what you need to do with the business and don’t you worry about your grand. She will be just fine. We’ll be sure of it.”

  Kellen took a deep breath, his heart warring with his mind. Just then the shop’s door opened and in came a couple of patrons. Miss Joyce reached over the counter and patted his hand. Her cool touch comforted him, reminding hi
m that he never got that type of comfort anyplace but in Sugar Lake. She gave him a smile before bringing her focus to the patrons that had come in.

  “Morning, y’all, good to see you. Can I get you the usuals?” Usuals? The easygoing word put a chill on all the warmth Kellen had been feeling in the past moments. He’d never seen these town newbies before in his life and they had usuals? What was Sugar Lake becoming? Could just anybody become regulars now? At their affirmative nod, Miss Joyce turned back to Kellen, giving him a quick wink. In her own way she seemed to be letting him know he was special.

  “You go on and take a seat. Drea will bring you over a couple of biscuits and coffee. I’ll pack up a little something for your grand while you eat.”

  She started to move away but doubled back and reached out, lightly brushing her surprisingly soft hands across Kellen’s temples. “What did I tell you? Stop worrying so much. You’ll end up getting crinkles on the corners of those pretty eyes of yours. What good would come of that?”

  Kellen looked over, surprised to see Boots off to the side. She was uncharacteristically quiet, and he could tell she was making herself busy arranging things on the counter. He knew that she had taken in the exchange between him and her aunt, adding to his morning embarrassment. But he leaned back and squared his shoulders as she looked over at him, her dark eyes meeting his, and in that look there seemed to be an inaudible click of understanding that took him totally off guard.

  She smiled. It was half quirky, half challenging and just what he needed to bring them back to his usual place of resilience. He almost would thank her if she didn’t prick under his skin so.

  “So what, Suit?” she started, her snappy tone in place. “Can I get you the usual too? Have a seat and I’ll bring it to your table.”

  He decided to give her a little taste of her own medicine. “Fine, Boots. The usual.” He shrugged. He didn’t know he had a “usual” too or a table for that matter, but he’d sit and let her figure out both.