Page 3 of Sweet Southern Heat

Landon sneered at me, his lip curling in disgust.

“Well, so do I, and I was here first.”

“But they’re my grandmother’s favorite, and I promised her I would bring some home,” I'd said, my gaze full of pleading.

A flicker of something that almost resembled compassion flashed across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a disdainful twist of his mouth.

“That’s not my problem.”

“Please, Landon,” I'd begged, reaching for him. I’d curled my fingers around his thick forearm, but he'd jerked out of my grasp. He’d leaned in, his voice low and menacing.

“Haven’t you already taken enough from my family?” His question hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd staggered back a step, my arms curling around my stomach as though it could take away the pain. Unable to bear his contempt, I'd retreated, leaving the store with empty hands and a heart full of regret.

My mother stood, pulling me to my feet, and the memories dissolved. It was time to lay my grandmother to rest. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could put this town in my rearview mirror. I only had to wait for my car to be fixed, then I could head back to my life in Atlanta.

“Ms. Duprey, Mrs. Wilkenson,”Anthony, my grandmother’s attorney, greeted my mother and me as we stepped into his office.

“Mr. Harrison,” we returned in unison and followed him toward his desk. He slid behind it and smoothed his hands down the lapels of his suit jacket.

“Please, have a seat,” he instructed, pointing to the two chairs opposite him. I lowered myself onto the chair next to my mother, and he sank into his before folding his hands together atop the desk. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he offered with a sad smile. “Odette was a wonderful person and beloved member of our community. She will be greatly missed.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” my mother replied with a sniffle. I couldn’t speak past the emotion clogging my throat, so I simply nodded.

“I realize the timing isn’t ideal for discussing this delicate topic, but Odette was very specific in her wishes,” Anthony began, opening the folder beneath his hands. He began, spewing the usual legal mumbo jumbo, and I zoned out, wishing to escape from this reality in which I found myself. Mentally, I was perfecting my macaron recipe, weighing each ingredient with precision. My focus was shattered when Anthony said my name.

“To Olivia, my most cherished granddaughter, I leave my bakery Sugar & Sage, my home and all its contents, my car…” My mouth fell open as the lawyer continued to list off assets and accounts, some of which I didn’t know existed. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, and my mother’s spine went rigid. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, and she let out a huff of frustration. Apparently, this was all news to her too.

Uncertainty flooded my veins. This was a lot, far more than I expected. I assumed she would leave everything to my mother besides a few trinkets I’d treasured like her wedding ring and the music box my grandfather had made for her when they weredating. But her home and the business she'd built from the ground up? It was more than I could comprehend. It was more than I could manage from almost four hundred miles away. They would keep me tethered to this place, and perhaps that was her intention all along. How could I return to Atlanta when Nan trusted me to continue her legacy? She’d given me my love of baking and now was using it to keep me in the town I couldn’t get far enough from.

I didn’t know what to do. My grandmother entrusted her business to me, but I couldn’t very well uproot my life in Atlanta to move to my hometown and run a bakery all on my own. I was a pastry chef. Sure, I’d double majored in business and culinary arts, but my heart was always in the cooking. I’d barely passed my business classes. I’d wanted to be in charge of the kitchen, not the books.

Maybe I could have my mom run the business side of things and hire someone to take over the baking. But my mother had no interest in the bakery, never had. I could sell it and cut my losses.

Guilt prickled my skin, and I broke out in a cold sweat as though my grandmother’s voice scolded me from beyond the grave for even considering it. She wouldn’t want me to sell. She wanted the business she was most passionate about to stay in the family. I had no idea what the right answer was, but one thing was for certain. I needed to make a decision soon, or I risked losing everything I’d worked so hard for.

Chapter 4

Landon

Candy apple redassaulted my vision as I stepped into the shop. Olivia’s sporty little two-seater sat atop the center lift. Murphy stood beneath it, peering into the underside as he attempted to diagnose the problem. There were other cars that had been here longer, their owners waiting for their only mode of transportation to be fixed, but Princess Duprey’s car had somehow found its way to the front of the line.

“Hey, Landon,” Bobby called from beneath the hood of a minivan with half a dozen bumper stickers announcing their kid had made the honor roll. I grunted my response and brought my cup to my lips, releasing a quiet sigh as the first drop of blessed caffeine hit my tongue. I was pleasantly surprised when I started getting my coffee from Jitterbug after the bakery closed down following Odette’s passing. For the longest time, she’d been the only one who'd made my coffee just the way I liked it. Part of me resented the fact I was supporting a business owned by a Duprey, but Odette was different. She wasn’t flashy like her daughter or spoiled like her granddaughter. We didn’t talk much since she typically stayed in the back, but occasionally she came out to work the register. She always offered me a warm smile anda kind word, so I’d put aside our families’ differences and swung by for my morning coffee every day.

Until the morning she didn’t show up to open the bakery.

Murphy entered the break room as I tossed my keys into my locker and slipped on my coveralls. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair before picking up his thermos and taking a long draw of black coffee.

“I hate working on these damn foreign cars,” he muttered and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Gotta order parts that will probably take a week to come in. Poor girl’s gotta drive her grandma’s boat of a car around town now.” He chuckled, shaking his head, and I gritted my teeth.Poor girl my ass. Did everyone forget what she’d done to my brother, how she'd destroyed my family? Murphy looked up, clocking the tight set of my jaw, and paled. “I’m sorry, Landon. I know there’s bad blood between you and Olivia.” I cut him off, not wanting his pity.

“It’s fine.” I shut my locker door and headed out of the break room, unwilling to think about Olivia Duprey for one more second. There was a blown transmission waiting to be fixed, and I needed to get my head on straight so that Mr. Landers could get his farm truck back as soon as possible.

As much as I wanted Olivia to have to wait her turn like everyone else did, I couldn’t deny I was a little relieved Murphy was making her repairs a priority. The sooner her car was fixed, the sooner Magnolia Grove would be rid of her again. I had no doubt she’d go scurrying back to Atlanta once her precious BMW was in working order again. That was fine by me. This town was better off without her. I just hoped her driving had gotten better over the last six years, and she didn’t destroy another family on her way out of town.

“Dad?”I called into the quiet house as I wearily stepped inside. After knocking several times with no answer, I used my key to let myself in. The blare of the TV greeted my ears, and I wondered if he simply hadn’t heard me over the sound of Gunsmoke playing from the other room.

I placed the two grocery bags on the kitchen counter and went in search of my old man. Moving through the house, I closed in on the sound and found my dad asleep in his recliner. He looked so peaceful, his chest rising and falling evenly as he slept. Unease prickled the back of my mind as memories assaulted me. I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead, finding his skin warm and dry, and released a relieved breath.

I’d been terrified the day I found him in this exact same position, a cold sweat dampening his brow. I couldn’t wake him no matter how hard I tried. He didn’t even flinch when I pricked his finger to check his blood sugar. It had been so low, it didn’t even register on his monitor. Springing into action, I found his emergency kit and gave him an injection that would raise his blood sugar, then called the squad. He came to just as paramedics loaded him into the ambulance.

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