Gimme Some Sugar

by Juliette Poe

  “I quit the first day,” he replies gruffly.

  “And the reason you didn’t tell me…”

  Deacon shrugs. “Why would I? It would have upset you to know she came onto me shamelessly. I walked out and told her to find someone else. I handled it.”

  He handled it. My worst fears about her coming on to him were accurate, and he just handled it without mentioning it to me. I don’t know whether to be pissed or not.

  “And what have you been doing with your time during the day?” I ask.

  Deacon shrugs. “Fixed some things around your house. Took long bike rides when I could. Hung out at Chesty’s with Pap. Went to Raleigh one day.”

  It’s like he’s been leading a double life, but I have to admit… it’s a little dull.

  “It was a job I didn’t need,” he says softly, stepping closer to me. “I didn’t need the money. It was just something to do while I was in the area because I don’t like being idle.”

  “So what’s holding you here now?” I ask, afraid to even consider the answer. It’s been over a week that he’s been in Whynot without a job to keep him here.

  “You,” he replies without blinking an eye. “And you know that.”

  I try not to read too much into that. Still, it feels really good to hear.

  “For how long?” I can’t help but ask, fear immediately pinching my chest as I wait for the answer.

  “I don’t know,” he admits. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  My spine stiffens. It’s not the answer I wanted. It’s a horrible one because he doesn’t even sound conflicted. He just sounds so… blasé.

  My hurt is back, and it makes me lash out as I aggressively demand, “Well, don’t you think you should think about it?”

  Deacon jerks in surprise, his eyes hardening. “Sounds like you want me to leave.”

  And that right there… it makes me realize we’re on a precipice. It’s our first fight, and I’m moments away from forcing him out of my life with my words.

  “No,” I exclaim, then I deflate in pure fatigue over how exhausting this has become. My voice softens. “No, I don’t want you to leave. Of course not. I’m just… feeling out of sorts about everything. And I don’t understand why we’re even fighting.”

  His response?

  He engulfs me in his arms in an emotional hug as he mutters, “We’re not fighting. We’re fine.”

  “She don’t look fine,” a rough, growling voice says, breaking the night’s silence. Deacon and I turn to find Floyd standing five feet from us.

  He has his shotgun aimed at the ground, his face a little scrunched in what might be distaste.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I ask.

  “Long enough,” he replies, his hard, judgmental eyes on Deacon. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s clear he feels obligated to stand for a daughter of Whynot.

  Deacon tries hard not to smile, his tone overly apologetic. “I offended Larkin with my carelessness, and I’m trying to dig my way out of it.”

  I giggle, pressing into Deacon’s side. My arm goes around his waist to let him know he’s already forgiven.

  “Flowers,” Floyd suggests as he moves past us, continuing his patrol of downtown. “And a foot massage wouldn’t hurt.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Deacon

  While there is plenty of food in Larkin’s refrigerator, I don’t like being confined to the house. I’ve never been one to just sit around and do nothing. That includes eating lunch at the kitchen table by myself.

  I’ve tried in vain to find something else in her house I can repair or update for her, but she takes care of her home very well and I’ve already done all I can here. There’s not even a squeaky cabinet hinge for me to oil.

  Lunch with my girl would be nice, except she can’t take time away from the bakery. Despite selling mostly classical dessert-type treats, she also sells café sandwiches and does a brisk lunch business. So I’m relegated to eating alone, and I don’t feel like doing it here.

  My choices for lunch in Whynot are limited.

  I could go to Central Cafe, but I’ve eaten there several times already.

  Believe it or not, the local gas station, which also doubles as a wine shop, has a fairly decent selection of sandwiches and burgers served from a little grill they operate inside. They also make a hell of a chicken salad.

  But I ate there just yesterday.

  Or I could even go to Sweet Cakes to order the club sandwich Larkin proclaims is her favorite, but she’ll be busy and I don’t want to appear stalkerish.

  So that is why I am sitting at the bar at Chesty’s, sipping on a beer and picking at the last slice of a frozen pizza. I can eat a whole one by myself, and it’s actually not bad once I load it up with garlic salt, red pepper flakes, and some Texas Pete.

  I’m on the stool at the end of the bar, perpendicular to Pap’s customary seat. He was here when I arrived, and I didn’t think twice about joining him.

  We’ve been discussing our time in the Marine Corps, comparing the generational differences. We’ve both seen combat—him in Vietnam and me in Afghanistan. As Marine veterans, we are brothers, despite the age difference.

  “Now the eight-inch howitzers were a dream piece of artillery,” Pap says as he slips back into reminiscing. “I could drop a shell on a single Vietcong’s head from almost twenty miles away such was its precision and power.”

  No clue if that’s an exaggeration or not. The howitzer was retired by the time I came into the Corps, but I let him have it.

  “Where did you go after Vietnam?” I ask.

  “Back to Parris Island,” he says with a grin. “Trained more recruits to send off to the war. I did a tour on the drill field prior to Vietnam as well.”

  Tough old bastard. Former drill instructor, Vietnam war veteran. I bet he has seen things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend even though I served my own time in the war. The difference was that I had the support of the nation behind me. Pap served during the time where our troops were spit upon when they returned.

  “You returned home to Pennsylvania after you retired?” I ask.

  Pap nods, staring into his beer. “It was all I really knew that equated to stability for me. I lost my wife Marcella to cancer just three years before I retired from the Corps. By that time, Gerry was serving active duty, so he was off living his own life. Pennsylvania seemed like a proper place to go back to.”

  It’s not lost upon me that Pap lost his wife a very long time ago, yet I can still hear the sadness in his voice when he talks about her.

  “You never remarried?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, giving me a reflective smile. “No one ever compared to my Marcella.”

  Don’t I know the truth of that statement? How many times just in the last week have I thought there’s not another woman out there who compares to Larkin?

  “So how was your visit to Idaho?” Pap asks in a complete change of subject. “Didn’t get a chance to ask you about it when you and Larkin were in here last Friday night.”

  I haven’t seen Pap since then, but he hasn’t said a word about the abrupt way in which we left. All I’d known was that Larkin had jetted out the door, clearly upset about something, and I hadn’t thought twice about following her.

  After our run-in with Floyd, we went on to her house where we made up from our fight in the nicest of ways. I felt like total crap for not hearing what Linda had said about Larkin. It would not have been pleasant for Linda had I heard it, but I think I more than made it up to Larkin by whispering plenty of sweet words while I made love to her. I didn’t have to work to tell her how beautiful she was and how much she turned me on. It was just the flat-out truth, and it came easy to me.

  “Idaho?” Pap says, making me realize I’d slipped away into memories of Larkin and was ignoring his very pointed question to me.

  Chuckling, I nod. “It was a good visit. My dad’s not doing so well, so it was good to see him.”


  Pap nods in silent understanding, but he doesn’t ask me to elucidate. I’m grateful for it. My dad and the issues I have with him, coupled with the horrible feeling he’s probably really ill, isn’t something I want to discuss with just anyone.

  “I’ve been to Idaho a few times,” he says, as if he perhaps senses my reticence. “Been to every state in the United States as a matter of fact.”

  Pushing the last slice of pizza away from me so the bartender knows I’m finished, I ask Pap, “You have the traveling bug, too?”

  “I did when I was younger. Your age. But then I settled down, and it wasn’t as important.”

  “Life happened, huh?” I ask, which is a weird way to look at things. Life is exactly what people make of it—whether settled down or traveling the world. I’m afraid my question seems to indicate life happening might be a negative thing in this context.

  “Sometimes you get your fill of seeing things that are different,” Pap replies blandly. “I think I got to the point in my life that I was just as fulfilled as I was going to be.”

  This is a subject that’s starting to hit a little close to home. I’ve been considering Larkin and Whynot and whether I could ever make a life here. And my biggest concern is whether I could be truly fulfilled. Because the answer is so elusive to me… I choose to ignore it for the most part.

  “How did you get into the bar business?” I ask, needing yet another change of subject.

  I know Pap had a glorious career as a Marine, but he seems equally adept as a business owner. From what I have been able to tell during my time in Whynot, Chesty’s is the busiest establishment in town.

  “I sort of fell into it,” Pap says after he finishes off his last slug of beer. The bartender starts to move forward to refill, but Pap shakes his head in a silent decline before he says, “Wasn’t a lot of work in the Pittsburgh area with the steel plants shutting down, so I started bartending at the local VFW. Liked the work. Liked talking to people. Eventually, Gerry and Catherine started hounding me to move down South to be near them. They didn’t like me being up in Pennsylvania all by myself. So I decided to open a bar when I came down here. And here I am today.”

  “It’s a wonderful place. I’ve enjoyed hanging here.”

  “It’s a lot like traveling without traveling,” he says. “You get to meet people from all walks of life, and hear the best stories reserved for chats over beers. It’s a way to live outside the confines of a small town.”

  “I can see that.”

  Pap gives a mirthless laugh, and it seems like his expression is slightly stressed. “But it’s a huge pain in the butt is what it is.”

  I blink in surprise. “Why would you say that?”

  “I’m getting to be an old man. I enjoy sitting in here and chewin’ the fat with the people who come in, but all the stuff that goes with running this place is wearing on me. Repairs that need to be made, dealing with employees, payroll, inventory, beer distributors… I don’t have the energy I once used to.”

  It seems like I’m listening to a man who might be ready for full retirement. While I can’t offer him advice on what to do since I am nowhere near ready at this stage in my life to stop working, I am able to offer something else. “What repairs do you have? I’ve got plenty of time on my hands, and I can fix most anything.”

  Pap stares at me, looking thoughtful for a moment. His lips tip upward, and he lifts his chin. “Do you want a list of them alphabetically or in chronological order of which one is the oldest?”

  Laughing, I push up from the bar, then pull a five-dollar bill out of my wallet to leave a tip. “Make a list and prioritize it by which ones are the most important. I’m going to get changed and grab my tools.”

  “I can’t pay you much,” he says hesitantly.

  “You aren’t going to pay me anything at all,” I say. “I’ve got the time, and I like working with my hands.”

  “I’m paying you,” he insists stubbornly.

  “Buy me a beer at the end of the day,” I counter argue.

  “Deal,” he says, extending his hand. When we shake, I marvel at the strength still within him. He might be tired of all this, but he ain’t a weak man.

  “I only have a small basic tool set,” I say before turning to the door. I can’t carry much on my bike. “If you have anything that needs cutting, you’ll need to rent a table saw.”

  “Floyd has one we can borrow,” Pap says. “Or Lowe can run out to his place and bring back his table saw. Either or.”

  This doesn’t surprise me. It’s a town where no one would have to rent something because a neighbor would step forward to volunteer it. It’s one of the things I most like about this place.

  Next to Larkin that is.

  “Be back soon,” I tell Pap, excited to have something to do to fill my time.

  Bonus that it’s one of Larkin’s family members I get to help.

  CHAPTER 25

  Larkin

  It’s Thursday, which means afternoon tea at Millie’s. We’re booked full, and I’m putting garnishes on the scone towers I’ll soon be serving to the residents. We’ve already served the first pot of tea and sandwich towers.

  I’ve got a fresh batch of homemade lemon curd in tiny hand-painted ramekins to put on each table with the scones, and I’m feeling extra proud of myself. Since starting the formal tea at the new bed-and-breakfast, Mely and Lowe have been booked solid every weekend since.

  Mely is out there now serving up fresh pots of a Chinese oolong tea we just received this week. I’ve yet to try it out, but I hope to snag a cup later.

  After I grab my first scone tower, I put my back to the pass-through door and give a push. I cross the small lobby into the sitting area we furnished with round tables and poufy chintz chairs.

  Scanning the room, I come to a complete stop when I see Trixie, Laken, and my mother sitting at one of the tables. They all stare with big smiles on their faces as I approach.

  I move toward them, stopping at another table first to deposit the scones and lemon curd. Then I walk over to them, leaning in to whisper, “What are all of you doing here today?”

  My mom pats the table. “I booked afternoon tea for the four of us. Come and join us.”

  Oh my gosh, it’s such a sweet idea, but I’m already shaking my head to decline. “I can’t, Mama. I’m working.”

  “No you’re not,” Mely says as she comes up beside me. “Sit. I’ve got the service for everybody else covered.”

  “But…” I say as I scan every single table that has been filled. There’s no way she can handle it all herself.

  “No buts,” she replies in a stern voice.

  At that moment, Lowe comes walking out of the kitchen. He carries another one of my scone towers in one hand and a pot of lemon curd in the other. Mely grins. “Your brother is going to help serve today.”

  I snicker. My brother, the carpenter. He’s great at hammering and sawing things, but probably not the best at serving tea in fine china. This, of course, causes me to hesitate. I have an ownership interest in this bed-and-breakfast as well, and good service is important to me. I don’t want my brother flubbing it up.

  But as I watch Lowe, he shoots me a wink and goes to a table in the corner. He sets the scone-laden tower down without so much as a bobble, then proceeds to flirt with the two older women there as he points out each of the different types of sweet biscuits I had made.

  My gaze slides back to Mely, who smirks in satisfaction that her husband is doing so well. She nods toward the table. “Sit and enjoy time with your family.”

  I give her a grateful smile as I plop in the empty chair, although I’m a little sad she can’t join us. She’s married to my brother, which means she is now my sister-in-law. She deserves to be sitting down to tea with us as well.

  Trixie picks up the pot of oolong, then starts to pour for each of us. Laken makes a grab for some scones, whereas I politely pick up my mother’s plate and serve her myself. After I dollop some lemon curd on h
er plate, I pass it to her and jokingly ask, “What is this—an intervention?”

  Trixie shakes her head. “More like a gossip session, long overdue. You need to fill us in on Deacon.”

  My jaw drops slightly. I love my sisters and my mom. I’ve shared a lot of personal stuff with them over the years. But the one thing I have never done is talk to them about the men in my life. That has always been reserved for Penny, who has gone back to Washington, DC.

  “You want to know about Deacon?” I ask hesitantly, feeling completely out of my element. “Why?”

  It’s my twin sister who rolls her eyes. “Because he’s clearly different from anyone you have ever dated before. It’s serious, and we need to know the extent.”

  “It’s not that serious,” I mutter defensively.

  Although truthfully, for me, it doesn’t get any more serious. I’m sold on him hook, line, and sinker.

  Still, I’m holding onto the juicy stuff because discussing my love life with these three women is just so weird, even though they are the closest people in my life.

  My mom stirs some cream into her tea, takes a delicate sip, then suggests, “Can you tell us about the trip to Idaho?”

  I suppose this is a safe subject. While I would never disclose the nature of Deacon’s personal relationship with his family, there is no point in hiding the details of the trip itself. My sisters and my mom munch on scones and lemon curd while I tell them about his family.

  When I finish, I get a bland smile from Laken. “Sounds positively boring.”

  I shoot her a sharp look, but Trixie intervenes. “They sound nice. And he seems nice too.”

  Deacon is more than nice, I think. But I don’t know how to go about conveying that to them. I don’t feel like I have to sell Deacon to them so much as validate my interest due to the fact he’s not the type of guy to settle down. I’m sure that’s the basis of their concerns for me.