“Did I hear you say you had warm monster cookies?” Deacon asked.
“Fresh from the oven,” she said, putting on a professional smile.
“I’ll take one.”
“Coming up.” She pressed some keys on her cash register.
He held up his credit card. “Your advice was good yesterday.”
She looked puzzled.
“You suggested the sourdough bread. You were right.”
“I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it.” She pointed to the small terminal, and he swiped his credit card over the window.
“I’m back today for more.”
“That’s what we like to hear.”
The machine beeped its acceptance of his payment, while another staff member set his cookie plate on the counter.
He knew his time was almost up.
“I was wondering,” he said to Callie.
Her pretty brows went up in a question.
“Would you join me for coffee?”
The question clearly unnerved her. She touched her wedding ring, and her gaze darted to her sons.
“I don’t mean right now,” he clarified. “Maybe later?”
Her forehead creased.
“Or tomorrow,” he hastily put in, sensing her imminent refusal.
“It’s really nice of you to offer,” she said.
“I hear a but in there.”
Was she dating the Mayor? She’d certainly say no to coffee with Deacon if she were dating the Mayor.
“The but is that I’m really, really busy.”
“I understand,” he said, pocketing his card.
Being busy was probably just an excuse. It likely had more to do with Mayor Watkins. But pushing her wasn’t going to get Deacon anywhere—better to regroup.
Not that he’d made a decision to romance her. He was still assessing the situation.
He wasn’t about to take advantage of an innocent woman. But if she was gaming the rich Mayor now, she might have been gaming Frederick before him. And that changed the equation entirely.
“Maybe another time,” he said to her.
“Are you staying long in Charleston?” she asked.
“I haven’t decided.” He gave her an intimate smile. “It depends on how well I like it.”
Her cheeks flushed.
He lifted the plate with his cookie. “Thanks for this.”
“Any time.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
She didn’t seem to know how to respond.
He backed off. He’d ask around town. Maybe he’d get lucky and someone would know if Hank Watkins was in a relationship with Callie.
Two
In the small office in the back of the bakery, Callie’s gaze rested on the framed photo of Frederick and the boys. She was struck by how much the boys had grown since Frederick passed away. She lifted the picture into better lighting.
It was the last one taken of her sons with their father. It was on their road trip last September. They’d traveled north along the coast, all the way to Virginia Beach.
Frederick had loved driving holidays. She suspected that sitting in a car made him forget about his disability and feel just like everyone else.
James was patient with the long rides, but Ethan was less than enthusiastic about spending so much time in his car seat. Frederick had done his best to entertain Ethan, who had just turned one that trip, while Callie had done the driving. It seemed like such a long time ago.
In November, Frederick had come down with a cold, just a routine cold that James had picked up in preschool. It settled in Frederick’s chest, which was normal for him. He insisted it was nothing to worry about, since both James and then Ethan had run fevers with the bug, coughed a few nights and then recovered.
But in the morning, Frederick’s fever had spiked alarmingly. Callie had rushed him to the hospital, where he lost consciousness and was diagnosed with pneumonia. They started antibiotics immediately. But his lungs had been severely bruised in his fall as a young teenager, and the scarring had left them weak.
He never woke up, and she’d said a final goodbye to him within hours.
Now she looked at the photo, Ethan grinning on Frederick’s lap, James standing with his head on Frederick’s shoulder. James still remembered Daddy, but Ethan only knew him from photos and video clips. Both boys had changed so much, grown so strong, learned so much. Frederick would be proud of them both.
“Callie?” Hannah poked her head through the open doorway.
“Is it getting busy out there?” Callie set the picture back down.
It was nearing the lunch hour. Pam had the boys until two today. With Frederick gone, Callie had modified her schedule. Pam was a godsend of a babysitter, and Hannah kept the bakery running like a well-oiled machine when Callie had to be at home.
“The lineup’s growing,” Hannah said. “The Spring Berry Cheesecake is still really moving.”
Callie was happy with the news. They’d created the recipe and introduced the new item just this month. It was gratifying to hear it was a success.
“I’m on my way.” Callie rose and followed Hannah through the kitchen to the café.
The lineup was halfway across the seating area. A few tables had just been vacated. Callie moved quickly to clear them and make room for more customers to sit down.
As she freshened the last of three tables, she was surprised to spot Deacon Holt sitting in one of the window booths. It had been a week since he was last in the café, and she’d assumed his vacation had ended and he’d left town.
Since she never expected to see him again, she’d allowed herself to fantasize the past few nights. Her fantasies ranged from hand-holding in the park to kissing under the stars to more, much more. She felt her face warm thinking about it. She knew he couldn’t read her mind, but looking at him now felt oddly intimate.
He spotted her. “Hello, Callie.”
She shook off her discomfort and went to his table. “Hello, Deacon.”
His smile went broad at her use of his name.
“I thought you would have left town by now,” she said.
“Still here in Charleston.”
She glanced at his sandwich plate. “And back for more sourdough?”
“I couldn’t stay away.” His tone sounded flirtatious, and she raised her gaze. “I was hoping you’d reconsider my invitation.”
She wished she didn’t feel the same way. She knew she had to fight it. It would be unseemly to rush out and date this soon after her husband’s death.
It wasn’t that Frederick had been the love of her life. They were dear friends, companions, parents together. Frederick had rescued her from hopeless poverty, and she’d given him the family he desired.
“I wish I could,” she said honestly.
“Something is stopping you?” His tone was gentle, even concerned.
“A full and busy life.” She wasn’t about to get into details.
“Someone else?” he asked.
She drew back in surprise. “What?”
“Are you dating someone else?”
“I don’t date.” She glanced over her shoulder to check the lineup, feeling suddenly guilty for standing and talking while Hannah and the others were so busy.
“Everyone dates,” Deacon said.
“No, they don’t. Case in point, me.” Why was she still here? Why was she indulging herself in something that couldn’t happen?
“Maybe not in the formal sense, but the opposite sex is always checking each other out.”
“I’m not checking you out,” she lied.
There was a gentle amusement in his blue eyes. “Well, I am most definitely checking you out.”
“Don’t.”
“It’s not something I can control. But to be c
lear, I’m only suggesting coffee and conversation.”
She gestured to the lineup. “I have to get back to work.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t go out with you. I don’t have time.” The excuse was perfectly true. Between the bakery and her sons, she had no time for a social life.
“Okay.” He gave up easily.
She didn’t regret saying no. She wouldn’t allow herself to regret it.
She gave him a nod and firmly turned herself around, heading behind the counter.
“What was that?” Hannah asked in an undertone.
“Just a customer.” Callie wished she didn’t feel overheated. Then again, she was in a bakery, and it was May. It would be odd if she didn’t feel overheated.
“He was in last week.”
“He was,” Callie acknowledged.
Hannah finished ringing up a cheesecake order and handed a customer some change.
Callie took a clean plate from the stack and loaded it up with a slice of Spring Berry Cheesecake, a drizzle of chocolate sauce and a generous dollop of whipped cream. She set it on top of the case, then assembled another identical one.
“What did he say?” Hannah asked.
“Nothing,” Callie answered.
“That was an awfully long nothing.”
“He asked me to coffee,” Callie admitted.
“That’s fantastic.”
“I said no.”
A new customer stepped up. “Two pecan tarts and a dozen peanut butter cookies. Can you make the cookies to go?”
“Cookies to go,” Hannah called over her shoulder.
Callie plated the tarts. “Whipped cream?” she asked the man.
“Only on one.”
She decorated the tart, while another staff member bagged the cookies.
The staff worked efficiently until the lineup disappeared.
Hannah followed Callie into the back, where cinnamon twists were cooling on racks, and the bakers were rolling out pastry.
“Why would you say no?” Hannah asked her.
Callie knew exactly what Hannah was talking about. “I’m not going to date a tourist. I’m not going to date anyone. I don’t have time, and it’s only been six months.”
“It’s been a lot more than six months.”
“Nobody knows that.” Callie and Frederick had never let on that their marriage was anything other than normal.
Hannah’s voice went singsong. “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a little flirting, a little kissing, a little...whatever with a handsome stranger?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Because the answer you wish you could give is opposite to the answer you want to give,” Hannah said with authority.
“That didn’t even make any sense.”
“Your hormones want one thing, but your brain is fighting it.”
“I have two sons, a bakery and city beautification to think about.”
“Callie, you’re a healthy and vibrant young woman who’s never—”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
Hannah knew Frederick hadn’t been able to engage in intercourse. James and Ethan were conceived through in vitro fertilization.
“You’re going to have to take the plunge someday.”
“Sex is not the only kind of intimacy.”
“I get that,” Hannah said, backing off.
“It doesn’t sound like you get that.”
“I’m not trying to push you.”
Callie let out a laugh at the absurdity of Hannah’s last statement.
“I’m only saying...you know...don’t write off a guy like that too quickly. Think about it.”
Callie had thought about it. She was still thinking about it. That was her biggest problem. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.
* * *
Deacon recognized a losing strategy when he was engaged in one. Callie wasn’t going to date him. It was probably because of the Mayor, but it could be something else. In any event, if he wanted to get closer to her and find out, he had to change tactics.
He spent another week in town, researching Callie and Hank Watkins. People considered them both pillars of the community. They hung with the same crowd, attended the same functions. People mostly thought the Mayor was a good catch, and a few seemed to have speculated on the two of them as a couple.
When Deacon learned Callie was on the City Beautification Committee, he jumped on the opportunity and showed up at a meeting. He sat in the back, obscured by the shape of the room. But he was close enough to watch her interactions with Hank.
Hank whispered in her ear at one point, and she smiled in return. He touched her arm, and she didn’t pull away. He filled her water glass and offered her a pen. She took the pen and drank the water.
Watching her cozy up to the wealthy, powerful, but much older, Hank Watkins renewed Deacon’s suspicion she’d married Frederick for his money. It also confirmed that Deacon had competition.
He realized he didn’t have the Watkins name and power, and he sure couldn’t tell her he was a Clarkson. But he’d achieved a reasonable level of success in life, and he could make himself sound better than he was—richer and more powerful.
But he was going to take a more subtle approach this time, let her come to him. At the end of the meeting, when coffee and cookies were served over friendly chitchat, he struck up a conversation with a few Charleston citizens. He stood where he was sure he’d be in Callie’s line of sight.
“Deacon?” Her tentative voice behind him said the approach had worked.
He turned, feigning surprise. “Callie. It’s great to see you again.” He cheerfully excused himself from the others.
“Exactly how long is your vacation?” she asked, brow furrowed as they moved a few steps away.
He feigned a guilty expression. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”
She waited.
He’d rehearsed his lines. “I’m more than just an ordinary tourist.”
She looked apprehensive. “Who are you?”
“I’m thinking of relocating to Charleston.”
The words seemed to put her off guard. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s complicated. There were things to check out, arrangements to make. I didn’t want people to know I was considering the city.”
“Considering it for what?” Now she seemed annoyed and distinctly suspicious.
He realized he was messing this up. “I’m a partner in a national transportation company.”
The claim was an exaggeration, but not a huge one. He was a minor partner, and they were more regional than national. But it was true enough to get by.
“We’re based out of Virginia,” he continued. “But we’re looking to expand. We’d need a lot of land, commercial industrial land. If the real estate community knew we were in the market, well, funny things happen to prices when a large corporation expresses an interest.”
He stuck as close as he could to the truth. Mobi Transport was always looking to expand. It could as easily expand into Charleston as anywhere else. And local land prices did get jacked up when the real estate community knew a big corporation was in the market.
“You’re saying dishonesty was in your best interest.”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I wouldn’t call it dishonesty.”
“You’re keeping Charleston citizens in the dark about the value of their property.”
“I’m keeping the value realistic.”
“By lying about your intentions.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s how market forces work, Deacon. When something is in demand, it becomes more valuable.”
He was surprised the conversation had taken this turn.
&nbs
p; At the same time, he was curious about her immediate leap to skepticism. Honest people were trusting. Devious people looked for deceit in others.
“I don’t want to have to pick another city,” he told her. “I like Charleston. If land costs too much here, we’ll choose another city where it costs less.”
She gave a little shrug, as if the easiest solution in the world was at hand. “Just tell the people that’s the case.”
“That’s one way to approach it.”
“It’s the honest way to approach it.”
“Are you an honesty-is-the-best-policy type?” He watched her reaction.
She hesitated, her expression flinching ever so slightly. “It is the best policy.”
She hadn’t exactly answered, but he didn’t press.
“Check out the Mobi Transportation website. See if you think it would be good for Charleston.”
The Mobi website was slick and professional. It was designed to encourage sales by making the company look bigger than it was.
“We do long-haul trucking. We have six terminals across the northeast.”
Her expression relaxed a little. “That sounds...interesting.”
“In the internet age, goods transportation is primed for expansion. There’s a whole lot of opportunity in the sector.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hank Watkins making his was toward them.
Deacon gestured to the refreshment table on the other side of the room. “Would you like a coffee? A cookie? They’re okay, but not as good as yours.”
“Flattery, Deacon?”
“The truth, Callie.” He didn’t have to exaggerate there. “Your cookies are the best I’ve ever tasted. How long have you been a baker?”
She made a move toward the refreshment table. “I worked in a café from the time I was fourteen.”
He fell into step beside her. “That young?”
“We didn’t have much money when I was growing up. I did whatever it took. I lied about my age. I bused tables at first, but then I was promoted to waitress.”
He was starting to form a picture of her. She was a survivor. He could relate to that.
“Did you grow up here in Charleston? Decaf?” He reached for the labeled pot.
“Decaf would be best.”
He poured them each a cup.
The Illegitimate Billionaire (Whiskey Bay Brides Book 4; Billionaire & Babies) Page 3
