Sweeter Than Tea

by Deborah Grace Staley

  Okay. That was crossing a line. She’d known the man one day. He didn’t know anything about her or what she could or couldn’t take. If she was being honest, she had to admit this had needed doing for some time. She’d even considered hiring an accounting firm to do this kind of thing for her, but she hadn’t found the time to do the research to hire someone. Still, she hadn’t asked for Sam or anyone else to step in and handle this or anything else for her. It was her responsibility, no one else’s. And she didn’t appreciate Sam swooping in to save her from herself, nor could she overlook the part her parents had apparently played in it all.

  “Someone should have spoken to me before you did this.”

  Sam’s smile was slow and sensual. “But that would have ruined the surprise.”

  Hannah’s dad backed his chair up and stood. “Mary, take me home, would you? My recliner’s calling my name.”

  “I’ll deal with you later,” Hannah promised.

  Her dad kissed her cheek. “I look forward to it, honey. Sam.” The two men shook hands.

  “Thank you for your help, sir.”

  Her dad chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  Sam sat, and the stare off began. Principle dictated that she couldn’t just let him off the hook. He’d invaded her domain, and they were barely acquainted.

  “Why did you do this?” she asked.

  “It’s like I said,” he started. “I wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve done so much for so many people.”

  Great. Her dad had clearly been chatty. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not just referring to the care packages I send the troops?”

  Sam sighed. “Your dad told me about his illness, and how you dropped out of school to start the business and help support your family.”

  “Perfect.” She looked away. Embarrassed.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Hannah.”

  His softly spoken words had her looking at him again. She could get lost in that look that had her thinking about things happening between the two of them, things she couldn’t afford to consider. Not with him leaving.

  “So, that’s all there is to it? You wanting to do something nice for me?”

  “Well . . .”

  Now they were getting somewhere. He wanted something in return. She crossed her arms and waited.

  “I have two weeks off.”

  “Right. The cross country motorcycle tour is now delayed a day because of this.”

  “I’m not worried about that.”

  “Good, because I intend to pay you for your trouble.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Okay, Sam. Spill it. Clearly you had something in mind when you did this.”

  He surprised her by taking her hand and leaning across the table towards her. “To start, I hoped you’d let me take you to dinner tonight.”

  She hesitated, distracted by his nearness. “To start?”

  “Then I’ll come back tomorrow to finish this up and train your mom.”

  Still circumventing her. “When were you thinking you’d train me? It is my business, after all.” She would be completely annoyed with him if it weren’t for the distraction of this wild attraction between them that had no hope of ever becoming anything.

  “When we get back,” he was saying.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Hannah, I want to spend time getting to know you better. If you feel the same, I’d love for you to come with me to Georgia this weekend to pick up my bike. It should be nice weather for the ride back.”

  “And then?”

  “I don’t have plans beyond the weekend, but I’m hopeful that we’ll decide we want to spend more time together. What do you say?”

  A ray of hope lifted her spirits. “Let’s see how dinner goes.”

  His smile was huge.

  “I mean, we haven’t even kissed yet. There might not be anything there.”

  He leaned in closer. “Only one way to find out.”

  He tugged at her hands, pulling her closer. His lips touched hers, soft and warm, teasing them with the question of when he’d take the kiss deeper. She heard herself moan when he traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue.

  “Wow, like, get a room,” Gracie said.

  Sam smiled, breaking the contact, but rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

  “Take a break, Gracie,” she said.

  “Gladly.”

  When her niece had walked into the back, Sam asked, “So, what’s the verdict?” between feather-light kisses that had her head spinning.

  “Mmm . . . I think you need to finish what you started.”

  This time when their lips met, it was a hot hungry expression of need that left no doubts as to the explosive attraction they felt for each other. When they broke the kiss much later, both had trouble catching their breath.

  “Wow, that was amazing,” he said.

  All Hannah could do was nod her agreement.

  Sam smiled, and her stomach did flip-flops. “I think dinner should go just fine.”

  When she finally found her voice, she said, “Thank you for organizing all this paperwork and for setting up the program on my computer. I’ve needed to have this done. I just haven’t had the time to deal with it.”

  “You’re welcome.” He released her hand and stood.

  Hannah allowed a bit of excitement and anticipation, as well as the aftermath of that kiss, to lead her to consider possibilities for the two of them.

  “I’ll just put all this back in your office, and then I’ll go get ready,” he said. “Where should I pick you up?”

  “I live in a loft a block away. If you want, we could walk to a nice restaurant that’s here, downtown.”

  “Perfect. Is an hour too soon?”

  Probably, but she didn’t want to waste any more time when they had so little. “See you then,” she said.

  He kissed her and was gone, leaving Hannah with the unmistakable feeling that she was about to fall in love.

  Dinner went well—had, in fact, been amazing. The trip to Georgia and ride back to Tennessee, even better. The next two weeks, they divided time between the bakery and being together. The more she knew about Sam, the more she wanted to know. The feeling was very mutual.

  Hannah’s mom and dad took over the bakery part of the time during those two weeks so she and Sam could take a few short trips. She’d never imagined herself on the back of a motorcycle, but she had to admit, she loved it—mainly because she was with Sam in the spring sunshine, relaxing and enjoying life. After so many years of focus on the business, it felt good to be carefree and exploring a new relationship.

  When Sam’s two-week furlough ended, Hannah knew the future would hold many trips between Georgia and Tennessee, because Sam had another year on his commitment to the Air Force. Each time they parted, sometimes for weeks at a time, being apart became harder. The separations were hard, but she couldn’t just leave her business and her obligations to the community and her family.

  Summer came, making the baking long, hot work. She walked out front, and grabbing an ice-cold bottle of water from the cooler, pressed it to her neck. Outside, temperatures were in the nineties, but it had felt like it was twice that with the ovens going full blast.

  Hannah sat. She was so hot and sticky she was having daydreams about standing under the oversized showerhead in her condo with cool, clear water sluicing over her body. Maybe she could get away for a few minutes to shower and change clothes. But first, she’d just rest her head on her hands for a moment. Her late night talking to Sam on her cell, combined with the heat, had sapped all her energy.

  The bells on the door jangled, but she didn’t have the energy to look up to see who it was. Her niece could deal with it.

&nbs
p; Sam . . . she missed him so much, she could smell his cologne. It had been almost three weeks since she’d seen him. Too long.

  “Hannah?”

  She sat up startled. “Sam!”

  Launching herself at the man kneeling beside her, she clung to him, so happy to be in his arms, but then backed up almost immediately. She must look awful with her hair plastered to her face and neck and her T-shirt all damp and clinging to her body.

  “I’m sorry.” Hannah smoothed a hand over her hair. “I know I’m a sight.”

  “A sight for sore eyes.” He soothed her hair back towards her ponytail with a gentle hand. “You’re beautiful, and I love you,” he said softly.

  She touched his cheek, tears misting her eyes. “I love you, too, but what are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  Sam urged her back into the chair but remained kneeling beside her. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “I don’t know if I can take more than you materializing out of thin air. You’re more than enough.”

  He smiled, but pointed to something outside. A large truck sat in front of the bakery.

  “What’s that?” she asked, frowning.

  “A moving truck filled with my stuff, which makes this next thing I have to say critical.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I accepted a position with the Air Base here in town. A position came open. I talked to them, and they wanted me so badly, they were able to work something out with the Air Force to let me out of my commitment early. But that’s not what’s really important.”

  “Not important!” She framed his face with her hands. “You mean you’re here to stay?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re going to live in Maryville?”

  He nodded again.

  She was so happy she couldn’t speak.

  “If you’re through asking questions, there is one more thing.”

  “What could possibly top the fact that you’re here to stay?”

  “If you’ll let me say it—”

  “Say it already so I can kiss you senseless!”

  His smile lit up her soul. “Hannah Goode, I love you with all my heart. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.” He held up a velvet box, and opening it, revealed a sparkling, round diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds set in white gold. “Will you marry me?”

  Hannah pressed her hands to her lips, nodding and laughing and crying all at once.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, oh yes!”

  She launched herself into his arms again, clinging to him as they kissed to seal their commitment to one another. How could she be so lucky? When she’d opened the bakery, she’d done it out of love—love of baking and love for her family. Her family had worked together here, sharing their love with the community and the troops through the baking. All these ingredients had combined to not only fill her life with love, but had also brought her Sam.

  When he’d walked into her bakery, she could never have imagined that eight months later, he’d be sliding a diamond on her finger and promising to love her forever. One thing was sure, the cake they would make together for their wedding would be a perfect expression of their love, but it certainly would not be the last. Just like her parents, she and Sam would love and bake together for the rest of their lives, passing the tradition on to their children and grandchildren.

  Theirs was sure to be a future made with love.

  All Foam, No Beer

  Valerie Keiser Norris

  When I was twelve and Daddy ran off with the preacher’s young wife, Mama never shed one tear. She gathered up the clothes he’d left behind and lugged them to the big oil barrel in back to burn with the trash.

  “No way am I donating any of that mess to the church rummage sale,” she declared. “Already given those hypocrites more than I planned to.”

  Mostly, she didn’t talk about him. She seemed more annoyed that he’d gone off without fixing the next-to-the-bottom basement step than that he’d left with another woman. Within a week she purged the house of everything of Daddy’s. She hauled his worn recliner to the dump, sold his guns, and got rid of every last one of his NASCAR hats and die-cast model cars, right up to the current 1964 versions. The unattached garage would have to be gutted to strip it of Daddy’s things, so Mama just ignored it, parking the car in the driveway like always. Photos and personal stuff she tossed into a carton labeled “Joyce and Angie’s father,” and gave it to my older sister and me. “Just keep it out of my sight,” she warned us.

  I stored it beside the vacuum in the hall closet. Mama, tall and broad-shouldered, loved yard work, but wasn’t much for house cleaning.

  One thing Mama didn’t get rid of was the beer-brewing equipment in the basement. “I’m the one who always ended up taking care of it, and I make pretty good beer. Which you won’t know until y’all are legal age.” She fixed Joyce and me with her steely-eyed glare.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, but she didn’t need to worry on my account.

  Joyce, two years older than me and worlds more sophisticated, had no such qualms. Barely fourteen, she and her friend lifted a half-dozen bottles from Mama’s stash and drank them in the garage. Since Mama had sworn not to go into the garage ever again, Joyce felt safe. I don’t know what she planned to do if Mama kept count of her beer—no one ever accused Joyce of being the brainy sister. After her little party, she stumbled into the living room, fell onto Mama’s lap, and gushed, “Mama, you’re so beautiful.”

  Mama looked down at her and sighed. “Joyce Louise, could you be a little less like your father?”

  They say girls act out when their fathers disappear from their lives, but even when Daddy lived with us, he was pretty much indifferent to us. Joyce had gone boy-crazy at twelve and drove Mama wild with her behavior. After Daddy left, though, Mama seemed to lose the energy to police Joyce. Whenever the school called about Joyce’s truancy or her failing grades, Mama got after her, but that was it.

  I don’t think Daddy’s being there or not made much difference in me. I was the good kid, the one who came home after school, cleaned house, and made supper. When Mama got in from her job as a trucking company dispatcher, I was usually at the kitchen table, homework spread out, with supper simmering away on the stove. Joyce would slink in just before or even after Mama arrived. You couldn’t miss the swollen lips, the dark hickeys peeking out above turtlenecks, the dried grass clinging to Joyce’s sweaters, but Mama never said a word.

  By the time Joyce turned sixteen and officially started dating the boys she’d been sneaking around with, Mama was finally herself again, less prone to hide in her room of an evening. She wasn’t keen on any of the specimens Joyce brought home. “Like brew gone bad,” Mama said. “All foam, no beer.”

  When one stayed in his car at the end of the driveway, honking for Joyce to come out, Mama grabbed Joyce’s arm as she raced to the door. “Oh, no you don’t. Either he comes to the door to meet me, or you don’t go.”

  “But Mama—”

  “No, ma’am. If he can’t behave like a gentleman, y’all ain’t going out.”

  We listened to the honking horn awhile, and finally a car door slammed. A few seconds later came a knock on the front door. Mama answered, me peeking from behind her. Many of the boys in Joyce’s class were wearing Beatles’ bangs, but this boy’s hair was oiled and formed into a front curl, and his socks were white. Greaser.

  Mama glanced to her left, giving Joyce the look that could reduce me to a pile of mush. Out of sight of the boy, Joyce crossed her arms against her new orange A-line dress, her face set in the pout she’d mastered before I was born.

  Mama turned back to the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Joyce?”

  “No, I’m Mrs. Peterson.”


  He rolled his eyes. “She here?” he asked, scratching at his sparse goatee.

  “Yes, she is.”

  A silence. Mama looked prepared to stand there all day, one hand holding the door open, the other firmly pulling the screen door shut.

  “Well, we have a date?” He widened his eyes, as if Mama was a mite slow.

  Oh, you poor fool, I thought.

  “Oh? And who might you be?” Mama asked.

  “Just tell her it’s Turk.”

  “Turk. Hmm. Why don’t I tell her it’s that little Fadden boy who used to pick his nose and eat it?” Mama said.

  Three feet away, out of sight of the boy, Joyce’s whole body slumped. She cast an anguished look at Mama.

  For a moment Mama and the boy stared at each other. “I’m Derek,” he finally said. “That was my brother.”

  “Oh? I never heard there were two Fadden boys.” Mama opened the screen door enough to stick out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Derek Fadden. I’m Joyce’s mother.”

  Warily, he held out a hand and let her shake it.

  “Would you like to come in?” Mama didn’t let go.

  “Uh, no, just send Joyce—”

  Mama pushed the screen door completely open with her shoulder and pulled him forward. “Come in, come in. Have a seat. Let me get to know the young man my daughter thinks enough of to date.”

  Joyce glanced my way, misery etched in the thick coat of base makeup covering any hint of a pimple. “I’ll never get another date in my entire life,” she muttered.

  By the time I was eligible to date, two years later, Joyce had dropped her sights lower, dating boys who looked even more dangerous. When they actually came to the house, Mama tried to put the fear of God into them, but Joyce was wily, meeting boys when she was supposedly off with a girlfriend or at a school-sponsored event.

  With my sister paving the way for me, I was automatically designated “that kind of girl.” Only boys who wore pointy shoes and smelled of cigarette smoke asked me out, to keg parties or drive-in movies, so I never dated. And that was okay—I agreed with Mama. Boys just weren’t worth the trouble. The greasers were beyond contempt, and the other boys were immature—shoving each other in the hallway, making crude comments, infatuated with the cheerleaders—I wasn’t any more interested in them than they were in me.