by Ivy Layne
“—but it was the right thing to do,” Royal finished for me.
“It was the only thing to do.”
I knew better than anyone that sometimes choices weren’t about right and wrong.
Sometimes choices were about what you could live with.
I'd be living with this swollen cheek for a while, but if The Inn had to shut down because of a cockroach infestation all of us would suffer. There were other places to stay in Sawyers Bend, but none attracted high profile guests with money to spend like The Inn at Sawyers Bend.
Royal contemplated me, his gaze thoughtful as he took another bite of brownie. “What are your plans tonight?”
“What?” I asked, not following his abrupt change in topic.
“Tonight. What are your plans?”
“Um, dinner with my grandmother and J.T. and early to bed since I have to get up at four.” It wasn't sexy or exciting, but that was my life.
“Have dinner with me instead,” Royal ordered with a flash of that charming grin. The spark of light in his deep blue eyes would have brought me to my knees if I hadn’t already been sitting.
My long-neglected hormones shouted YES!
My mouth opened, and instead, I asked, “Why?”
Royal’s charming grin morphed into genuine amusement. “Because you're brave. And smart. And very, very pretty.”
My jaw didn't exactly drop, but it was close. Very, very pretty? I didn't have to look down to see the grass stains on my jeans, the flour smeared across my shirt, and my cherry-cola curls falling out of the messy poof I'd stuck them in well before dawn.
At my best, I could pull off pretty. I had good genes to work with, after all. But after hours spent in the kitchen plus a fistfight? No way.
I rolled my eyes. “I don't mix business with pleasure,” I said, primly.
“Neither do I, usually,” Royal countered.
I rolled my eyes again. “Right. You never date locals, only hook up with hot tourists who come through the hotel. If that isn't mixing business with pleasure—”
Royal’s smile slipped. “Not the same thing. Are you saying you don't want to have dinner with me?”
I ignored his question. “Anyway, I have a boyfriend,” I said.
Royal shook his head. “No, you don't.”
“I do,” I insisted.
“Who?” he demanded.
“J.T. Everybody knows that,” I said. It was mostly true. Kind of.
Royal leaned back in his chair again, crossing his arms over his chest and raising one eyebrow. “And that's not mixing business with pleasure? He works for you, doesn't he? In fact, if you look at it that way, it's a harassment case waiting to happen.”
I laughed at the thought. “J.T.'s been my best friend since middle school. He's not going to sue me for harassment.” Realizing that made us seem less like the romance of the century, I looked away. “I appreciate the invitation. I'm flattered. But I have a boyfriend and I'm not interested.”
“Lying again, Daisy?”
The heat that hit my cheeks had me standing. “Your first order will be delivered tomorrow. I'll include the invoice. It's been a pleasure doing business with you.”
Royal stood and followed me out, his fingertips landing lightly on my lower back as he guided me through the door. “You sure about dinner tonight?”
“I told you, I'm not interested.”
Royal’s laugh followed me into the empty reception area, all the way to the elevator.
“If you say so. I'll be seeing you around, Miss Daisy.”
I very much doubted that.
And I was very, very wrong.
Chapter Four
Daisy
Daze, you've got a delivery.” I knew that sing-song tone in J.T.'s voice. I finished adding the last flower petal on the cookie I was decorating and set the bag of icing down, bracing my hands on my lower back and stretching. I love icing cookies, but it’s murder on the back.
A delivery? A delivery shouldn’t have come to the front. My cheek felt better than it had the day before, but it looked awful. I wasn't leaving the kitchen. If J.T. wanted something, he'd have to come to me.
He did, pushing through the swinging double doors from the front of the shop. I looked up, expecting to see his handsome and well-loved face. Instead, an extravagant bouquet of flowers filled the doorway, so big it blocked most of my view of J.T.
“What did you do to deserve these?” he asked, crossing the kitchen to set the flowers on the small desk in the corner, away from the food prep areas. “I don't even want to guess what they must have cost.”
Before I could stop him, he plucked the card from the front of the arrangement and opened it.
“Hey!” I lunged across the kitchen, but I was too slow. The door from the shop opened behind me just in time for Grams to hear.
“You're my hero, Daisy Hutchins. Don't think I'm giving up on dinner. R.”
J.T. raised one dark eyebrow at me, but Grams said what he was thinking. “Dinner?”
I snatched the card from J.T.'s hand, trying to tamp down my thrill at the sight of Royal's dark, angular slashes of writing. I'd assumed his spontaneous invitation to dinner had been a whim. I took in the bouquet. Lilies, roses, and a few vibrant gerbera daisies in a blown glass vase I knew hadn't come from the flower shop.
J.T. was right, I didn't want to guess what they must have cost either. I only knew it was a lot.
“Dinner?” Grams prompted again, a gleam in her eye. Dammit. I knew that gleam.
“It's nothing. He's just… He doesn't mean it. He's Royal Sawyer.” They both continued to stare at me, expectant. “You guys, he doesn't really want to go out with me. He’s Royal Sawyer,” I reminded them again.
Grams raised an eyebrow. J.T. shook his head at me. “Exactly. He's Royal Fucking Sawyer. I assume your eyes are still working. Let him take you to dinner. At the worst, it's a free meal, and Royal Sawyer is not gonna take you out for a bad meal.”
“I'm not interested in being Royal Sawyer's piece of the week. He's nice to look at, sure. And he's grateful I helped them out with the thing the other day. He feels bad I got socked in the face. That's all. It's a small town and tourist season hasn't really kicked in yet. He's probably bored.”
J.T.'s eyebrow was still raised. “That's a lot of protests there, Daze. You sure you're not interested?”
“I told him I have a boyfriend.”
J.T. shook his head. “You know you don't have to—”
I cut him off. “That's not the point. I'm not going out with Royal Sawyer.” I looked to Grams, waiting for her to back up J.T. and try to badger me into going out with Royal. She just looked from me to J.T. to the flowers and shook her head.
“You're wasting your life buried in the kitchen here, baby girl. You don't have to marry the boy, but I don’t see the harm in letting him buy you a meal as a thanks for saving his bacon.”
“I already got a thank-you. J.T. delivered the first order to The Inn, and they paid the invoice before lunch. That's all the thanks I need.”
Grams shook her head again. I knew better than to think that meant she was dropping the subject. Grams knew how to bide her time. She also believed in letting people go their own way, so it could be she really was prepared to drop it. She'd speak her piece when she decided to and not a moment sooner.
In the meantime, I had to focus on my own problems, none of which had anything to do with Royal Sawyer.
“You should at least thank him for the flowers. That's just good manners,” Grams added.
I should have known Grams couldn't let it go without getting the last word. Fine. She was right. It was a beautiful arrangement that required thanks. Later. I had special orders to fill, and more business to drum up before I could take a break.
A knock landed on the back door of the kit
chen. Still lingering by the bouquet, J.T. was closest, and he moved to swing the door open. The slight figure in the doorway took me by surprise.
“Mom,” I said, my heart giving a leap of hope.
If she was here, then maybe—
A smile crossed her face before her eyes skittered from mine to Grams.
And maybe not.
As always where my parents were concerned, that leap of hope flipped into a dive.
“Is Dad with you?” I asked carefully. J.T. and Grams waited along with me for my mother’s response.
“Oh, he'll be along,” she said vaguely. “He had some business to wrap up. I thought I'd come ahead and see if y'all needed any help in the bakery.”
As she always had, Grams stepped into the void. “It's good to have you back, honey.” She crossed the room and pulled my mom into a tight hug, rocking Sheree’s form against her taller, broader one. “You have good timing. J.T. has a full load of classes this spring—he started in the culinary program at Tech—and we could use some help during the week. It's good to see your beautiful face.”
Grams had a bottomless well of love for Sheree Hutchins. According to Grams, my father, her son, had shown up almost thirty years before with Sheree in tow, presenting her as his new wife and asking Grams to take them in after Sheree’s own parents had cut her off for dropping out of college to marry a “shiftless white boy.”
I'd never met my maternal grandparents, and I didn't want to, given the way they’d treated my mother, but after all these years, I had to admit—they might have had a point.
My father was the king of charming smiles. If he could hold onto a dollar we would’ve had a million of them because he could talk anyone into anything. People talk about being able to sell ice to Eskimos, but my daddy could sell an Eskimo the igloo he’d just built at a 50% markup.
He could have been a great salesman, but a loose acquaintance with the truth put him more on the end of a con artist. Combined with his need to spend every penny he got his hands on… Well, there’s a reason my Grams raised me.
My dad liked to tease that I had no sense of adventure, but from what I’d seen, his 'sense of adventure' had gotten my mom a lifetime of empty cupboards and middle-of-the-night moves when they couldn’t make rent. Or worse. I’d take my stable, quiet life with Grams and the bakery any day.
My mother pulled away from Grams and crossed to me, stopping short when she took in my swollen cheek. “Oh, baby, what happened? Are you okay?”
“It's nothing, Mom. Just an accident.” I wrapped my arms around her and held tight. She wasn't perfect, but she was my mom. Despite everything else, we loved each other. I rocked her back and forth, smelling the cocoa butter she used on her skin mixed with the vanilla scent she'd always worn. When I was a child I’d cried when I made cookies with Grams, the smell reminding me of my often-absent mother. Now it just made me smile. She was who she was. And so was I.
So alike on the outside and so different underneath. We had the same tawny skin. The same warm brown eyes. I’d always be grateful I’d inherited her full lips and long lashes. There the similarities ended.
My mother wore her dark brown hair straight to her shoulders. No matter how tight money was, she always managed to look classy and neatly put together. I could do classy and neat if I wanted, but I was more like Grams. I didn't go for her hippie style, but you'd find me in a T-shirt and cut-off jeans far more often than in a twin-set and slacks.
I got my tight curls from my mother, but I wore them chin length and natural, except for the color. Lately, I’d been playing with color, so even there our hair was different. After an unfortunate mistake with yellow, and another with orange—my bright idea of going around the color wheel with hair dye—I’d settled on a shade of cherry-cola with hints of hot pink. It was wild, but every time I looked in the mirror, it looked like me.
My mom toyed with a hot pink curl springing from the poof on top of my head. “I like the color, baby. It suits you. I missed my gorgeous girl.” She cupped my face in her hands, gentle on my swollen cheek, and kissed my forehead.
Pressing my cheek to hers, I murmured, “I missed you too, Mom.”
I meant it. I had missed my mom.
I always missed my mom, even when she was right in front of me.
How could I not when she always, always picked him first.
Straightening, she looked around and spotted the bouquet on my desk. “Flowers? Wow, who are those from?” She looked at J.T., and he shook his head with a wry grin.
“Those are a little out of my budget, Sheree. Daisy got those from Royal Sawyer.”
I shot J.T. a look. Thanks for nothing, my eyes said. His grin widened and he shrugged.
My mother's face fell. “You're not getting mixed up with the Sawyers, are you Daisy? They're nothing but trouble for a girl like you.”
I bit back the response that jumped to my lips. Like she could talk. She was married to Darren Hutchins, a man who defined trouble.
And what did she mean for a girl like me? Because I was half-black or because I wasn't rich? I didn't want to fight with her when she’d just come home, but something inside me couldn't let it go.
Royal had been nothing but kind to me. Just because his father had been known as an asshole didn't mean Royal was too. “Royal isn't like that, Mom. I did him a favor, and he sent the flowers as a thank-you, that's all.”
“What kind of favor?” she asked and raised a hand to touch the bruise on my cheek. I stepped back, shaking my head.
Chapter Five
Daisy
This wasn't Royal's fault. I was in the right place at the right time and I kind of stopped a break-in. Sort of. It's complicated. And I'm not getting mixed up with Royal Sawyer. He's not my type.” I hoped that would be the end of it.
J.T. looked at his feet and murmured, “Royal’s everybody's type.”
Before I could glare at J.T. he did what we’d been doing for each other since middle school and saved my ass. Winding his arm through Sheree's, he turned her to the double doors leading to the front of the shop. “Come on, Sheree, let's get you back in an apron. We have customers, and we can't let Daisy out front looking like that. She'd scare them all away, right? Anyway, she's got orders to fill.”
Grams gave my arm a squeeze and followed them out.
We’d had a momentary lull when the flowers came, but it didn’t last long. The sounds of a busy shop leaked through the doors as I worked. It was a good thing my mom had shown up when she did. I had my hands full filling orders, prepping for the next day, and trying to figure out my next target for expansion now that I'd locked down The Inn.
I couldn’t forget scheming a way to get my mother alone. I needed to know about Dad, and I couldn't ask in front of Grams or J.T. They still didn't know what I’d done. With every day that passed, it got harder and harder to tell them.
Who was I kidding? It didn't get harder, it had started out impossible and only got worse.
I couldn't tell them. I wouldn't.
I was just going to fix the problem and then no one ever had to know. Every time I hit that train of thought my stomach squirmed with unease. Making excuses for my own bad judgment sounded too much like my father.
Not telling is a lie. I knew it, but every time I opened my mouth to come clean the words disappeared.
I had a plan. And maybe, just maybe, my dad would come through.
J.T. and I followed Mom and Grams back to the house after we closed. As J.T. said, “Might as well get a free meal if Grams is cooking.”
I usually settled for a sandwich in the evenings, hastily assembled while I finished up the day's work, or did paperwork at my desk. I could use a decent meal, and I hadn't seen my mother in months. If I went to dinner at the house I might have the chance to catch her alone.
Sheree had learned a few things in her decades of marr
iage to my father. She proved elusive, always managing to be right next to Grams or J.T. every time I tried to catch her eye.
She knew I hadn't told them.
By the end of dinner, I found myself wanting to stomp my foot like a thwarted child. Sheree was always so sweet and kind and affectionate. It's true, she was all of those things. She also used them to hide her wily side.
I finally pinned her down while she washed dishes in the kitchen and J.T. had pulled Grams aside to ask her about something he was studying in class.
Grabbing a pot to dry, I tried to act casual. “Mom, how was Charlotte? Did you like it?”
“Charlotte?” she asked as if she'd never heard of the biggest city in North Carolina. Crap. That wasn't a good sign considering that's where Dad had said he’d find his big business opportunity.
Cautious, not wanting to spook her, I pressed a little harder. “Yeah, Charlotte. I thought that’s where you guys were.”
“Oh, of course. It was nice. I don't care for it in the winter, though, so we headed down to Tampa.”
“Is, um, Dad planning on coming for a visit?”
My fingers curled into fists behind my back. I wanted to demand information. Considering the position they put me in, I didn't think a little straight talk was out of line. Not going to happen. My mother and straight talk were not acquaintances.
“He'll be along, I expect. He had some things to wrap up.”
I swallowed hard and braced, keeping my voice low. “And the money, Mom? Do you know if Dad's planning on paying me back? He was supposed to have it by Christmas, remember?”
She refused to meet my eyes, scrubbing hard at the casserole dish in the sink. “Daisy, baby, you know I don't handle things like that. I'm sure your father has it under control. You ask him when he gets here, and he'll get this sorted out for you. Hasn’t he always taken care of you?”
