Sweet Love of Mine: Sweetly Southern

by Lindi Peterson

  Oh, he still thinks he can cater my event.

  I’m glad he has confidence in himself, because I’m not sure I do. But with a zero budget, do I have a choice?

  If I keep the food aspect of my party at the back of my mind, I feel assured the rest of the event will go well.

  Monday morning flew by. I spoke with the manager of the band I had hired. They were all set and looking forward to the party. I drove to the florist, making sure everything was on track for the arrangements and the corsage and boutonniere I had ordered for Mom and Dad. I drove to a well-known bakery and ordered a cake for the party. I couldn’t put that on Grant. I had a few dollars I could spare to pay for the cake. I even spent the extra money to have the cake delivered. One less stress to handle on the day.

  Then, hoping neither of my parents would be there, I stopped by the country club and solidified all the details about the event with the coordinator. Cheryl Monroe had been the events planner at the club for years and she was extremely helpful in keeping this a secret from my parents.

  Grant and I had more in common than I thought.

  I make my way to Sonya’s and as I exit my car, I check to make sure I am wearing shoes from the same pair on each foot.

  I don’t need to make that mistake again in front of Grant.

  He’s probably not going to let me live down the two-days-in-a-row shoe fiasco. I don’t need to add fuel to that fire.

  I’m wearing two brown sandals.

  Good.

  And they match.

  Better.

  I grab the box off the passenger seat. My business cards came, and I am excited to see how they turned out. I designed them myself and ordered them through an online company. If they were as nice as I imagined, I would place more orders for postcards and other advertising materials.

  I need to get Sweet Love Event Planning off the ground, despite all the obstacles I’m facing.

  I can’t change the fact that the caterer ran off with my money.

  And I’m stuck with a chef who can’t cook.

  I’ve been praying all day that Grant has found whatever that passion was that he lost and he’ll serve me amazing food tonight.

  I knock on the door, then walk in just like I’d been doing the last few months. I almost have to hold my nose at the smell.

  Walking into the kitchen I find Grant shoving food from a pot into the sink.

  “Grant?”

  He turns, the pot slipping out of his hands, clashing into the stainless steel sink. “Hi. You’re early.”

  I look at my watch. “Not that early. What is that smell?”

  “It’s something I was trying. It didn’t work out well.”

  My heart sinks. “Yeah. It doesn’t smell well.”

  He picks up the pot and continues mashing food into the garbage disposal. I’m surprised it doesn’t spit the food back up. It would if given a choice, I’m sure.

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “Taking a nap.”

  “She can sleep through that smell?”

  “Very funny. Can you open the back door, please? It will help air this place out.”

  “Gladly.”

  Summer heat wafts in as I open the door, but being hot is better at this point than the smell in the kitchen.

  “So that was?”

  “Don’t ask. I’m going to try something else here as soon as I clean up this mess.”

  I don’t comment. I can’t comment. My party wings are flying out the window with every second that passes. Oh how I wish the country club catered. That would have solved all my problems.

  But they don’t.

  It was all I could do to not ask Cheryl to make an exception when I saw her this morning. The only thing that stopped me was I would need Cheryl’s connections to help make my business a success so I couldn’t put any sense of me losing control of this party into her mind.

  When she asked how everything was going I told her everything was on track.

  And everything is on track.

  Except for the most important thing. The food.

  Let’s face it. If you didn’t have a band, conversation and chatter would be the atmosphere. If you didn’t have flowers, would anyone really notice?

  But food.

  Food is something people notice. Especially when you’ve invited them to a dinner party. Dinner being the key word.

  I can’t just serve them cake and coffee.

  At least the club was providing the coffee, tea and water. And a bartender for an open bar. An open bar of which I was paying the tab. So that money was set aside.

  While Grant is washing dishes, I sit at the table and open the box. I pull out a card and marvel at the colors. They are beautiful. The cards are glossy like I wanted. I stand as Grant is drying the pots and pans. “Here, look at this? Aren’t they pretty?”

  I shove the card in his face.

  “Nice. But sweat love? That sounds risqué.”

  “What?” I turn the card around. “Oh, no.”

  The card read Sweat Love Event Planning.

  “I can’t believe they messed this up. How could they misprint the word sweet?”

  He sets the pot down. “Did you approve a proof?”

  I give him a look that I know is a glare. “Yes.”

  Sitting back at the table, I pull out my phone. Within minutes I see that I designed and approved the card with the word spelled incorrectly.

  I stare back at Grant.

  “Trying to figure out which one of us is the biggest failure?” he asks. “But hey,” he nods toward the floor, “at least you are wearing matching shoes today. One point for you.”

  If I don’t laugh I’ll cry.

  “I’m so meticulous. I have no idea how this could happen.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “Okay,” I shake my head. “Okay. I’ll just have to fix the file when I get home, resend and pay for extra shipping. Like I have extra cash for all this.” I look at Grant. “These cost me a small fortune.”

  “Hello?”

  I quickly shove the cards into the box as I hear my mom’s voice. “Don’t say a word,” I say to Grant nodding at the box.

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” His words disappear just as my mom walks in the kitchen.

  “I thought that was your car, dear. What are you doing here?”

  I stand and hug my mom who sets the plastic bag she was carrying on the table.

  “Just came by to check on Sonya. But she’s napping.”

  “Oh. That’s why she didn’t answer my text. And Grant, so good to see you. How’s that big city treating you?”

  “Everything’s great, Mrs. Conrad. Thanks for asking.”

  “Your mom can’t quit talking about your restaurant. We were going to plan a trip at the end of the summer, but now, well, we’ll have to see how it goes with her leg.”

  I notice a look come across Grant’s eyes, but I’m sure my mom doesn’t catch on. I probably wouldn’t either if I didn’t know what I know.

  “I thought I heard voices. Are you all having a party without me?”

  We all turn as Sonya speaks from the doorway.

  “Mom. I’ll help you.” Grant rushes over to her.

  “Nonsense. I can walk fine with this walker and this boot they’ve put my leg in. I need to be able to do for myself. It’s not like you’re staying forever. You have a job and a girl to get back to.”

  I totally look the other way so any facial expression I have won’t be visible.

  “What’s that smell? And why is the back door open? Are we cooling the outside, now?”

  I stay silent letting Grant field all her questions.

  “Looks like I got some bad food at the store. Just trying to air out the place.” He walks over and closes the door.

  My mom opens the bag and pulls out a couple of Styrofoam containers. “I brought dinner but I didn’t know all of you were here. I’m not sure there is enough for everyone.”

  “It�
��s okay.” I grab my box off the table. “I wasn’t staying. Just checking in.”

  “Actually, Eden and I were going out for a while if it is okay with Mom.”

  I’m not sure what Grant is doing, but at this point I don’t argue.

  “Sure. You two go, have fun. Not too much fun. Peony wouldn’t like that, but you know what I mean. It will be nice to visit with Jane for a while.”

  Grant and I hug and kiss our moms before leaving them to their take-out dinner. We get in my car. “Where to? Or was that just a rouse to get us out of firing range.”

  “That’s exactly what it was. But I do have an idea. What you and I need is to relax. There’s a fair tonight close to Social Circle. Want to go?”

  “A fair? Like fried foods and rides and cotton candy?”

  “I believe so.”

  Glancing at Grant, I see how stressed he is. Tossing the box of botched business cards in the back seat, I know how stressed I am.

  I push the button to start my car. “Directions?”

  After all, what harm could come from a fair on a summer night between two friends?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask as we make our way into the fairground parking lot. “Magnolias and Moonshine Fair? This sounds fun.”

  “I hope so.”

  I let him pay the parking and our way in. He seems to have money. He’s probably a saver. One of those prepared people. But that may be prepared for the tangible things. I don’t think he was prepared for his lack of passion or his firing.

  “Where to?” he asks.

  “Hey, this was your idea. I’m going to be a good follower.”

  He looks around. “The smell of the food here is a bit better than at my mom’s house earlier. I’m hungry. Let’s start there.”

  “Fine by me. As long as you aren’t the hurling type if we go on the rides.”

  “No, I’m not. You?”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been at a fair, but I think you’re safe.”

  We work our way through the throngs of people. This place is crowded for a Monday night, but it is the summer and folks just want to be outside. That and the fact that’s it’s not burning hot out.

  We find our way to the food area. Apparently, so do half the other fairgoers. Lines are long for each vendor.

  “Look.” Grant points to the left. “Turkey legs. A must have.”

  “Sure.”

  We stand in line, the conversation din around us hovering. Music is also playing from somewhere not far off, the song unrecognizable from where I’m standing, but the beat is good. Grant orders when it’s our turn and hands me a steaming, hot turkey leg.

  “Thanks,” I say as we walk away.

  “This is delicious. Savor every bite.” Grant smiles then takes another bite. “What next? Fried corn? Or fried Oreos?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t fathom fried Oreos. But look, there’s cotton candy.”

  This time he shakes his head. “Uh, no. Cotton candy is pure sugar.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll share cotton candy with you if you share a fried Oreo with me.”

  I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “What is wrong with you eating your Oreo and me eating cotton candy?”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “It’s all used up trying to find a caterer.”

  I regret my remark as soon as I say it. The sense of relaxation that was in Grant disappears as an edge of hardness comes across his face.

  “I’m sorry. We’re here to forget about all that.”

  He tosses his turkey leg into a trash can. “I don’t think you understand that I can’t forget about it. Just trying to push it back for a while is hard enough.”

  “I know. Me, too. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain. Again, I’m sorry.”

  He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. One that breaks my heart. “Don’t ever apologize for telling the truth, Eden.”

  We walk in silence. He stops at the cotton candy vendor. “One cotton candy.”

  “What flavor?”

  Grant turn to me. “Which one? Pink, blue?”

  “Pink of course.”

  Grant exchanges money for the pink puff in the plastic bag.

  “Here’s your bag of sugar,” he says, handing me the bag.

  “We’re going to share, right? And hey, where’s your Oreo?”

  “We’ll get that later. Let’s head to the music. Speaking of music, what kind of music are you having at the party?”

  “I’ve hired a jazz band.”

  We head the way the music is calling us. At one point we have to maneuver around a crowd. One guy in the group started pushing another guy, and he pushed him into me. I start to fall, but Grant catches me, cotton candy bag and all.

  “Hey,” Grant says, looking at the big guy wearing a Georgia Bulldog T-shirt. “Watch what you’re doing.”

  “Sorry, dude. Just messing around with my friend here. You okay?” he asks looking at me.

  “I’m fine.” Except for the feel of Grant’s arms around me. He still has his arm over my shoulder like I need steadying.

  And I did need steadying.

  But not from the fall. From his touch.

  “’K. Again, sorry.”

  The group starts walking in the opposite direction of us, but Grant keeps his arm around me. I don’t say anything. It feels natural in a way.

  As we approach the area where the stage is, I look at my cotton candy which looks like my brain feels. Squished. Like it’s trying to cram a bunch of stuff into a small area.

  “Wanna try some?” I slip out of his grasp and hold up the bag, eager to let my mind think of other things. I open the bag, the sugary scent filling my senses. “Ooh. This is going to be great.” I pull some sticky sweetness out of the bag and pop it into my mouth. The sugary mess melts and makes me smile. “Come on. It’ll be good for you.”

  I grab some more intending to hand it to Grant, but my fingers had other ideas as I find myself holding it in front of his mouth. “Open.”

  To my surprise he does, and I gently put the cotton candy in his mouth. He shuts his mouth and I look away.

  What am I doing?

  “Better than I remembered.”

  His voice sounds wistful and I look at him. “Not bad, huh?”

  “It’s not something I would want an abundance of, but yeah, it’s okay.”

  “Well, here’s some more.”

  I feed him another bite of the delicious goo and in about ten minutes the bag is empty. “That’s a sugar rush I’m sure I don’t need,” I say.

  “I’m in agreement. But sometimes things we don’t need are good for us.”

  People around us start clapping as the band finishes a song. I clap along with the crowd, even though I’m more focused on Grant than the band.

  I can’t erase the feel of his arm around me. His face as I made that crazy remark earlier. I’m not sure why he’s affecting me so much.

  He’s just Grant.

  Sonya’s son.

  Who lives in New York City.

  Who’s unemployed and without passion.

  Yet, I’m drawn to him.

  The band starts playing a popular love song.

  His arm slips around me again, and I nestle into him.

  The crowd grows as this is a song most people are familiar with. For a few minutes I can forget my troubles.

  And for that I’m thankful to Grant.

  I also have to admit I like the feel of his arm around me. Like we’re a team.

  Like we’re together.

  It feels good not to feel alone.

  The song ends, the crowd claps. Except Grant. He keeps his arm draped across my shoulder. For a moment we can pretend, I guess.

  The band announces they are taking a break and the crowd starts to disperse.

  “So, how do you like the fair so far?” Grant asks.

  “At this moment I’m liking it.”r />
  He gently squeezes my shoulder. I look up at him.

  Mistake.

  Or maybe not.

  Our gazes meet and nothing else logically can happen except a kiss.

  His lips are soft. His kiss is warm.

  I turn into him, my arms snaking around his waist, letting him know I belong here. The weight of my troubles drifts away as his kiss deepens.

  Grant may not be able to cook right now, but he can kiss.

  Our lips part. “Eden. I don’t know…”

  I put my finger on his lips. “We don’t need to know. Not now. Not tonight.” Pulling my finger away I lean forward into another amazing kiss.

  A kiss that blows away the one on the playground years ago.

  The next morning I still feel the press of Grant’s lips on mine. I would say that they still tingle, but that only happens in novels and movies. I’ll take the memory of last night. We didn’t say much on the way home. He kissed me again before I got in my car, like a date would.

  But I’m not sure we were on a date.

  It was more like a let’s-forget-thereal-world interlude. And his kiss certainly made that happen. Because kissing Grant isn’t real world.

  Having no food for a party is real world.

  Grant losing his job is real world.

  I pull my hair into a ponytail, ready to tackle the day. I have to figure this food thing out. Every time I think about it I become flushed and hot. Nervous is not a strong enough word. I know Grant wants to help, and it might be good medicine for him, but I need food that people will eat.

  Not food that is destined for the garbage disposal.

  I promised to go over this afternoon for another trial run. Today is Tuesday. He said he’d have it figured out by now. I want to be hopeful, but everything is pointing the opposite direction.

  I spend the next two hours scouring the local catering services.

  Again.

  I actually set up two appointments for tomorrow, although I did that just to make me feel better. I will still have to borrow money if I hire a caterer.

  At two o’clock I arrive at Sonya’s like I promised Grant I would. I brace my nose for a decent smell as I walk into the house.

  And it does smell good.

  Smells familiar.

  Smells appetizing.

  Smiling I make my way toward the kitchen. “Knock, knock. I’m here.”