The Sweetest Thing (3 page)

He moved back to the counter and the set of keys he’d dropped against the surface. He flipped through them until he found one particular key, then moved back to stand in front of her as he took it off his key ring. He struggled not to lose himself in the look she was giving him.

“Pop lived in the apartment upstairs. Why don’t you go explore while I set out the food,” he said as he passed the key to her. He pointed to a stairwell at the back of the room. “It will probably be at least another hour before folks start arriving,” he finished.

Harper gave him a slight smile. But before she could express her gratitude, Quentin hurried in the opposite direction, disappearing back into the storefront.

 

 

The second floor boasted a family room, a kitchen with a breakfast nook, and a mudroom. There was also a third floor with a master bedroom and bathroom, a guest suite, a home office, and a deck that sat atop a garage and looked out over a garden. The calming green color flowed throughout the space.

The walls were decorated with black-and-white photographs; images of Everett and friends, Everett with Quentin and Troy as kids, Everett in front of the bakery, Everett and his life that had never included her. As Harper slowly eyed each of the images against the wall her tears finally fell in abundance, the saline streaming from her eyes.

She sat down on the family-room sofa, still crying, not sure who it was she wanted to be angry with, because she was angry. But more than anything, Harper was overwhelmingly sad. She swiped at her eyes, reaching for a tissue from a Kleenex box on the end table.

Harper had only been five years old the last time she saw her father. It had been Halloween. Her grandmother had taken her trick-or-treating in the pink princess costume her daddy had brought for her and when they’d returned Everett was in the front yard of their Louisiana home gathering up his personal possessions off the lawn. Her mother had been intermittently screaming profanities at him and throwing his clothes out of their second-floor window. Everett had picked up his belongings, tossed them into the back of his 1985 Nissan Maxima, and had driven off.

Harper remembered that he had tried to say good-bye, attempting to lift her into his arms just before her mother had pushed between them. Janie Donovan had snatched her up by the arm and had pushed her and Mama Pearl both into the house. “Your daddy loves you, Harper!” he’d screamed before spinning his tires out the driveway.

From that moment, right up until the day she died, Janie had made it her mission to prove to Harper and anyone else who would listen that Everett Donovan had no love at all for his family. Harper had grown up learning to believe the denigrations, so when her father had reached out to her the year after her mother’s death, she’d refused to reach back. That had been two years ago and now Harper didn’t know what to believe about the man who’d left her everything he possessed. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed.

Quentin stood in the hallway of the home and quietly watched her. His own tears had left a damp trail over his cheeks and as he leaned his large frame back against the wall, his torso hunched with sorrow, he swiped at his face with his hands. He took a deep breath and then another.

Everett Donovan had been the only father Quentin and his brother had ever known. Lost in the Tennessee foster care system when their drug-addicted mother had abandoned them, Everett had stepped in to be both mother and father, affording them a life neither had ever imagined. Good music, great food, and NFL football had been Everett’s pleasures and he’d passed down those loves and much wisdom to the two men who had always thought of him as their father.

Everett had insisted that both of them attend college. Troy had graduated from Fisk University with a degree in sociology. A year later he’d gone on to the University of Tennessee’s College of Law for a Juris Doctor. Quentin had followed his brother to the University of Tennessee for a business degree. When Everett had first considered opening a bakery Quentin had gone to L’École Culinaire for a degree in culinary arts with certifications in pâtis-serie and baking. Pop, as they affectionately called him, had instilled in them a strong work ethic, the importance of education, respect for others, and the value of family. Quentin now regretted that he had never been able to give back to Everett half of what the patriarch had given to them.

He stole another glance at Everett’s daughter. She was an anomaly in their lives. He couldn’t begin to fathom why Everett had never once mentioned her to them or why she hadn’t been in his life. The man he knew would have done anything for any child of his so he couldn’t begin to believe that Everett had willingly been a deadbeat, absentee parent. He refused to accept that his Pop had been that kind of man. But there was no denying that Everett had kept her existence a secret from them. And his bequeathing her everything he had built had suddenly brought her crashing into his and Troy’s lives.

He took another breath, pulled his shoulders back, and cleared his throat to announce that he was in the room. Harper jumped at the intrusion.

“Sorry,” Quentin muttered softly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She shrugged her narrow shoulders, pushing them toward the ceiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his tone.

Harper shrugged one more time. “I will be as soon as all of this is over.”

Quentin hesitated then nodded his understanding. “Miss Alice is here,” he finally said. “People will be arriving soon. I thought you might want to come back down.”

“Who’s Miss Alice?” Harper asked. She grabbed another tissue and patted her eyes.

He hesitated as he met her curious stare. “She’s family, too,” he said finally.

Harper took a deep breath and nodded. “I need to freshen up my makeup,” she said, gesturing toward her tear-streaked face.

He pointed down the back hallway. “Bathroom’s that way.”

She eased around him and headed where he pointed. As she passed, Quentin took a deep inhalation, the soft scent of her perfume teasing his senses. The charming fragrance was sweet and decadent, a beguiling blend of chocolate and patchouli. In that moment it felt right and perfect, seeming to soothe and comfort his soul.

“Your perfume . . .” he started.

She tossed him a look over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“May I ask what you’re wearing? It’s very nice.”

“Thank you,” Harper said as she tossed him an easy smile. “It’s called ‘Angel.’”

Alice Moore was round, plump, and gregarious, an extroverted spirit who instantly wormed her way into Harper’s heart.

“We’re all going to miss your daddy,” Miss Alice exclaimed as she wrapped Harper in a deep bear hug. “That son of a bitch was one hell of a man!”

“How did you and my father know each other?” Harper questioned.

Miss Alice flipped a hand in Harper’s direction and tossed her an easy wink of her eye. “Baby girl, your daddy was the only addiction I have ever had. I couldn’t get enough of that sweet, sweet man. I loved me some Everett Donovan!”

The older woman turned her attention to Quentin and a staff of friends who were helping to set up a spread of food. “Quentin, put that chicken and them ribs in the oven on low. That meat is already hot and we just want to keep it all warm.”

Quentin chuckled as he shook his head. “Yes, ma’am!” he chimed back.

Miss Alice turned back to Harper. “Did you ever hear your father play that saxophone of his?”

Harper shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

“Everett could play that saxophone. He even taught both of them boys. Quentin plays really well, almost as well as his daddy. Troy never really took to it! Everett could play that music so sweet that he had women coming out of their clothes just hoping for a minute of his attention. But your daddy was gold! Pure gold! That man ain’t never once did me wrong in all the years we was together. I loved me some him!” she said with a sad sigh.

Miss Alice still had her arms wrapped tight around Harper. She guided her to a side table near the stage. A band was setting up to perform; three gray-haired, old men polishing and tuning their instruments. Miss Alice pointed. “That there is Willie Burtman. He plays the bass. The old coot behind the piano there is Jack Taylor. We all call him Black Jack ’cause when he’s not playing that piano, he’s playing cards. And, that cutie-patootie in the jeans and sandals there with the horn is Mr. Pratt Brooks.

“Yo, fellas!” Miss Alice called out. “Come say hello to Everett’s daughter. This here’s Everett’s baby girl.”

Miss Alice continued to talk as each of the men came over to shake Harper’s hand. “Your daddy and these old boys played together since forever. That’s how I met Everett. He was playing with this lot down at this little blues club over in Germantown.”

“Dat right, dat right,” Pratt Brooks chimed in. “Best sax player in dese here parts!”

Harper couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she enjoyed the banter between them all. Across the room Quentin and Troy stood side by side watching her.

“She seems like a nice girl,” Troy said as he cut an eye toward his brother.

Quentin shrugged. “I guess.”

“Did you two get a chance to talk some?”

“Some. I guess. Not really,” Quentin said in one breath.

Troy nodded. “Hopefully once things settle down we’ll have an opportunity to get to know her better.”

“Do you really want to get to know her?” Quentin questioned.

Troy chuckled softly. “Obviously she was important to Pop or she wouldn’t be here. So, yes, I want to get to know her. You do, too.”

Quentin shrugged, not bothering to respond.

Troy tossed him a look then stole another glance at Harper. “She’s very pretty.”

“She’s okay.”

“I saw how you were looking at her. Any other time and you’d be trying to hit that.”

Quentin’s gaze narrowed as he tossed his brother a look. “She is not my type.”

“Didn’t know you had a type,” Troy teased.

Their conversation was interrupted by a wave of mourners coming through the front door to pay their respects. Both men stopped to greet the many friends offering their condolences. In no time at all the room was full but the energy was anything but sad. The band played softly in the background. The food was abundant: fried chicken, burgers, Memphis-style barbecue, and the best pastries Harper had ever tasted.

Harper was overwhelmed by the wealth of love that was being shown to her and the Elliott brothers. Her father’s friends, customers, business associates, and neighbors had all come to show their support. And with her wicked sweet tooth every one of the delicious desserts she was given to taste felt like comfort food. She took the last bite of the chocolate pie on her plate. Troy had insisted the bakery was renowned for its cream pies and as the delicate filling melted against her tongue she didn’t have any doubts that he was right.

Looking around the room her gaze rested on Quentin and Troy. The two men had been standing together in conversation when they were joined by a very attractive woman. The stunning redhead was dressed in a black silk pantsuit and designer pumps. Her thick waves were pulled back into a loose ponytail that hung down her back and showcased her porcelain complexion. There was no missing how she casually clutched Quentin’s arm or the adoring gazes she kept tossing his way. Harper couldn’t help but wonder if there was something romantic between them. Miss Alice caught her staring.

“That’s Rachel. Don’t pay her no never mind.”

“Excuse me?” Harper responded, feeling as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Miss Alice pointed where Harper had been staring. “That woman you were eyeing over there with the boys. That’s Rachel Harris. Rachel is Troy’s law partner. She was also your daddy’s attorney. I’m sure she’ll come over and introduce herself in a minute. She’s had a thing for Quentin since they was kids but he don’t see it. And, if he does see it, he don’t want it!”

Miss Alice laughed heartily. “Rachel could drop it buck naked and I don’t think Quentin would give her an ounce of his attention. I done told her time and time again Quentin is not the man for her. Neither one of them boys is. She’ll learn one day though,” Miss Alice professed.

As if she knew she was being talked about, the woman named Rachel turned in their direction, the two brothers following on her high heels. As they reached the table Quentin pulled a seat out for Rachel to sit and moved to the other side of the table to the empty chair beside Harper. Harper smiled politely as Troy made the introductions.

“Harper, this is Rachel Harris. Rachel, this is Pop’s daughter, Harper Donovan.”

“We spoke on the telephone,” Rachel said, as if Harper needed to be reminded.

Harper nodded. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Your father was an extraordinary man.”

“So you say.” Harper’s response wasn’t meant to be insolent but her tone indicated that she didn’t necessarily agree. The moment was suddenly awkward.

Caught off guard, Rachel shifted her gaze around the table. Troy shrugged as Miss Alice reached out to pat the back of Harper’s hand. Quentin’s expression was indifferent as he fought not to take offense at Harper’s attitude. Rachel turned her gaze back to Harper. “How long are you planning to stay?” she asked.

The entire table turned to stare at her in anticipation of her answer. Harper looked from one to the other. “To be honest, I was hoping to settle my father’s estate as quickly as we can. I have a business I need to get back to.”

“Really?” Quentin suddenly questioned, the comment capturing his attention. “What do you do?”

“I’m a professional wedding and event planner. I’m committed to five events next month so my schedule is pretty tight.”

“Wow! Five weddings in one month! That must be quite a successful business,” Rachel chimed, something in her tone striking a nerve with Harper.

Her response was terse. “My business partner and I are very proud of our accomplishments,” Harper said, feeling like the redhead had just tried to insult her.

Rachel responded with a low “humph!” and Miss Alice tossed them both a look, her eyebrows raised.

Troy laughed. “I can’t imagine five men dumb enough to get trapped like that.”

Miss Alice shook her head. “Just ’cause you don’t believe in holy matrimony don’t mean it ain’t right for other people.”

“Miss Alice, do you mind my asking why you and Mr. Everett never got married?” Rachel questioned.

“Neither one of us was the marrying kind. When we got on each other’s nerves he went his way and I went mine. It served us both well. I didn’t have to kill his old behind for acting a fool!” She laughed warmly and everyone gathered laughed with her.

The rest of the evening, people strolled in and out enjoying the fellowship as they shared memories of Everett and his antics. Clearly, Harper thought to herself, the man who had left her and her mother behind was not the man everyone else in the room had known.

As the crowd began to thin, Miss Alice rose from her seat to kiss and hug the last stragglers. Rachel eased into the vacated seat beside Harper. “Obviously we can review the details of your father’s will at any time. But if it’s okay with you, let’s plan to meet in my office first thing Monday morning. Tomorrow is one of the bakery’s busiest days so it’ll be hard to pin those two down. I also imagine you’re probably exhausted and I know this day hasn’t been easy for any of you. It’ll give you a little time to recover.”

Harper nodded her head politely. “Monday will be fine. Thank you.”

Troy and Quentin echoed her sentiments. “That’s fine. Whatever is good.”

“Harper, please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything before then. The boys have my number,” she said. The smile she tossed Harper was syrupy sweet but Harper wasn’t impressed, finding nothing authentic about it. Rachel looked from Troy to Quentin. “Mr. Elliott, can I get you to walk me to my car, sir?”

Quentin cut an eye toward Troy who gave him a mischievous grin.

“She was talking to you,” Troy said, his comment directed at his brother.

Quentin’s eyes narrowed as he tossed Troy a look back. He took a deep breath. “Not a problem,” Quentin muttered as he rose from his seat. As he eased past Harper he dropped a hand to her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “Excuse me for a minute. I’ll be right back,” he said, neither woman missing the gesture. As she nodded in response, Harper returned the look Rachel was giving her.

She watched as Quentin rounded the table to help Rachel into her fur-trimmed, wool coat. As she eyed them she felt something like jealousy ripple through her spirit. The sensation was unnerving and she reached for a swallow of the iced tea in her glass to stall the energy. Glancing back toward them she watched as Rachel gave Miss Alice a warm hug good-bye before she and Quentin stepped out into the late-night chill, disappearing out of sight.

 

 

Rachel linked her arm through Quentin’s as she leaned her body against his. “How are you holding up?” she questioned as he maneuvered the way to her car.

He cast his eyes down to look at her. “I’m fine, Rachel,” he answered, his expression stoic.

“I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to be,” he said. “I really am okay.”

They came to a stop beside her silver Cadillac XTS. Rachel nodded, pausing for a brief moment. She turned to face him, pressing her palms against his broad chest. “If you want, you can come stay with me tonight,” Rachel said. The invitation hinted at offering him more than comfort as she brushed her hand along the line of his profile, an index finger lightly brushing his lower lip.

Quentin gently grabbed her wrists and held them. “I appreciate the offer,” he responded, “but tonight’s not a good night, Rachel.”

“There never seems to be a good night for you, Quentin.”

“That’s because you and I don’t have that kind of relationship!”

“We could. I’m not saying we should get married or anything but we could be great friends with benefits,” she intoned. “You know how I feel about you. We have history, Quentin!”

Quentin sighed. He reached for the driver’s-side door and opened it. “Please be careful going home,” he said as they locked eyes.

There was no missing the disappointment on her face. Quentin shook his head from side to side. “I swear, Rachel. You and I have this conversation at least once a week. Can we not do this today of all days, please?”

Rachel hesitated then nodded her head. “I didn’t mean . . .” she started.

Quentin held up his hand to stall her comments. “Don’t worry about it.”

A heavy silence dropped down between them. Quentin was still holding the car door open for her to get inside. He looked past her shoulder and tossed a hand up to wave good-bye to friends who were finally heading home. Turning back to the bakery he peered through the windows, noting that nothing remained of the crowd inside Just Desserts, his staff beginning to clean up. “I need to get back inside,” he said finally.

Rachel nodded. “Before you do, what do you think about her?”

“What do I think about her who?” he asked, knowing full well she was referring to Harper Donovan.

Rachel’s hand flew to her waist, her stance tightening. “Don’t play games. I was referring to Harper.”

“I don’t think anything about her,” he said, avoiding the stare she was giving him.

“You must have some opinion,” the woman persisted.

“What’s your point, Rachel?” Quentin asked. “What does it matter? I’m sure once we finish settling Pop’s affairs she’ll head back to Louisiana and that’ll be it.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Why are you snapping at me?”

“I wasn’t snapping,” Quentin snapped a second time.

An air of tension replaced the awkward silence that had dropped down over them earlier. Rachel had not missed the look in Quentin’s eyes as he’d sat talking to Harper, questioning her about her business and sharing his opinion about the relationship between clients and vendors in the wedding industry. She had often wished for Quentin to look at her that way. She blew a deep sigh.

Stepping closer to him she wrapped her arms around his waist, her head dropping to his chest. “I’m going to miss Mr. Everett,” she said, hoping to elicit some compassion from the man.