Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  “So how did it go with you and Alex this afternoon?”

  Kellen paused mid-upswing in bringing his burger from Doreen’s Diner to his mouth. “There is no me and Alex, Grandma, and everything was fine.”

  His grandmother shook her head with a smile and picked up her fry, taking a delicate bite. “You know good and well I didn’t mean it like that, dear. Goodness, you go jumping to snappy conclusions like that and you’ll have more than me thinking of you two as a couple.”

  “Oh, come on now,” he said. “I wasn’t jumping, and I wasn’t snappy.”

  She looked him up and down. “Kellen, you’re practically out of your seat. Now, if it isn’t the mention of my sweet Alex that has you on edge, then what is it?”

  This time Kellen stuffed his mouth and quick. He’d had a few good days of not arguing with his grandmother and he liked it much better that way. Dinner tonight from Doreen’s, though not their norm, was the first moment between them that felt like normalcy in a long while. He couldn’t—no, he knew he didn’t want to—screw it up by bringing up their clear, dividing opinions on what was happening with the Redheart.

  But something had to give.

  “Stuffing your mouth with food to avoid talking about what’s really happening, Kellen, is not going to make your problems go away. Something’s gotta give,” his grandmother said, doing that mind-reading thing she did by parroting his thoughts.

  Kellen sighed. “Gram, I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m fine, we’re doing fine, and I got this under control.” If control meant being saddled with working on a renovation he didn’t want to work on, and turning it around on a dime while being at the beck and call of a New York transplant who happened to also be a bakeshop girl who also fancied herself a designer or sort of designer, then yeah, he had everything under control.

  “You’re not fine at all,” his grandmother said. “You’ve had all day to look at Ray Nash’s bid for the Redheart and you haven’t said a word about that.”

  “Well, I haven’t gotten bids back from my guys yet.”

  His grandmother crossed her arms and looked at him squarely, reminding him eerily of the moment with Boots earlier. “Funny, I didn’t hear a thing about you getting any guys up to give you bids.”

  He gave a huff. “Well, that doesn’t mean I’m not getting them. I have sent photos to some of the best contractors in the county and they’re getting back to me.”

  “Oh really? If they were the best, and they actually wanted the job, they would have already gotten back to you.”

  “These things take time, Grandma.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Time is a luxury, my darling, that not all of us have. You should’ve well learned by now, tomorrow isn’t promised and Ray and his boys are good. Better than good; they’re our people. We can trust them. Plus, their bid is fair.”

  “Grandma, how would you know if their bid is fair?”

  Her soft eyes turned as hard and as dark as diamonds. “Boy, don’t you dare pretend to insult me. You’ve only had this job a moment while I’ve been working alongside your grandfather a lifetime. Stop getting ahead of yourself. Besides, don’t you think you need to be figuring out what RPG is doing sniffing around the Pomeroys?”

  Once again, his grandmother was a step ahead of him.

  “How do you know about RPG and the Pomeroys?” The look she gave him let him know how foolish she thought his question was. And it was foolish. Sugar Lake was a small town. If Brent Howell was talking with the Pomeroys, and Brent had connections with RPG, of course it would get around in about the same time as it took Jamina Ronson to hit speed dial on her phone.

  His grandmother, instead of answering his question, was just looking at him expectantly. He looked at the remaining half of his burger and realized he didn’t have anywhere near the appetite he’d had earlier.

  “What do you expect me to do about RPG and the Pomeroys? I’m busy with your renovation.”

  “Oh, so it’s mine and not ours?”

  “Come on, Grandma. This is not what I want. I know closing the Redheart would be hard, but it’s still the smarter choice. The fact that RPG is talking to the Pomeroys lets me know they are ready to take us off the table.”

  “And?” she challenged. “Would that really be so awful?”

  He looked at her once again, confused. He’d never understand Betty Kilborn. “Grandma, what are you talking about? Do you want to sell to RPG or not?”

  “You know the answer to that, Kellen. I’m not feeling any such sale to RPG. I’m perfectly fine with things as they are. But I also am not stupid, and I know if a company like RPG wants a piece of Sugar Lake, they’re more than likely going to get it. I just want to be sure we properly control what piece they do get.”

  “Exactly!” Kellen said, for the first time feeling like he might be making a bit of headway with his grandmother. “So now you see what I was saying about why we have to sell them the Redheart.”

  “I don’t see any such thing, Kellen.”

  He blinked again.

  “I’m saying you need to find a solution to get what you want and manage all of this.”

  “I had it managed, Grandmother.”

  She shook her head. “You had nothing of the sort. The way I’d read that contract, all you had was empty promises, a bit of cash, and Jamina Ronson managing you. And you managing me in the process.”

  Kellen sighed. Once again, he was caught. But still he didn’t feel wrong. Not completely. “And what’s so wrong with that, Grandma? I just want to help you. I want to be sure you secure your future, that the company is secure, and most of all that you’re safe. You can come and live in Atlanta near me. It’s not like you need to be in this big old rambling house all alone.”

  His grandmother balked. “So now not only do you want to get rid of our theater, but my and your grandfather’s whole life and legacy in one fell swoop. Boy, you are going too far.”

  The cold way his grandmother put things at times made Kellen shiver. He swallowed. “It’s not like that. Of course it’s not. I just want to take care of you. Not manage you.” He thought of Boots and the reno then and looked his grandmother in the eye. “Though it seems there is plenty of me to be managed lately.”

  His grandmother surprised him by laughing. “Oh, there you go. Getting all caught up in yourself and thinking too far ahead in everything. Now you’re giving your old grand way more credit than she deserves.” She let out a long breath, then waved a hand. “You know what? We’re going to have to put a pause on this one. I know you will think of something that is satisfactory for both of us. You don’t have to worry about me, Kellen. Life is going to happen whether here or Atlanta. Your grandfather’s sudden passing should have at least taught you that much.” She smiled at him, then looked at the clock over the kitchen entryway. “It’s early still. I heard there’s a basketball game on tonight. Clayton, some of his boys, letting off a little steam, and some steam-letting seems like it could be just what you need right about now.”

  Seriously, did the woman implant a Bourne Identity–style tracker on him when he hit the town limits? Kellen suddenly wondered where one would go to get scanned for that type of thing. It wasn’t like he could just call up the CIA.

  “Not to mention, I hear Alex will be at the gym. She’s so sweet. Agreeing to help the girls’ dance team with their drills since their coach had an emergency.”

  “What would I care about Boots, I mean Alexandrea, and what she’s doing for the girls’ dance team? I see enough of her during the day.”

  His grandmother grinned. “Of course, dear. What would you care? I only brought it up in case you were going, to let her know I’d see her at the theater tomorrow.”

  He looked at his grandmother, confused. “Really, Mrs. Smartphone? Since when do you need me to relay messages to Alexandrea for you? From the way I see it, you two have a regular chat room going.”

  She smiled again. “Like I said. Looks like you could blow off a bit of
steam. Besides, I think Brent Howell may drop in too.”

  Kellen gave her a long look. “Really, Gram, you ought to drop the theater renovation and consider taking up side work as a PI.”

  His grandmother burst out laughing. “Oh, you flatter me! But this is all such easy information to gather. Though I would like the idea of having an official badge. Or maybe I could make private investigating a side business after the theater is up and going. I always loved Angela Lansbury’s work on Murder, She Wrote, though nothing beat Columbo.”

  Kellen shook his head. “I was just kidding. Don’t go getting fit for a trench coat that fast, lady.” He cleared his area and went around the island to kiss the top of his grandmother’s head. He looked down at her dinner to see that she’d gotten through half the burger and most of her fries. No, it wasn’t the most nutritional dinner, and he’d make a point to work on getting the fridge and pantry properly stocked and some more nutritional meals on hand, but at least it was something. He couldn’t have her missing meals and making herself sick.

  She looked up at him and smiled softly.

  “Listen, though I won’t be late, don’t wait up. Maybe you’re right. I could use the workout and I don’t want my game to get rusty.”

  A light lit up in his grandmother’s eyes as her smile went wider.

  “Have fun, dear!”

  He sighed. “It’s just basketball, Gram. Nothing more than that.”

  “Of course it is, dear.”

  Kellen got back into his car fifteen minutes later, frustrated and tired. The last thing he felt like doing tonight was shooting hoops, but knew he had no choice with his grandmother’s not-so-subtle hints about Brent Howell being at the gym. With that she was giving him just the opening he needed to face Brent head on and hopefully convince him that shutting his trap to Jamina with weekly Sugar Lake updates was in both of their best interests.

  * * *

  “Okay, and it’s one, two, three, four! Twist, twist, dip and up! Perfect!” Drea was surprised at how much fun working with the girls on the junior dance team was turning out to be. She hated it when her aunt was right about something that she was hesitant on, which meant that most of the time she was pretty much salty about something or another. But her aunt was right, dang it.

  That morning the dance team’s coach, Tia Jenkins, had come into the bakeshop on her way out of town. She was picking up a pie for her aunt over in Cordell who’d fallen ill and had talked about how upset she was about having to cancel practice on her girls for the night. Drea was shocked when Aunt Joyce chimed in with, “But don’t worry, I’m sure Drea would be perfect filling in for you tonight with your girls and their practice.”

  The way it was said by Aunt Joyce and the hopeful look on Tia’s face pretty much left Drea not able to use any sort of lame excuse about hair washing. Not to mention the fact that Tia was one of the few people in town who knew how to properly do a boss twist out when her hair needed it, saving her a four-hour drive to Atlanta, meant that Drea really couldn’t refuse.

  “Thanks so much, Drea,” Tia said. “All you’d need to do is sit in on my girls’ practice tonight. I’d rather them not take the night off with competitions starting up in three weeks. It’s just for tonight. You’d be a lifesaver and I promise to hook your hair up real good next time.”

  “How old did you say these girls were?” Drea asked while getting Tia’s order together and fighting against the building nerves churning in her belly.

  Tia’s expression turned sheepish. “Thirteen to fifteen.”

  Drea shook her head and laughed as she handed Tia a pie to take to her aunt and some extra biscuits for her drive. “Oh, you sure will hook my hair up and good,” she said. “Now, have a safe drive. Don’t forget to let the principal know I’m filling in. I don’t want any trouble at the school tonight.”

  And for the most part she had to admit that both Tia and Aunt Joyce were right. The girls, while at first hesitant and wary of the bohemian Northerner in their midst, quickly loosened up and were eager to show off their moves. They were extra excited when they saw that Drea quickly picked up on their routines and joined in, showing them when they could perhaps sharpen things. She hoped Tia wouldn’t mind, but hey, wasn’t that what practice was for? All in all, it felt good to move around and let loose in a group, no matter if it was with a group of hyper-hormoned teens.

  That was until she looked up at the end of the practice and locked eyes with none other than the Suit himself, definitely out of his suit, in a tank and sweatpants with a gym bag slung over his shoulder, looking like he was heading to the gym down the hall. Drea stilled, her eyes locking with his, for reasons she didn’t understand, hardened ones. What the heck was his problem? She was off the clock. They weren’t in the shop or the theater. Did the bug up his behind travel with him everywhere?

  “Whew! That man is fine with a capital F! Is he a new coach, because if he is, I might actually show up for gym class,” one of the girls said over her shoulder as some others burst out laughing.

  The Suit had the nerve to quirk a brow at that one and the corner of his lip turned up. Drea’s brows drew tight and she tilted her head to the side as she glared at him.

  He coughed and continued down the hall, Drea letting out an audible breath before turning back to the girls.

  “Okay, ladies. Let’s focus and run it once more, then I can dismiss you.”

  “Sure, miss,” the same young commenter from before said. “We’ll try. Though focusing may be tough after that.”

  Drea fought to stay serious, but couldn’t help smiling. Remembering being fifteen herself or maybe it was twenty-five and yesterday. “Let’s do that, shall we?”

  Twenty minutes later as she was sitting on the gym’s bleachers next to her sister and watching Kellen post up against her cousin, Brent, she was anything but focused. At least not on the game, per se. Drea thought she’d heard Brent’s name when Kellen was on the phone earlier. And now here they both were at the gym squaring off on the court like it was the freaking NBA finals or something.

  Darned this small town. She couldn’t go two blocks without running into a Goode or a Howell. It seemed that cousins were in no short supply in Sugar Lake. When she first got into town, she enjoyed the novelty of running into family wherever she went and the fact that there was a certain amount of comfort to the routine of seeing the same faces day in and day out. But it was starting to wear on her—the fact that you could never quite escape what, at times, felt like not only prying, but judging eyes of your relatives wherever you went. At least at home, back in New York, even though New York was a lot smaller than folks seemed to realize, there was a certain amount of anonymity to it. She kept her head down there, avoiding eye contact, and walked fast enough to become little more than a figment of the imagination as she was quickly replaced by the next passerby on the street.

  But not here in Sugar Lake; it didn’t matter if you went out of your house heading to the gym, the diner, the coffee shop, the hardware store, heck, or even the mall—there was always either your family or your family once removed in the form of someone who knew your family who was always right there whenever you looked up. Though tonight Drea thought she shouldn’t have been surprised. Not by the sight of Brent, since her cousin had a knack for showing up in the oddest places and at the strangest times.

  Known to stay on his hustle, which Drea could respect, Brent was always looking for the next business opportunity or hookup, though she didn’t quite get where he would find it here. But it became evident when Kellen sauntered into the gym ready to join the game.

  She knew she probably should’ve gotten over how he affected her, but she still found herself wrestling internal butterflies as she watched him confidently walk across the gym’s hardwood. Here he was, looking cool, confident, strong, and casual, shattering her earlier conceived vision of him. Not just going through the motions jogging up and down the court, the man was clearly on a mission, expertly dribbling, taking fast break
s, going on the hard offense as he seemed to be taking out some earlier frustrations on the hardwood tonight. What could they be? The phone call he’d gotten earlier? Though she wasn’t trying to listen, it was clear from what she did hear that it had to do with his business in Sugar Lake and, more importantly, with the Redheart.

  She knew he was against the remodeling of it, but with the changing of the sign today, she started to think that maybe he’d come on board. Drea didn’t even want to consider the fact that he could possibly, in reality, be going against his grandmother’s wishes and still have plans to sell the theater out from under her. Kellen playing ball on the same night that Brent happened to be felt like too much of a small-town coincidence even for Sugar Lake.

  “What are you sighing about now? You’re finally out and not spending yet another night at home in the den with Aunt Joyce watching The Wheel or Internet surfing, but instead you’ve got a perfect lovely view of gorgeous firemen as they jog up and down a ball court and still you sigh?”

  “Maybe I’m sighing because the view is just that lovely,” Drea countered.

  Liv rolled her eyes. “Come on with that. I know the difference when it comes to you. I’d fall for it if there were any bit of longing or some oomph behind that sigh and if it were perhaps directed at that new boss you say you’re not interested in, but this is different, and don’t say it’s nothing. You’ve been in a funk for weeks now. What’s up?”

  Drea shook her head, then looked down. “I don’t know.” She looked back at the court and her eyes landed on Kellen. Tall, tan skin, muscles. He dribbled, faked left, then flipped right and made a perfect jumper into the hoop, sending Brent scrambling for the rebound in frustration. Kellen turned Drea’s way and their eyes locked once again. She let out a breath. Too bad he thought of her as pretty much just what she currently was, a part-time organizer and place filler keeping his grandmother happy and making his life complicated.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “That was a breath, not a sigh,” she countered.