The Sweetest Thing (5 page)

“Even more reason why I need to stay out of your way,” Harper commented.

The beginning of the meal was relatively quiet. What little conversation they shared was polite small talk between bites of the flaky, buttered pastry. Then Quentin had a lot of questions about Harper and her life and she enjoyed answering them. The conversation was engaging as they slowly got to know each other better, a level of comfort billowing between them.

Every so often Harper would catch Quentin staring at her, a coy grin on his face, and her cheeks would blaze red. Had she known him better she would have wiped that smug grin right off his face. As they continued to talk she found herself looking forward to that moment.

“Do you have any plans for the day?” Quentin asked.

Harper swallowed the last bite of her second croissant. “Not really. I need to start sorting through my father’s personal possessions. I’m sure there are some things that you and Troy would probably like to keep. Or not,” she concluded as she met his stare, his bright smile fading. The sudden sadness in his eyes seemed to flood the room and Harper resisted the intense urge to wrap her arms around his shoulders to comfort him. She bit down against her bottom lip.

Quentin took a deep breath before responding. “I know it has to be done. I just didn’t think we’d have to do it so soon.”

Harper tossed him an easy smile. “I get that,” she said, acutely sensitive to his feelings. “It can wait. I didn’t mean to push.”

Quentin nodded, then changed the subject. “I need to go downstairs to check on things. Want to come?”

“I’d like that. And if it’s not an inconvenience later, I need to go buy a heavier coat from somewhere for all that snow we have coming,” she said facetiously.

Quentin tossed back his head and laughed. “You think I don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Harper laughed with him. “I’m just saying, Mr. Weatherman! Did you look out the window this morning?”

“Trust me,” Quentin cajoled, “that snow is definitely coming.” He rose from the table and cleared the dishes away. He watched as Harper took a quick glance at her reflection in the hall mirror, then with a quick nod of her head she followed behind him.

Harper didn’t expect the wealth of activity that was taking place on the first floor. The lines into and inside of the bakery were lengthy and for all that was happening in the dining area there was twice as much happening in the kitchen. She waved an easy hand to everyone she’d met the previous night at her father’s repast. There was Kitty and Linda who were manning the counter and cash registers and Duncan, Karl, Lila, and Amberlyn who were in the kitchen or running between the kitchen and the glass showcase, keeping the platters refilled. The room smelled heavenly, the aroma of baking cookies and bread teasing her senses.

“Is it always like this?” Harper asked, glancing over to stare at Quentin as she took in the crowd.

“Friday is a busy day for us. People stocking up for the weekend.” He gestured for her to follow him into the dining room to the only empty table. As she took a seat he moved back behind the counter and filled two cups with steaming coffee. Reaching into the glass display case he filled a small plate with an assortment of delicacies and returned to her side.

Harper’s eyes widened. “I’m going to gain a hundred pounds,” she said with a soft giggle.

Quentin laughed with her. “The only way to get to know about the bakery is to taste the product.”

“I’ve eaten two croissants already, in case you’ve forgotten,” she said as she reached for a chocolate cookie. The nut-and-cherry-filled fudge delight tasted of a hint of cinnamon, topped with a touch of coarse salt. Harper closed her eyes as she savored the sensual flavors, the decadence of it just short of orgasmic.

“Is it good?” Quentin asked, staring at her intently.

Still chewing, Harper nodded her head.

A customer standing in line chimed in. “Best damn cookies in Memphis,” he said. “I buy my wife a dozen every Friday.”

Harper smiled. “Your wife is a very lucky woman,” she said as she patted a paper napkin against her lips.

For almost thirty minutes the two sat and talked with the clientele, many offering their condolences on Everett’s passing and sharing with Harper stories of their favorite items from Just Desserts. A few of the regulars had menu suggestions for Quentin and almost everyone wished them a safe and well weekend.

Taking the time to study the menu Harper was impressed with all the bakery offered. Baked goods included an assortment of biscuits, breads, muffins, and rolls. There were sweet treats of cookies and brownies, specialty pies and cakes. But besides the wonderful assortment of desserts there were breakfast specialties that included granola and yogurt, toast and homemade jams, and homemade muesli. Lunch specialties offered a traditional chicken potpie, meat-and-vegetable hand pies, and a bevy of sandwiches on fresh baked breads and wonderful salads.

Quentin dropped into a moment of reflection. “Pop used to sit here every day and greet the customers,” he said. “In the evenings, folks would stop in just to listen to him play his saxophone while they had a piece of pie or cake. He always said that perfection was some soft music playing in the background, a comfy place to sit, a smiling person to help you get whatever your heart desired, and a beautiful display of delicious baked goods begging to be devoured. This was his dream come true.”

Quentin took a deep breath and fought back tears. He glanced over to Harper who was eyeing him with a compassionate stare, the sweetest smile blessing her face. Quentin smiled back as he shook himself from the moment.

When Harper had finished the last decadent cookie, Quentin steered her back into the kitchen and offered commentary about all that was going on behind the scenes.

“Amberlyn and Duncan are testing a new recipe I created. I’m working on a honeyed sweet-potato biscuit and we’re figuring out how to produce them efficiently and cost effectively before we introduce them into the menu.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Harper said.

The man waved his head up and down excitedly. “It is but it’s all well worth it. Everything here is made from scratch using only the best raw ingredients. We purchase our fruits and grains from local farmers and only use natural and often organic ingredients. Nothing in here will ever be made with processed products like canned milk, corn syrup, artificial flavorings, or food colorings. For it to taste good I don’t believe in skimping on the good stuff.”

Harper smiled at his enthusiasm. She watched as Karl dropped cookie dough onto an oversize baking sheet.

Quentin continued. “Our daily operations change every day because our production needs change every day depending on what’s available at the market.”

“How do you decide what to bake when?” she queried.

“We run the kitchen using what’s called a baking down method. We bake all the highest temperature products first, then the cake productions, then the cookie products, and finally the meringues. Then everything is cooled, decorated, packaged, and sold.

“We also partner with local suppliers. Our coffee roasters are five blocks over and we use their drip coffee and their espresso. A local beekeeper supplies our jarred honey and there are three sisters born and raised right here in Memphis who can our jellies and jams for us.”

“Wow!” Harper exclaimed. “I didn’t realize all the hard work involved. I’ve always just ordered my cakes and picked them up when I needed them.”

“That’s a whole other facet of our operation! I personally do about thirty, maybe forty wedding and party cakes each month.”

“Nice!” Harper extolled. She took a step off to the side watching as Quentin maneuvered his way around the kitchen giving out orders. There was an overwhelming sense of accomplishment that blanketed his shoulders and it was sexy as hell. Harper admired the way he carried himself, his commanding demeanor making women and men alike take notice. Harper knew beyond any doubt that he loved everything about the bakery and what he was doing. Without anyone telling her she sensed that his love and enthusiasm for those things he had shared with Everett had made him the old man’s pride and joy.

Her breath suddenly caught in her chest as he turned and gestured for her attention. Moving to his side, she shook her head as he extended a hot buttered biscuit out toward her.

“Taste this and tell me what you think,” he intoned.

“Quentin, I couldn’t eat another bite!”

“Just a little taste. Besides, as thin as you are you could use a little more
uumph
on them bones,” he teased as his gaze wandered over the lines of her body.

He broke the small biscuit in half and as he moved it toward her face she clasped her hand atop his, guiding it toward her mouth. Her touch was heated, igniting something deep in Quentin’s core. Her eyes stayed locked with his as he tipped the piece past her lips, his fingertips lightly grazing her flesh. As Harper slowly chewed the sweet pastry, Quentin popped the remaining biscuit into his own mouth then licked his thumb and his index finger. The gesture was slow and seductive, firing every one of Harper’s senses. In that instant the young woman felt a rise of heat rush into every one of her nerve endings. The sensation was even more intense than what she’d been feeling when she’d stood half-dressed in the doorway.

Her eyes skated around the room, as she hoped no one else was watching the heat rise to her cheeks. Attempting to toss ice water onto the moment she dropped a hand to her hip. “There is nothing wrong with my
uumph,
” she admonished. “And you need to stop looking at me like that! Stick with what you know ’cause that biscuit was really good.”

Quentin shrugged as he moved to the sink to wash his hands. With the roll of her eye, the slight lick of her lips, and the easy toss of her head, it felt like she was serving him some serious flirtation and he really liked that. He tossed her a look over his shoulder and smiled brightly.

 

 

Quentin undid the buttons on his chef’s coat, pulled his arms out of it, and tossed it into the front closet. Exhaustion had finally caught up with him and he was fighting to keep his eyes open. Troy had shown up earlier than anticipated and with his brother holding it down he knew their family’s business was in good hands.

Miss Alice had surprised them during the lunch hour, dropping in to check how they were all doing. After they had all feasted on specially made sandwiches of rich brioche bread, grilled chicken, cheese, and fresh avocado, she’d insisted on taking Harper shopping for some warmer winter clothes. Troy had teased him unmercifully as he’d stared after the two women.

“I hear you and Harper are getting along nicely,” Troy said.

Quentin shrugged his broad shoulders. “We don’t have any reason not to get along,” he answered nonchalantly.

“I think you like her.”

He cut an eye at his big brother, not bothering to respond.

“I think you like her a lot,” Troy stated.

Quentin shook his head. “It’s not like that. We just have a lot in common and she’s just been a really good sport about things.”

“Okay,” Troy said, giving him a look.

“It’s not like that,” Quentin insisted.

“Not like what?”

“Like what you’re trying to insinuate.”

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything.”

Quentin flipped a dismissive hand at his brother as he continued to pack cookies into their signature food bags.

Troy changed the subject. “Rachel called me earlier.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Why do you keep entertaining her nonsense?”

“I’m not entertaining anything. I just gave my business partner and family friend a shoulder to cry on. She was very disappointed you didn’t go home with her last night.”

“She told you that?”

“Not in so many words but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines.”

“When you consider all the time you two spend together, I don’t know why she doesn’t fixate on you instead of me.”

“You’re nicer than I am. She knows if either one of us is going to settle down sooner than later it would be you.”

“I don’t know about all that.”

Troy shrugged. “Pop was the one who said it. I was just repeating it.”

Quentin smirked ever so slightly. “Whatever.”

Troy rose from his seat, the rear office his destination. He tossed his brother a look over his shoulder. “Rachel said she saw how you were looking at that woman.”

“Rachel doesn’t have an ounce of good sense!”

Troy laughed. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I saw how you were looking at Harper too, and so did everyone else,” he said. “I’m just saying!”

Before Quentin could respond Troy disappeared from his view. Reflecting back Quentin shook his head. He hated admitting that Troy and the others were right. He had been looking at her. And he couldn’t seem to get Harper out of his thoughts. The funeral had been difficult enough and suddenly having her there in their space was even harder and for the reasons he would never have imagined.

He’d realized quickly that she was hurting just as much as he and Troy were. Maybe even more because she’d not been blessed to have had Pop be a father to her the way the old man had been a parent to them. So after dropping his reservations, melting some of the initial tension between them, he’d been able to open himself to knowing her better. He was quickly discovering that there was much about Harper Donovan that he liked. There was also much about Harper Donovan that was testing his sensibilities. Harper excited him and despite wanting to resist the feelings, he was instead intrigued by them because no woman before her had ever had him feeling so enlivened.

He suddenly yawned, stretching his body lengthwise. The upstairs was warmer than normal, the heat from the ovens below adding to the temperature. Dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and denim jeans, he pulled the shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor, and dropped his body down on the living-room sofa. He untied his boots and kicked them and his socks off his feet.

It was hot and without giving it a second thought he stood back up, unzipped his pants, pushed them over his hips, and stepped out of them. Dropping back down, he leaned his torso against the plush pillows and stretched out his limbs. He only needed a quick nap. He reasoned that he had more than enough time to get back into his clothes before Miss Alice returned Harper to their home.

As he thought about the woman again a smile crossed his face. There was something about Harper that suddenly had him questioning every aspect of his life: trying to figure out what it was he was missing, what it was he needed, and why it was so important for him to figure out now.

At the memory of her standing in the doorway, her seductive attire teasing every one of his senses, his member hardened into a rod of steel. He slipped both of his hands past the waistband of his briefs. One hand wrapped warmly around the length of his manhood and gently stroked it. The other cupped his testicles, his fingertips teasing the tight flesh. His blood was surging and he was enjoying every sensation that was sweeping through his body. Fondling himself felt too, too good and all he could imagine was what it might be like if it were Harper’s touch and Harper’s hands and Harper’s body that were bringing him to ecstasy.

But it wasn’t Harper and he had no business thinking of her like that. He blew a deep sigh. It took every ounce of energy he had remaining to stop doing what he was doing, unable to fathom an outcome that didn’t include Harper lying by his side.

His breathing was heavy and labored and when he was finally able to catch his breath, his temperature dropping back to a semblance of normal, he rolled over onto his side, pressing his face into the pillows. Minutes later, unable to resist a second longer, Quentin fell into a restful slumber, images of Harper pulling him into his dreams.

 

 

Harper couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so thoroughly entertained. Miss Alice had kept her laughing from the moment the two women had stepped out onto Beale Street until the moment they returned.