Sprinkles on Top (A Sugar Springs Novel)

by Kim Law

  “That doesn’t match your clothes?” he teased.

  “Exactly.” She punched the word with life. “So that all you see are the shoes.”

  He paused as her words sunk in. Interesting. She was her shoes. And all she wanted was to be seen.

  He once again reached for her hand. He brought it to his lap.

  When she turned to him, he reiterated slowly, “I hated it . . . because I was sixteen.”

  She gave an understanding nod.

  “He’d hoped it would bring us together, but it didn’t. Not immediately. But during college I started helping him on weekends. Until the course load got too much to even come home.

  “Dad never worked on it without me, though. He told me when he bought it that it was our car. If I didn’t want to work on it with him, then it could just sit here.”

  “That must have killed him,” she whispered. “Having this sitting here. You know he had to want to fix it up and take it out.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I get that now. At the time, all I got was that he’d bought a piece of crap instead of the car that I did want.”

  “What did you want?”

  Embarrassment slid over him. “A silver Mercedes-Benz convertible.”

  Her brows shot up. “Looks like you got one.”

  “I did. But not until this year.”

  “Why this year? Surely you could have afforded one before.”

  It was his turn to run a hand over the beauty of the car. Every time he sat in it, it was as if he were talking to his dad. They’d gotten beyond their troubled years, but they’d never had the chance to finish the car together. He’d graduated college and gone on to law school. Then there had been the internship. Then the job.

  And then his dad had died.

  He brought Holly’s palm to his mouth and pressed a light kiss to the center of it. “Because that’s when I finished this car,” he said.

  Understanding dawned on her face. He’d known she would get it. He wouldn’t allow himself to have his dream car until he’d gotten this one done.

  “You had to finish it without him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words were sincere. “I didn’t know him, but he raised you, and I do know you. So I feel like I understand who he was. He would have been proud that you finished it.”

  Zack nodded. He knew his father would’ve been proud.

  That’s why he’d done it.

  He’d always wanted to make his dad proud.

  Her hand was still in his—and she still didn’t seem to notice—so he nonchalantly turned it loose and faced the front. He hit the garage door opener, and gave Holly a wink.

  “Ready to go for that ride?” Enough of the heavy stuff. He wanted to see that glorious blonde hair blowing in the wind.

  She grinned, her eyes showing the happiness that was rooted deep inside her, and he took a step closer to figuring out what he wanted in his life.

  Starting the car, he pulled out of the garage and smiled at the woman by his side.

  It might just be her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Order’s up!”

  The bell rang and Holly looked up from the front counter to make sure Janice had returned from her break. The Tuesday lunch crowd had been heavy with the influx of tourists as the city ramped up for the Firefly Festival, but had been thinning out over the last thirty minutes. Thus Holly had shifted from waiting tables to working on the new rubber “ducks” they’d had made for this year’s games.

  The Marshalls hosted the rubber duck races down the river, and were excited that their new products had finally arrived. Her sister-in-law, Jillian, had found a company to design and produce fifteen thousand firefly-shaped “rubber duck” toys.

  Only three thousand more needed to be tagged with a number before they could be raced.

  Thankfully, Holly had no problem with monotonous tasks. It gave her a chance to chat with the customers. Jean Rogers was currently parked on the other side of the counter from Holly. She’d come in about fifteen minutes before, ordered a strawberry milkshake, and had been filling Holly in on the changes to the grocery store’s Firefly Festival booth ever since. Jean had worked at Sam’s Foodmart for years, and as she’d known the owner since she’d been a child, she’d always felt she had an “in” with the decision making.

  “So I told him, we need to fancy up. Some new paint. Maybe even a flower arrangement on the counter. It’ll pull the customers in.”

  Sam’s Foodmart brought their booth out once a year, and this coming weekend was it. The grocery also housed a small deli; therefore, in sticking with the “if we can fry it in grease, we do” mentality of local festivals, Sam would sell Monte Cristo sandwiches and slices of hand-tossed pizzas from the booth. Thankfully, the pizza would not be fried. They’d once sold cupcakes as well, before Joanie had opened Cakes-a-GoGo. Now they ceded the baked goods to her.

  “Anyway, Sam didn’t take too well to my ideas.” Mrs. Rogers made a perturbed face.

  Holly nodded appropriately and picked up another firefly to mark with the next number.

  “But I’m telling you it’s a good one. You know Miley has loads of talent, what with her drawing since she was just a little girl and all.” Mrs. Rogers had always been proud of her daughter’s abilities. “So I snuck her the key to the shed, and I told her that Sam approved of changes, but that he wanted to be surprised come Saturday, you know? He’ll thank me.” Mrs. Rogers nodded. “Because my vision will put Sam on the map.”

  Sam was already on the map due to owning the only grocery store in town that would make party trays with pigs in a blanket. He was a regular entrepreneur.

  “Have you seen it yet?” Holly asked. She remembered Miley from school, and though the girl did have talent, she’d also once believed in excessive vibrant colors. Holly had no idea if that theory remained.

  “Oh, no.” Mrs. Rogers shook her head. Her hair didn’t move with the motion. “I thought it would be better if it was a surprise to me too. More exciting that way, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely.”

  What Holly thought was that Jean Rogers was eventually going to give poor old Sam a heart attack with all her ideas. And if Miley had changed that boring white booth that Sam had refused to paint since he’d bought it secondhand twenty years ago, that heart attack might be coming sooner rather than later.

  “So anyway.” Mrs. Rogers put her hands in her lap and took on an air of innocence. “I heard things didn’t work out with either Keith or Tony.”

  Irritation had Holly setting down her firefly. She and Zack hadn’t gotten back into town until the middle of the afternoon yesterday, yet in the last twenty-four hours, Holly had heard no less than ten people comment on how things hadn’t worked out with Tony and her.

  “Things never started with me and Tony, Mrs. Rogers. And I only went out with Keith the once. It’s just bad timing for us.”

  “I know, dear.” Mrs. Rogers patted Holly’s hand and made a tsking noise. “And it’s good to see you’re over it.”

  Holly picked up a firefly and rolled her lips together. Sometimes it was best to just ignore.

  “That’s why I wanted to stop by today. I have a nephew, you see—”

  “No.” Holly shook her head.

  “But he’s a good boy.”

  “I’m done. I’m off the market.”

  She wasn’t off the market. She just didn’t want anyone else shoving a man down her throat. Especially when all she could think about was Zack. She’d wait for him to go back to Atlanta, and then she’d start all over. In a Zack-free, no-kissing-experiment zone.

  Of course, it wasn’t like she’d ever forget that particular experiment.

  “Oh?” Mrs. Rogers asked. She looked around as if the man who’d captured Holly’s heart must be nearby. There wa
s a family of five in the diner, all wearing Sugar Springs Firefly Festival T-shirts, a couple of painters who’d been knocked out of work for the afternoon due to a busted pipe flooding the house they were supposed to be painting, and a handful of teenagers who were talking more than drinking the milkshakes Holly had made for them thirty minutes before. “Who is it?” Mrs. Rogers asked.

  “There isn’t anyone, Mrs. Rogers,” Holly assured the woman. “I’m just not interested. I didn’t really mean to be dating in the first place.”

  Worn blue eyes looked at her in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t think it through. I need to wait a while before getting serious.”

  “Oh.” The word was spoken sadly that time. As if Mrs. Rogers had just given up hope and lumped Holly in the old-maid category. Terrific.

  The outer door opened and Holly looked, if for no reason other than to look away from Mrs. Rogers. At the sight that greeted her, she set down her firefly.

  “Oh my,” she whispered.

  Jean swiveled around on her seat. She had the same response.

  As did probably every other female in the place.

  Walking through the door had to be one of the best-looking men Sugar Springs had ever produced. Over six feet tall with tight, compact muscles, slicked-back brown hair, and eyes that were a crystal-clear blue. They drooped just a little on the outside edges, only enhancing his looks, and his jaw sported sexy, groomed stubble that screamed for a woman to trace her fingers over it.

  He looked like Ryan Gosling, only with longer hair.

  “That’s . . .” Mrs. Rogers whispered, but her words seemed to get stuck.

  “Bobby ‘Hounddog’ Thompson,” Holly finished.

  She wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the mouth. His lips carried a hint of a pout. One that had been the object of many girls’ affections during his high school days.

  Hounddog turned toward the counter and when his eyes landed on her, they lit up.

  “Holly.” He drew the word out as if she were the sweetest-tasting honey he’d ever put to his lips. She blushed.

  Holy moly, no one had told her that Hounddog had grown up to be that.

  “Hey, Hounddog,” she greeted him. She went for country sweet, but it came out low-throated hungry.

  His smile was naughty and fast. “Now Holly, surely you’ve heard. I’m just Bobby now. I’m a changed man, darlin’. Didn’t your mama tell you? I’ve put my wanderin’ days behind me.”

  Her mama had told her that she’d lined Holly up for a date with this man.

  And Holly had said no.

  But . . . damn.

  And then she remembered why she wouldn’t date Hounddog Thompson. Because he would most likely never put his wanderin’ days behind him.

  He sure was pretty to look at, though.

  “Holly here is looking for a man,” Mrs. Rogers supplied.

  “No!” Holly butted in. She turned wide eyes to the woman. “I just told you that I’m not.”

  “Is that right?” Hounddog chuckled. He granted Mrs. Rogers a smile, and danged if the woman didn’t flutter her eyelashes at him.

  “She was just telling me about the poor heartbreaks she suffered only last week,” Mrs. Rogers added. She did that tsking thing again. “Two of them. Bless her heart.”

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  “Mrs. Rogers.” Holly enunciated carefully. This had to stop.

  “I’ve got to run, dear.” Mrs. Rogers reached over and patted Holly’s hand, then blasted Hounddog with a sad smile. “Brokenhearted, I tell you. See if you can’t help out, won’t you?”

  Hounddog promised he’d do his best, then turned to Holly as Mrs. Rogers scurried off. “Your mama told my mama that I could find you here.”

  Her mama needed to keep her mouth shut.

  “What are you doing out looking for me, Bobby? My mama should have also relayed that I’m a busy woman.” She held up a firefly in each hand. “Unless you’ve come to help me number these, I’ve got no time for the likes of you.”

  The smile that had once made many a teen girl swoon reappeared. It almost made Holly do the same. Hounddog most definitely was a good-looking man. Seems this town wasn’t lacking in the good-looking man department quite as badly as she’d once thought.

  First Jesse comes home, and now Hounddog.

  “What if I offer to help?” Bobby suggested.

  Holly shook her head. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

  “Nah.” He reached over and snagged up a firefly. “Show me what to do. I’m waitin’ for Dad to get done over at Doc Maples’. He had a tooth break this morning. Thought I’d drop by and say hi to the cutest blonde Sugar Springs High ever saw.”

  She snorted. They both knew she’d never been the cutest blonde. One of her brothers, maybe. But she and Hounddog had been friends once upon a time. She was glad he’d stopped by.

  “Suit yourself.” She handed over a Sharpie, and together, the two of them began working on the rubber toys. “It’s good to see you, Hounddog.”

  The man gave her one of his panty-melting smiles and she just laughed.

  The door opened again, and this time Zack and Janet walked in. He’d told Holly he would be introducing his mother to his brothers today. She hadn’t realized he intended to do that here.

  She shot him a welcoming smile. They’d had a good time in Atlanta. The car ride had been spectacular. Then she’d fixed him and Janet pancakes yesterday morning.

  And thankfully—she supposed—no other kiss had been forthcoming.

  There might have been the desire for one. On her part. Probably his too. But they hadn’t acted on it. Very grown up of them.

  Zack’s gaze shifted to Bobby, sitting there with her fireflies in his big hands, and damned if she didn’t blush again. She felt as if she’d just been caught out behind the bleachers . . . with someone other than her boyfriend. Instead of returning her smile, Zack merely lifted his brow, then led his mother to a booth.

  Holly blew out a breath. Bobby followed her gaze to Zack. “Friend?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “More?”

  She looked at Bobby. Was Zack more? Yes. Would she admit it? “No,” she said.

  Bobby shot her a disbelieving look but didn’t call her out on the lie. He picked up another firefly. “So tell me what you’ve been up to since I left. Word is you spent some time away recently.”

  Before she could form an answer, her cell rang from inside her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting it to be her mother telling her that Hounddog was back in town. Instead, it was a number she didn’t recognize. The area code was Chicago.

  “I’ll . . .” She had no idea who it could be. Her cousin, maybe? But it wasn’t Megan’s number. Holly glanced back at Bobby. “Be right back.”

  Bobby nodded, and Holly stepped into the kitchen to take the call.

  “Ms. Marshall?” said an unknown female voice.

  “Yes?”

  It wasn’t especially quiet in the back room, but it was more private. She stepped around the side wall until she stood behind the grill so she could look out over the dining room as she talked. Nick and Cody came in with Cody’s daughters and headed to Zack’s table.

  Nervous excitement pounded in her for Zack. He was bringing his family together today. She wanted to go out there and be a part of it.

  “Megan Dillard gave me your number,” the woman said in her ear. “I hope that’s okay.”

  Holly suddenly thought of the “someone” who’d seen her mirror at her cousin’s house. And the someone that someone supposedly knew.

  Was that who was on the phone?

  “I suppose that depends on what you’re calling for?” she replied cautiously.

  A forced laugh sounded in her ear. It was like fingernails scrap
ing down a chalkboard. “It’s about your mirrors, Ms. Marshall. My name is Elizabeth Daughtry. I have a customer who attended a party at your cousin’s apartment last week. She was very impressed with a piece of your work she saw there. I requested a viewing, and Ms. Dillard had me in her apartment this morning. I’d like to talk to you about seeing more.”

  All the blood rushed out of Holly’s head. She had to put her hand onto the wall to keep from falling.

  Someone wanted to see her work?

  It became hard to breathe.

  Rabid joy was the first thing to sweep through her, only to be followed just as quickly by anger. She couldn’t help but wonder if the woman on the phone was one of the people who’d snubbed her last month.

  She closed her eyes in an attempt to block the memory of her treatment inside one of the more ritzy boutiques. The owner had looked her up and down, peering over her nose at Holly as if her appearance alone were so repulsive that it might bring the woman’s breakfast back up.

  When Holly had ignored the visual barb and started on her sales pitch, the woman had literally laughed out loud.

  “Surely you don’t think you could make anything our customers would want?”

  She’d continued to snicker, made another rude comment—that time concerning Holly’s apparent low-class vocabulary—then had waved over the security guard with one sweep of a long, witch-like finger.

  The woman had been a first-class bitch.

  All because Holly didn’t dress and speak rich enough for her.

  “Can I ask the name of your store, Ms. Daughtry?” Holly held her breath.

  As the woman rattled in her ear, she watched Zack. He was watching her.

  He was talking to his mother, but his eyes were on her. One eyebrow lifted in question as if to ask if she was okay. She nodded. She was fine. And the store Ms. Daughtry worked for was not one of the ones Holly had visited. It was even more upscale than what she’d targeted.

  The fact that this woman wanted to see her work made her almost ill.

  Holly looked out the front windows to the still-empty storefront across the street. She’d given the idea of opening her own place a bit of thought since she’d sold those first two mirrors, and now with the uppity voice chirping in her ear, Holly couldn’t help but wonder if she should give it more. Couldn’t help but wonder if she could make a go of it.