Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  “Excuse me, Nash, but I believe I was sitting there?” It was a statement posed as a question that he knew with just one glance at his hardened expression, Griffin Nash should know he didn’t need to answer. All he needed to do was get up.

  But stupid kid that Nash was—and he really was turning out to be not at all smart—he had the nerve to look at Kellen, his possible future employer, and let his eyes linger on the leftover sauce on his shirt before he said, “There’s plenty of room on the other side of the booth. I think Clayton and Liv went to take a spin around the dance floor. Feel free to park it.”

  Kellen cocked his head to the side, for a moment stunned at the clear dismissal and that he felt every muscle in his body tighten with the overwhelming need to pummel the young jerk. But he took a breath. Why should he want to go and do that? Why should he care? He’d walked away for what, maybe four minutes, and in that time, Boots had let the muscle-headed jerk cozy up next to her in his spot, a spot he really didn’t want to be in, no less. He let out a bored sigh. If his grandmother hadn’t put him in this awkward situation, he could be in his comfortable apartment right now. Having finished a good workout, shower, and a steam. Things should be well on their way to solidified with RPG and he and Kilborn Properties well on their way up. He should not be marred in rib sauce, dealing with upstart pinheads or annoying waitresses with delusions of grandeur.

  He looked around. Trying to make out Clayton and Olivia on the crowded dance floor across the other side of the bar. He’d just settle up with Clayton and be on his way. He’d had enough catching up for one night. Boots had her sister here, more than enough willing participants to the show that was her. He was sure she would find her way home. She’d be fine.

  Not quite seeing them, Kellen turned back to the table to leave a few bills and make his way out. “Listen, tell Cla—” he started just as he noticed the clear look of discomfort on Boots’ face. And this was not her usual discomfort that came with being around him. No, that discomfort was more like a mild annoyance—okay, it was irritation maybe, the kind that came when a gnat kept whirling around you. With this it was different. Right now, she looked downright mad. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit. If anyone was going to make Boots mad tonight it was going to be him.

  “Excuse me, Nash. Like I said, you’re in my spot. And I don’t recall saying I was done there.” Kellen leaned over close to Griffin’s face. His light eyes meeting Griffin’s dark ones. His mouth a flat line as he fought to keep his breathing slow and steady. Griffin stood, trying his best to keep steady eye contact, eventually failing, and only then did Kellen finally tilt his head and smile. It was a smile that he knew conveyed anything but pleasure. “But thanks for keeping it warm for me.”

  As Griffin walked away, Kellen sat back down and pushed his plate away. Thankfully there’d been only two ribs left before the fiasco. “Guess I won’t be having those now.”

  “I’m sorry about him and the mess on your shirt,” Drea said before she waved a hand at his plate. “And ruining the rest of your dinner.”

  Kellen looked at her. The apology was somehow a surprise. Not for the shirt—she’d already apologized for that—but for Griffin Nash. There was no need to apologize for that jerk. “You already apologized for the shirt. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure with a good washing the stain will come out.”

  “Yeah, but it looks expensive.”

  He laughed. “It doesn’t look expensive. It’s just a white shirt.”

  She gave him a side-eye and he was glad to see her posture change considerably. His Boots was back. Kellen squelched back a reaction. The same old Boots was back. There was no way she was his Boots. But still it was nice to see the side-eye had returned. He was starting to miss it. That weird edgy thing they were doing was getting weird.

  “Well, you look expensive.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and looked to the left and then the right. “Wait, that didn’t come out good at all, but you know what I meant.”

  “No, it didn’t, and I don’t,” he said. “Was that supposed to be some sort of compliment, because if so, it didn’t come out that way.”

  “Well . . .” She started to pick up her glass, clearly stalling for time as she searched for the words.

  She was cute. Cute in that effortless way that had him thinking thoughts that he probably shouldn’t be thinking at all. But he couldn’t seem to help himself with the way she was sitting there fiddling with her little straw, clearly in that moment trying her best not to make eye contact with him. Fiddle twirl, twirl fiddle, finally she took the straw out, set it on the napkin on the table beside her plate, and she picked up her glass and took a long gulp of the red concoction that had so many flocking to Jolie’s Bar and Grill. Her lovely full lips in that moment looked more sensuous and kissable than he felt comfortable with. It made him slightly nervous, her having a chance to think her words over. Because if he knew Boots, her having too much time to think would only make the next words that much more dangerous for him.

  Just then, the tempo of the music changed and the bar let out a collective cheer. Boots looked over at him and gave him a bright smile. “Ugh,” she moaned, which was so counterintuitive to her smile that it threw him off. “It’s a line dance; I hate line dances. But if there’s one thing I’ve come to know being in this town for the past year, if we don’t participate, they end up grabbing us one way or another. Come on, let’s go.”

  Suddenly she was pushing at him to get out of the booth, her little hands much stronger than he anticipated, practically sending them over the edge and onto the floor once again.

  “Wait a minute,” Kellen said, whirling around on her. “I can’t stand line dances either. As a matter of fact, I’m not into dancing at all. Come on. We’ve done our time. Why don’t we just pay the bill and I’ll take you back to your car. We can go.”

  Her disappointed look made him instantly regret his blunt words. “I can’t leave before I say good-bye to my sister,” she said. “And she’s somewhere out on the dance floor. It’s not like I can very well go out there by myself, right?” She looked around and visions of Griffin and more of his ilk two-stepping all up on her filled his mind.

  He shook his head. “Fine,” he said, taking her hand, purposely ignoring how perfectly it fit in his. “Let’s go, but realize you’re not fooling anyone with this I-don’t-like-line-dancing act,” he said, seeing how quickly and smoothly she slid into line and step with the rest of the crowd. “You may be a New Yorker, Boots, but your feet and hips are two stepping like a true Southern girl.”

  He watched as her face scrunched up. “Is that supposed to be some sort of compliment?” she yelled at him over the music.

  He shrugged as he fell into step with her. “Take it however you want. It wasn’t an insult. I’ll tell you that much.”

  The slight smile she gave him left him questioning what thoughts she had going on in that head of hers.

  * * *

  “That’s okay, Ray. I’m fine right here.”

  “What kind of gentleman would I be if I dropped the lady off without walking her to her door?”

  Betty looked at Ray Nash, with his perfectly nice smile that she was sure was courtesy of Dr. Levitz over at Eastshore. She took in his fit-for-his-age body, thanks to a no doubt low-cholesterol, low-sodium diet courtesy of Dr. Jones over at EastMed in Augusta, and worst of all his perfectly nice, soft eyes, full of awful condolences, and she couldn’t wait to bolt from his pickup truck.

  She knew she was making a mistake when she’d agreed to a ride home from him this evening. But Ray was an old friend and a widower himself going on over fifteen years. Ray’s wife passed away suddenly way before her prime, leaving Ray alone to raise their four boys. Being widowed fairly young, for better or worse, and poor Ray would probably say it was worse, made him one of the over fifty prime, eligible bachelors of Sugar Lake. She could almost laugh at it now, and in those days, she used to laugh at it quite a bit. Poor Henry and some of the guys used to be q
uite the buffer for saving Ray from the advances of just about every eligible woman in and out of the church between the ages of twenty-five and fifty-five. Every mama wanted to set up her eligible daughter and every daughter had her sights on him for their mama. Ray Nash and his handy hands were in high demand.

  But he’d made it these years without being snapped up. And here he was, still single with only a few scars, dalliances, and broken hearts in his wake. And now though, he had the nerve to be all smiles and talking about walking her to her door. As if they were two young’uns and she was someone who should be door walked?

  Goodness, if she hadn’t been so determined to get Kellen out with Alexandrea tonight, she wouldn’t be in this position. Not that she was in a position—it was Ray Nash—but still, she just didn’t like the feeling.

  “That’s okay, Ray. I’m fine. I’m a big girl now,” she said, reaching for the door handle at the same time that Ray came running around to her side of the cab. She shook her head as she took his hand getting down and gave him a double pat on the shoulder. “Thanks a lot, now you get along. I can show myself into my own house just fine.”

  Ray gave her a nod as his eyes seemed to soften more, the moonlight catching them glistening in the darkness. “You sure you’re all right, Bet? I do worry about you. I know that you come off as awfully strong for such a tiny little thing. And you are tough, I’ll give you that, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. This is me talking to you as a friend. It’s been many years since I lost Nita but, truth be told, not a day goes by that it doesn’t still feel raw.”

  In that moment, she saw a little bit of Ray that she’d never seen in all her years of knowing him. Maybe it was something he never showed his friends, or maybe he just never showed her, and it was only something he possibly shared with Henry. A certain vulnerability, a loneliness that looked very much like the reflection she saw in the mirror after she washed her own face at night. Betty swallowed. “Oh Ray, I understand. Maybe for the first time, I really do.”

  With one last look at him, she climbed the stairs to the front door feeling more tired than she had in a long time, but Betty was careful not to show any of her exhaustion until Ray had turned and she had given him what she hoped passed for a bright smile that gave away none of her true feelings. Closing the door behind herself, Betty was struck once again by the eerie silence of her large home. Coming home used to be such a thrill for her when she was newly with Henry. The two of them would frolic through their great big house, making plans on how they would fill it, and working hard in the early years to see those plans come to fruition. Betty, even at her age, had the nerve to smile to herself and blush just thinking of it. She flipped on the light and let out a sigh. She considered going through to the kitchen and thought against it, instead making a right and heading up the stairs to her bedroom. She was tired; it had been a long day. Her appetite was long gone. Besides, she was full enough, with the hope that Kellen was down at Jolie’s with Alex getting to know her and hopefully igniting the sparks of newfound love, as she had planned.

  Chapter 13

  Hush, Hush, Sweet Boots

  That was it; she was done with Jolie’s Joy Juice. Drea groaned to herself when four thirty came around way too quickly the next morning and Aunt Joyce was as chipper as a newborn baby bird. Her voice calling her to wake up, get a move on, and the pies don’t wait for nobody crackled through the air.

  Had it really been her idea to pull the Suit out on the dance floor the night before? How was she supposed to know that the guy was a freaking two-step master? Out there shimmying like he was Luke Bryan, or a K-pop boy group member gone country. Drea saw her reflection in the mirror and shook her head at her sorry state. Eyes red and puffy, skin blotchy from too much to drink, she let out a sigh and patted at her cheeks with a splash of cold water, hoping to revive the tired skin. With her luck, the dancing machine would probably be at Goode ’N Sweet right at the crack of 6:47 looking pressed to perfection, waiting and ready for his morning coffee.

  “Come on, turtle, let’s go. I came up with the most fantastic idea for a new pie combo last night. ‘Shake-It-Till-You-Make-It Chocolate Caramel Peach Turtle Delight.’”

  Drea gave Liv a sneer. The turtle part added to the name of the pie she knew was a direct comment on their little foursome last night. She was so stunned at seeing how the Suit had transformed once he got on the dance floor that for a moment she was struck positively stock-still. She was supposed to be the one with the dance training. But still, he had good moves. Just thinking about it gave her a shiver. Drea was shocked by his quick feet and smooth hips. When he turned to her after a particularly tricky cha-cha and gave her an unexpected roguish wink, Drea’s jaw positively dropped to the floor.

  Thank goodness the nudge from Liv pulled her out of her stupor. “Okay, turtle, time to come out of your shell and get to dancing. And you’re not going to let the Suit show you up, now are you?” It was then that she finally started to have a good time. For the first time in Sugar Lake, Drea had let her hair down and really let go with the person she’d least expected.

  But all too quickly, the fun and the easiness of the night had ended. With the change of beats, along with the change of songs, the line dance was over and all of a sudden folks were coupling all two by two on the dance floor. Drea and Kellen were staring at each other in awkward silence. Why did the DJ choose then to head back to a 70s smooth Barry White tune? The song was all bass, from the guitar to the percussions to his deep melodic voice, and that coupled with the Suit’s light eyes was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

  Drea shrugged and nodded toward the door. “So, about us heading out . . . this seems about as good a time as any,” she said.

  “Oh no, not yet,” Liv chimed in from over Drea’s shoulder, and though Drea tried as inconspicuously as she could to kick her, arcing her leg out behind her, her darned sister was too quick, dipping out of the way, swaying into her boyfriend’s arms. She laughed. “After this song, we can all head out together. I agree, it’s getting late, but let’s just get in one more. This has been fun.”

  Yes, this is as much fun as going to the guillotine, or maybe not, Drea thought as she had awkwardly stepped into the waiting arms of her not-quite boss.

  “Knock knock!” The words were accompanied by a loud rapping on the door, bringing Drea out of her thoughts and into the present. “Seriously, turtle, let’s go before Aunt Joyce has a conniption fit downstairs. You know her motto.”

  Drea gave her sister a nod and let out a sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”

  They looked at each other and laughed, then said in unison, “The pies wait for no one.”

  * * *

  Where in the heck was he? Drea thought again at 7:45 when the Suit still hadn’t materialized at Goode ’N Sweet that morning. Though she hated to admit it, she’d gotten used to his early morning visits. As tired as she was, she still managed to have the shop open only one minute after she thought he’d be outside lingering at 6:48. But no, he wasn’t there. Drea stuck her head out in the predawn light looking up and down the block; seeing no sign of him or his bike, she shrugged and assumed that maybe he’d show a few minutes later doing his punctual 7 o’clock thing. But when he didn’t show then and still no sign of him at 7:30, she’d wondered what had gotten into him.

  Sure, it was awkward as hell; but at the same time, at least to her, it also felt way too right. So, she’d endured—if enduring it was something like melting into the man’s chest like a rocket ice pop on a concrete sidewalk in August. Then yeah, she’d endured it just fine. But still she’d had to. It was their one and only R & B slow jam dance. When would she ever get another chance with the Suit out on the dance floor like that? It was like ticking off an item from her hopeful romantically unobtainable bucket list. Slow Dance with a Stuffy Guy You Have No Chance of a Future With. Check.

  As far as bucket list tick-offs went, they’d made it through beautifully. At least she thought they had. His moves were surprisingl
y smooth, which made her wonder if Mrs. Betty had him take dance lessons when he was a kid. She would so be the type. Possibly for cotillions or some such tradition. And Drea was careful during the dance not to look into his eyes, but only stare at a strong jawline and that tendon in his neck that seemed to throb in such a way that it made her want to lean forward and bite it. Drea swallowed instead, willing her heart to slow down and stop beating at such an erratic pace, willing the song to speed up and get over with so she could let go of his strong hands, step out of his embrace, and get back to herself already.

  By the time he dropped her off back at the car, she was a bundle of nerves and wanted to smack him for being as cool as he was.

  * * *

  Kellen was hungry. No, he was cranky. No, he was hungry and he was cranky, he thought as he stood on a ladder in front of the marquee bar changing the sign from THE WAY WE WERE to CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. He told himself, as the local town handyman, Errol, tossed him up letters, that his sign changing was in no way an acquiescence to his grandmother’s bidding. He also told himself that this in no way had anything to do with Alexandrea Gale or their little dance the night before. But one thing was for sure, his hunger and his crankiness had something to do with both those parties.

  He wondered if she wondered where he was that morning since he hadn’t shown at Goode’N Sweet for his usual breakfast. He told himself he had every intention of doing so when he woke up at five thirty a.m. after having finally gone to sleep at three. He told himself it was because he got tied up in his work going over his new proposal for the Ronson Group and a few other smaller prospectuses that they were working on for other companies. Sure, he said, that was the reason why at seven a.m. he was still in his own kitchen sipping on drip coffee that didn’t quite measure up, munching on a toasted bagel that definitely didn’t measure up to what was waiting on him at Goode ’N Sweet. But the reality was, while going over his meeting notes and prospectuses his mind kept wandering back to the night before and how ridiculously perfect Alexandrea Gale felt in his arms as they danced.