Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1

by Marina Adair

  “Which is what I was giving you. But instead of figuring things out, deciding the best way to handle the situation, you made an even bigger mess.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You stole a car, Josephina.”

  “It was our car, Mom.” She twirled her finger through the coiled phone cord.

  “It was a juvenile attempt to get back at Wilson and you know it.” She did, and having her mother point it out made her feel even more pathetic. Thank God she didn’t know about the golf clubs. “You were hurt, I understand—”

  “Am hurting, present tense—”

  “—but to leave without a word to anyone, to me or your father, your friends, only added to the speculation.”

  “I called you. Told you I was going to Sugar. You said reopening the inn was impulsive, another attempt to avoid growing up and dealing with the real world.” Josephina closed her eyes and willed back the tears. “You knew, Mom. You knew he was having sex with Babette and you never said a thing.”

  “Oh, honey. I was with my ladies club when I saw them together. What was I supposed to do, make a scene?”

  “Your ladies club? God, Mom, I had lunch with Margret and Elena the day before Wilson dumped me!” Elena was supposed to be one of her closest friends.

  “Your father and I told Wilson he needed to come clean. We all thought that Paris would be the best place to do it.”

  “So you could ruin the most romantic place on earth for me?”

  Josephina could almost hear her mom rolling her eyes, mouthing to her father that she was being overly emotional.

  “I wanted to be there for you, to hold you after, to cry with you.” Josephina started to soften, her anger melting at her mom’s words. “And to stay nearby in case you decided to do something rash.”

  Rash? Like put his dry-clean-only, custom-tailored Armani suits in the washer with a red sharpie and a box of glue sticks? Or rash as in cash out her savings, what was left of them, and Letty’s trust, to renovate a dilapidated old boardinghouse in the middle of cow country?

  “We think that you should come live with us for a while. Maybe put one of those degrees to good use. Go back to working with your father.”

  At present, she held a dual degree in hospitality management and interior design. When she’d realized her father had no intention of letting her work her way up the ladder like everyone else, since Harringtons were meant to lead, not serve, she left the hotel industry and went to culinary school.

  She’d been hired on as the morning pastry chef at a hotel in Manhattan, one of the few her parents didn’t have an inside connection with, when she met Wilson. He was charming and successful and sophisticated—and her boss. That he asked her out was surprising. That he found her unrestrained take on life sexy had floored her.

  Her odd schedule, which directly conflicted with his, was wearing on their relationship and, he pointed out, holding them back. Determined to make it work, Josephina left the restaurant to become an assistant to one of the most respected event planners in New York. And Josephina was damn good at her job. So good, in fact, that Wilson began having her plan his parties on the side.

  Eventually Wilson’s events dominated her schedule, leaving no room for her career, forcing her to resign and make his goals hers. Which was how she’d wound up spending the past two years hosting galas and fundraisers with the sole purpose of advancing Wilson in the social scene of Manhattan.

  She had been exactly what Wilson needed. Until he hadn’t needed her anymore.

  “Let us help you through this,” her mom said, and everything inside her wanted to give in. Wanted to let her mom fix this, because she was scared and alone and she was really hungry.

  Josephina wiped at her cheeks and stubbornly shook her head. “No, thanks, Mom. Your kind of help hurts too much.”

  Her mom’s breath hitched and she let loose a few shuddery sniffles. Josephina felt bad, she did, but they had hurt her, too, and she didn’t want them to fix her life anymore. She needed to fix things for herself.

  “Josephina.” Her father pronounced each of the four syllables precisely.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed past the thickness in her throat. Dealing with her mom was one thing, but her dad had the ability to make her feel guilty without even saying a word.

  “Hey, Daddy.”

  “You okay?”

  Josephina shook her head from side to side and blinked several times against the choking burn, not caused by the sun but by homesickness. And her mom was crying. And she hadn’t hugged anyone since Wilson took off, leaving her standing in pink lace and utter humiliation.

  “Dad, it was mortifying,” Josephina whispered, wiping her nose off on the hem of her shirt.

  All she wanted was for her dad to come through the phone. To hold her and tell her everything would be okay. That her life wasn’t a complete train wreck.

  “It was indeed, but not as humiliating as finding out from Mason Stevenson that you stole Wilson’s car and took off, tail between your legs. We’re Harringtons, Josephina. And Harringtons don’t run. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I didn’t have my tail between my legs. And I had a key.” Josephina let go a shuddered breath of her own. “I really needed to get to Letty’s house.”

  “It’s a dump. And you’re hiding under those ridiculous plans.”

  “No I’m not,” she defended, feeling three instead of thirty. “And Fairchild House will be a boutique inn specializing in—”

  “Fifty percent of all new businesses fail within the first year.”

  Josephina sat on her free hand to keep from ending the call as her father recited all of the same terrifying statistics he’d used as ammo when she had wanted to open her own restaurant. Expecting him to react like a father instead of a numbers cruncher had been her mistake. One she wouldn’t let happen again.

  “I know what I’m doing, Dad. I have a solid business plan, a budget.” Well, as solid as a plan could be when pieced together on a road trip. As for her budget, the exterior of the house alone was enough to tell her that she might have grossly underestimated costs.

  “Uh-huh,” her dad grunted.

  “I’m meeting with the general contractor next week. He came highly recommended,” she lied, purposely leaving out that his name was Rooster and he had been the only contractor in the phonebook—aside from McGraw Construction. “I went to a similar getaway in Italy and had the most amazing time.”

  “Tell her that Sugar isn’t Italy,” Josephina heard her mother say in the background, as though she feared her daughter was geographically challenged.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Okay, then tell me how many other inns like the one you’ve proposed have managed to succeed without the draw of an exotic destination and solid financial backing.”

  Josephina swallowed and tried not to show her fear. She didn’t know. She hadn’t had time to look into other inns, to see if what she imagined would work here in small-town U.S.A.

  “I am offering people a unique opportunity to experience southern hospitality in an exclusive way. Charming old plantation home, horseback riding, tranquil lake, real cowboys. It will be a novelty for the elite.”

  “It’s another disaster is what it is. Which is why I’m sending the jet. There’s a private airstrip twenty minutes south of Sugar. I can have it there in four hours.”

  If she told her parents to come get her, she’d what? Crawl back to Manhattan and admit she had once again acted on a whim? Admit the house was a disaster? Admit she had failed?

  She looked up at the roofline and prayed that the family of opossums would stay up in the attic. She’d heard them rustling around in the ventilation ducts when she’d been unpacking, and the bed in her childhood room would barely fit her and Boo. Because she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Letty’d found her magic at Fairchild House. Not that Josephina expected magic anymore, but she wanted to wake up and look in the mirror a
nd like what she saw. That wouldn’t happen if she went back to New York. It might not even happen if she stayed. But here, in Sugar, she stood a chance.

  “You know what, don’t bother sending the jet.” Josephina closed her eyes and pictured what Fairchild House would look like when she was done. “I love you and Mom. And I am so thankful for everything you’ve done for me. But I’ve got to find my own wings now. I’m staying.”

  Ignoring the familiar feeling of guilt over disappointing her family, she hung up. When the phone immediately rang again, she took the receiver off the hook and dropped her head back with a thud, sending a loose screen crashing to the porch. Boo yelped and scrambled up into her lap. Resting his front paws on her chest, he licked her face.

  Overhead, the head of the mama opossum peeked out of the vent and glared down at her, emitting an irritating hiss.

  Oh, dear God. Did she really just tell her father that she was staying?

  Chapter 4

  Two hours later and no closer to finding that rose garden, Josephina showered and threw on some boxers, Aunt Letty’s SHAKE YOUR SHAMROCKS T-shirt, and a pair of fairy wings she found in the back of the hall closet. She walked into the foyer, twisting her wet hair into two mouse ears on top of her head, while staring at the envelope sitting next to Kenny Rogers.

  Digging into the bag of cheese-flavored pretzels, the only food that looked the least bit appetizing—besides a stash of chocolate bars that she’d already made an impressive dent in— she studied the strong yet feminine letters on the envelope.

  Fairy Bug

  That was as far as she’d gotten before deciding to shower, find food, clean out the fireplace, measure every cabinet and closet, alter some of the preliminary sketches she had drawn at rest-stops along her trip south, and organize her idea box. Anything to put off opening that letter. Unable to procrastinate any longer, Josephina lifted the envelope.

  Seeing her childhood nickname made her throat go tight, so she took another long swig of beer she found in the fridge. Either Aunt Letty was a lush or her home was a front for a strip club. All that was in the kitchen was bar food, a healthy stash of cigars, and enough alcohol to get an entire pledge year of Kappa Delta Sigma plastered.

  She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. Coated in beer foam, powdered cheese goo, and a bit of leftover chocolate, she cringed and then wiped it on the right shoulder of her shirt. The left was already dirty. She opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

  Dear Fairy Bug,

  Josephina closed her eyes and sank down to the floor, pulling her legs to her chest and nearly flattening Boo, who scrambled out from under the table. He looked up with his big black eyes and flopped at her feet, showing his support.

  I hoped that you’d find your way here. This house was once your favorite place in the world, which is why I left it to you and not your parents. They wouldn’t understand its magic, and I can only hope that after all these years you still might remember.

  She did remember. Not that she believed in magic anymore. But when she was little, this place, and her aunt, had been heaven for an awkward girl who always felt like a hexagram in her parents’ square world.

  You were such a special child, too busy soaring and dreaming to get lost in the confines of life. You’ll always be a special girl, Josephina, a girl whose true beauty lies in her ability to dream, and you deserve far more than a life spent conceding to expectations. This house healed my heart and gave me the courage to let go of who I was trying so hard to become and embrace who I was.

  Child, with your parents, I would be surprised if you still remember how to color outside the lines. Maybe your time here will serve as a reminder. You can’t make others happy until you’ve learned what makes you happy. When you do, grab on and never let go.

  All my love,

  Aunt Letty

  PS. It’s hard to reach with your feet on the ground, so don’t be afraid to leap, child. The wings will appear. I promise.

  Four reads, two beers, and an entire bag of cheesy pretzels later, Josephina lay on her makeshift bed of couch pillows and a quilt in the foyer, staring up at the ceiling, and cried.

  What everyone else saw as flighty, her aunt saw as special. A pang of guilt settled in her chest. Last spring, before Aunt Letty passed, she had written to Josephina, asking her to come for a stay, to help her restore Fairchild House to its original glory.

  Funny, how over the years, she’d never found the time to visit. But now, when her life was at its lowest, the only person who understood what it was like to live in her head was gone.

  “This is why I don’t drink,” she said loudly, to any of the fairies still awake in the ceiling willing to listen. Even drunk she could tell she was slurring.

  She stuck her hands in the bag of pretzels. Damn, empty. Tugging the top rim, she tipped it up, dumping the crumbs into her mouth. Correction, her hair.

  She didn’t know how it happened, but Josephina had worked so hard over the past few years to become the kind of woman Wilson could be proud of that she’d allowed Wilson’s dreams to take over, until there was no room left for her own. No room left for Josephina. And all she’d wound up with was bruised self-esteem, a wallet full of canceled credit cards, frozen phone service, and a set of golf clubs.

  Exhausted and tired of crying, she let her eyes slide shut. Somehow she knew that coming here had been the right choice. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but just being in this house made everything less overwhelming. If she concentrated hard enough, she could actually feel herself flying.

  Feel her wings—move?

  She opened her eyes to find someone staring at her. Someone who was rapidly ruining her buzz.

  “Ever hear of knocking?”

  “Did. All I got in response was snoring.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “Guess it was the dog then.” Brett flashed his million-dollar grin. One that further ruined her mood.

  “Can you point that,” she whirled her hand in the air to encompass his trademarked smile, “somewhere else?”

  She wanted to pretend she was immune, but feared she wasn’t. His grin only widened, so she slammed her eyes shut.

  Ah, blessed silence. Then, his fingers brushed her shoulder.

  She growled.

  Boo barked.

  “Gotta say, Joie. Or should I call you Tinker Bell? Kind of hurt that you threw a party and I didn’t get an invite.”

  “You still here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She opened her eyes right as he reached down and brushed a hand over her belly and a few crumbs scattered to the floor. His hand moved dangerously close to the underneath sides of her breasts, sending them into party mode.

  “Stop trying to brush off all of my fairy dust.”

  “I was actually trying to get the glob of cheese goo off your shirt before you become a sitting entrée for the rats.” He winked.

  She glared at Brett, who didn’t have chocolate on his cheek or dinner on his shirt. No, he looked damn fine. He was freshly showered, clean-shaven, and smelled like sin.

  Brett picked up a white plastic bag off the floor and dangled it in front of her nose. Something warm and mouth-watering wafted past. It was sweet and spicy and smelled like…grease.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Double bacon BBQ burger with fries. Local specialty. Figured you might be hungry. And you might sleep better,” he pulled a brand-new, adorably pink cell phone out of his pocket, “knowing you could contact the outside world if the mood struck.”

  “Food first.” Moving slowly to make sure the room really wasn’t spinning, Josephina drew in a grounding breath and sat up. Yup, the room was tilted. And swirling. And she just might need to lie back down, which she did.

  Brett settled a hand on her shoulder and helped her back to a sit. He eyed the two empty bottles and grinned. “Please tell me there are more empty bottles lying around somewhere.”

  “Nope.�
� Squinting, she narrowed her eyes on the bag, then on him. “Are you expecting a little rebound nookie to go with my fortune cookie?”

  “Is that an offer?”

  “No.” Josephina felt her cheeks heat, and it was definitely not from the alcohol. Feigning disinterest, she said, “The bald thing kind of blew it, remember?”

  “You might want to tell that to your hands.”

  She looked down. Whoops, somehow her hands had tangled themselves in the bottom of his shirt. She snatched them back.

  Rising to his impressive height, and placing his most impressive part in her direct line of sight, Brett set the takeout next to Kenny and offered her a hand. He pulled her up—and so far into his personal space their thighs brushed.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said all breathy.

  “There’s an extra patty in there for Fido.” Fido bared his teeth, and not in a nice way. “And this,” he held up the cell, “I wasn’t sure if the phone was working. I tried calling but only got a busy signal.”

  A normal occurance when the phone was left off the hook.

  “It’s already programmed with my number. Just hold down this button and you can get hold of me.”

  She glanced at his movements. He’d programmed himself as number one—of course.

  “Thanks. I can pay you back in—” She had no idea when.

  “Think of it as a housewarming gift.” He slowly slid the phone into the waistband of her boy-shorts, her stomach quivering as his calloused fingers brushed her bare flesh.

  Her eyes dropped to his mouth, lingering there long enough for him to notice and grin. But when she looked up he was staring at her the same way and they were standing awfully close. Close enough to kiss.

  “You did that on purpose.”

  “Are you mad because I touched you or because you responded?”

  Because you are making this whole “done with men thing” really hard.

  “Thanks for, well, everything. It’s nice to know that if I get eaten by a family of opossums I can contact the authorities so they can tell my parents. But beyond that I’m just…” Too tired to fake it anymore, she dropped the manufactured attitude. “I came here because…well, I don’t know why anymore.”