The Sweetest Thing (7 page)

He suddenly pushed himself from her. His gaze was still locked with hers as he wondered if she might have been thinking the same about him. And as if she’d read his mind she smiled that sweet smile, the sensuous lift to her lips almost teasing.

Harper extended her hands for some assistance and he reached out to help her to her feet. He watched as she brushed the snow from her new jacket and swiped at the moisture that had damped her backside.

“We good?” he questioned, one eyebrow raised high.

“I still beat you,” she chimed, her singsong tone moving him to shake his head at her.

Inside the building Harper took a seat at the back table, peering outside as she peeled out of her winter clothes and rested them on an empty chair. Quentin moved behind the counter and put a pot of coffee on to brew. He glanced over to where the beautiful woman sat staring out to the snow-covered street, something about her moving his spirit. It had been a long time since he’d had so much fun and he said so.

She turned to look at him, jubilance gleaming from her eyes. “I had a really good time, too!” she responded.

And she had. Harper couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so invigorated. Quentin was more fun than she’d imagined and when they’d both finally let their guard down, she discovered that not only was she attracted to him but she liked him. She liked everything about him.

Minutes later he joined her, two cups of hot coffee and a plate of fried peach fritters in hand. “They’re still hot,” he said, gesturing to the sugar-coated pastries.

Harper shook her head from side to side. She trailed a finger across the edge of the china plate, capturing the white powder with the tip of her finger. She drew it to her mouth and smiled as the burst of sweetness teased her tongue. The seductive gesture caught Quentin off guard and heat flushed his face. He took a deep breath, eyes wide as he struggled to keep the discomfort from showing in his expression. Focused on the sugary dessert Harper’s attention was distracted and Quentin was thankful for it.

“This has got to stop,” she said. “You can’t keep feeding me like this. I love anything sweet but sweet things don’t love my hips,” she said, tapping at the curve of flesh below her thin waist.

His broad shoulders jutted skyward in a deep shrug. “A little treat every now and then won’t hurt you.”

“Except you do this every day, not just every now and then.”

He smiled as he settled down in his seat and took a sip of the hot brew in his mug. “So, tell me,” Quentin asked, deliberately turning the subject away from her body. “What made you want to become an event planner?”

Harper smiled as she rested her own mug back against the table, lifting her eyes to his.

“As a little girl I always loved to plan a good party. Then a few years ago one of my sorority sisters was getting married but she and her fiancé had a very limited budget to work with. She asked for my help and needless to say I gave her a five-star event and Harper’s Southern Soirée was born.”

“And you said you have a partner?”

“My best friend, Jasmine. We grew up together. And we employ a small team to help us pull our spectacular events together.”

Quentin nodded. “Do you have one bakery in New Orleans that you work with?”

“I do and two others that I use as a backup.”

“How does Just Desserts compare?”

“To be honest with you I’m thinking that I may have to rethink who we’re partnering with. Taste-wise, my sources are good, but you are much, much better!”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Quentin continued to ask her questions, genuinely interested in Harper’s opinions. The woman was smart and skilled and her insight into the party-event business afforded him some helpful information on what he might do differently for his own customers.

They were knee-deep in conversation when something outside the window caught Harper’s eye. She leaned forward in her seat then suddenly jumped to her feet as she grabbed her coat. Quentin turned to stare where she stared and as she bolted for the door, heading back out into the cold, he followed.

An elderly woman was leaning against the hood of an old Dodge Caravan. Two tote bags rested at her side. Her coat was well worn but her bright red knit toboggan and gloves appeared brand new. With the forest-green knit scarf wrapped around her head and mouth she seemed to be bundled warmly. But her breathing was slightly labored and when she pulled the scarf from her face her warm breath formed a small cloud in the cold afternoon air.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” Harper asked as she rushed to the woman’s side.

“Lord, have mercy!” the old woman exclaimed.

Quentin eased next to Harper’s side and grabbed the woman’s arm. “Mrs. Todd, what are you doing out here?” he questioned.

“Who’s that?” she asked, fighting to focus her gaze on Quentin’s face.

“It’s Quentin Elliott, Mrs. Todd.”

“Quentin? How you doing, baby?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he met Harper’s concerned stare.

“I’m fine. How are you? What are you doing out in this weather?”

“Mr. Myers had some vegetables he got at the market for me. I walked down to get ’em so I could make me a pot of soup.”

Harper smiled at her thick dialect, her words muddled in the midst of a thick Southern accent.

“It’s too cold for you to be walking out here by yourself,” Quentin admonished.

“Oh, foots!” Mrs. Todd exclaimed. “I ain’t that old, boy!”

Quentin shook his head as he raised his voice an octave. “I said
cold,
Mrs. Todd. It’s too
cold!
Why don’t you come inside for a minute and get warm. Then I’ll take you home.”

“Bakery ain’t open today, is it?”

“No, ma’am, but you come on inside anyway,” he said as he guided her back across the street.

Harper gathered the woman’s bags and followed them back inside. As Mrs. Todd sat down, Quentin hurried to get her something warm to drink.

“Who’s this pretty little thing?” Mrs. Todd asked, her gaze finally resting on Harper. “Who you?”

“Harper Donovan, ma’am.”

Quentin pressed a warm cup of coffee into the woman’s aged hands. “Mrs. Todd, this is Pop’s daughter. Harper came in for Pop’s funeral.”

“This is Everett’s child?”

“Yes, ma’am, she is.”

Mrs. Todd gestured for Harper to come closer and Harper slid into the seat at her side. She pressed her wrinkled hands against Harper’s face, her cataract eyes studying her intently. “Lord, Lord, Lord!” she chimed. “You look just like your daddy. Just as pretty, and your daddy was one pretty, pretty man!”

Harper smiled politely. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Todd dropped the hold she had on Harper’s cheeks and reached for her cup. She took a big swallow and then dropped the container back down to the table. She pointed at Quentin then tapped at the edge of the mug.

“Needs something special,” she said matter-of-factly.

Quentin shook his head. “You sure, Mrs. Todd?”

The woman nodded, tapping at her cup a second time.

Harper looked from one to the other, not having a clue what they were talking about. Still shaking his head Quentin moved behind the counter into the kitchen. A few seconds later he returned with a glass bottle in hand, a decanter of dark bourbon moving Mrs. Todd to cackle with glee. Harper met Quentin’s gaze, her own giggles steeling past her lips.

Unscrewing the cap Quentin tipped the bottle into Mrs. Todd’s cup as she leaned forward in her seat to gauge what he was doing. As he drew the bottle back she gave him a wide-eyed glare.

“Needs something
more
special!” she said, emphasizing the word
more.

Quentin poured a second shot into the cup, stopping when Mrs. Todd’s deep cackle returned. The old woman palmed the heavy mug and took a second deep sip. A look of satisfaction crossed her face and Harper couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Quentin replaced the cap on the bottle and sat himself down in the seat across from the two women. “Mrs. Todd, you know I don’t have a liquor license,” he said.

“You ain’t selling none,” she replied. “Besides, don’t nobody know what I have in my cup if you don’t tell. Ain’t like the store open no way.” She swatted a dismissive hand in his direction.

Quentin turned his gaze to Harper. “Mrs. Todd and Pops were old friends and they used to sing together for years.”

“That’s right. Folks would line up to hear me and your daddy perform. We had us some good times! Him and my husband, Martin, was old friends. Martin died in 2008. Old age took him. After that, me and your daddy would have our special coffee together at least once every week.” She took another sip of her drink, savoring the flavor against her tongue.

Mrs. Todd suddenly turned to stare at Harper, her eyes widening. “You Everett’s
baby,
ain’t you?” she exclaimed excitedly. She suddenly grabbed Harper’s hand and pulled it to her chest, pressing it over her heart. The gesture was hard and fast as she squeezed Harper’s fingers tightly. She tapped both of their hands with her free palm, tears welling up in her dark eyes and then she started to hum, a low mournful moan that echoed around the room.

Harper’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked from Mrs. Todd to Quentin, whose own expression was a collage of curiosity and concern. He met Harper’s nervous gaze and shrugged.

Mrs. Todd began to rock her frail body back and forth, Harper’s hand still clutched tightly to her chest. She closed her eyes, tossed her head back against her neck, and began to sing. Her aged voice was crystal, a deep alto timbre that had been fostered by years of struggle and a distinct love for the shimmering sultry style that was pure Memphis blues.

Mrs. Todd sang and tears filled Harper’s eyes. When the old woman was done with her song she opened her eyes, pressing her wrinkled fingers against Harper’s cheek.

“Your daddy wrote that song. Yes, he did. Wrote it and sang it down here on Beale Street for years. Everett surely did love you. He used to say on the regular that you was going to come home to him one day.” She tapped Harper’s cheek, her gray head bobbing earnestly against her thin neck.

Harper took a deep breath, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. She maneuvered to her feet, swiping at her face with the back of her hands. She leaned to kiss Mrs. Todd’s cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered and then she bolted from the room, not bothering to look back over her shoulder.

Quentin jumped to his feet to run after her, wanting to check that she was well. Mrs. Todd stalled him, her hand reaching across the table.

“Just let her be for a minute. She’s going to be just fine. Sometimes it’s hard for a woman to learn that a man’s blues was nothing but love the whole time,” she said softly.

Nodding his head Quentin glanced back toward the door Harper had disappeared through, hoping Mrs. Todd knew what she was talking about.

She drank the last of her beverage. “Quentin, thank you for my coffee but I got to be heading home. My show is about to be on.”

Quentin nodded. “What show is that, Mrs. Todd?” he asked.

She chuckled. “The one I watch behind my eyelids.”

For the second time in less than a week Harper was blubbering like a baby. No matter how hard she tried to stall the wealth of saline falling from her eyes she couldn’t. Quentin knocked on the bedroom door and, hearing her sobs, pushed it open without waiting to be invited inside.

Harper was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. She tried to speak but had no words, instead wailing her hurt with complete abandon. Dropping down onto the floor beside her he fought back his own tears, a host of emotion exploding between them. Harper dropped her head against his shoulder, still sobbing. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders he pulled her close. With his free hand he reached for hers and held it, his fingers entwining with hers. Lost in the moment neither said a word, the soft timbre of music playing on the stereo echoing in the distance.

When Harper’s sobs finally transitioned to short gulps and hiccups he questioned if she was going to be all right. She shook her head with uncertainty.

“All I have ever known is what my mother told me. She always said my father wasn’t any good. She swore that his not loving her meant he never loved me, too. And I believed that with everything in me. I believed it and believing it kept me from my father. It hurt his heart and it ruined me! Now I come here and everyone keeps telling me what a great guy he was and how much he loved me and I see how you and Troy are, how much you loved him and how much he seemed to love you two back and suddenly I don’t know what to believe!”

The tears were flowing again as she stopped to take a deep breath. Her nose was running and Harper found it difficult to breathe. She took short breaths through her mouth, her sinuses congested. She couldn’t begin to fathom what Quentin had to be thinking about her and she knew she must have looked a fright.

Quentin nodded, not sure what to say, if anything should be said at all. A brief moment passed before Harper continued, still sniffling and tearing.

“If I tell you something do you promise to keep it to yourself?”

“If it’s something you don’t want me to share, of course I’ll keep it a secret,” he answered.

Harper nodded. “All my life I’ve had major issues about my father. So much so, that I haven’t been able to trust any man with my heart. And my mother didn’t help the situation because in her mind every man was a jerk.”

Quentin nodded in understanding.

“I’ve never really dated, but I’ve done a lot of flirting. I’m a very big flirt! I’m really good at flirting.”

Quentin pursed his lips and looked toward the ceiling. “Really? You think?”

She cut an eye at him. “Be serious,” she said as he smiled at her. “I’ve only had two relationships in my whole life and both of those crashed and burned. My mother blamed my father for everything that was wrong in her life so I blamed my father! Had he been in my life I would have seen those travesties about to happen and I could have saved myself some heartbreak.”

Quentin shook his head. “That’s not necessarily true. Pop was in my life and he didn’t save me from my heartbreak.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t say it was rational. It’s just how it was.”

“So who broke your heart?”

“Oliver Bennett did in the ninth grade, and Jeffrey James, last year.”

Quentin chuckled and Harper gave him a swift swat on the arm. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said as he rubbed the sore spot throbbing against his bicep.

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” Harper pouted as she moved to get up.

Quentin grabbed her arm and pulled her back to his side. “I wasn’t laughing. Tell me about Oliver Bennett and Jeffrey James,” he said, mocking the man’s name.

Harper blew a deep sigh. “Oliver was my first love. I worshipped the ground that boy walked on. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Oliver and then he just dumped me. He took Lucy Davies to the senior prom.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that!”

“Which means you gave it up and he hit it and quit it. Am I right?”

Harper cut another eye at him. His expression further fueled her frustration. She pointed a finger in his direction. “I’m going to smack that smirk off your face!”

Quentin held up both hands. “I’m just trying to get the full picture of what happened, that’s all.”

“Well, he hit it and quit it,” she snapped. “I gave him my goodies and he dumped me.”

“Sorry but it’s a boy thing,” Quentin said with a shrug of his shoulders. “At that age we don’t know any better.”

“Boy thing, my ass! Please tell me you did not hurt some girl like that when you were in high school?”

Quentin blew a warm breath past his full lips. He began to count on his fingers. “Lacey Taylor, Janet Newton, Camille Ferris, and the brunette with the ponytail and glasses but I don’t remember her name,” he said, his expression reflective.

Harper turned to stare at him, her head waving from side to side in disbelief. “You’re calling all of them tomorrow to apologize,” Harper said firmly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know better.”

Quentin smiled. “Well, on behalf of Oliver, myself, and all sixteen-year-old boys with raging hormones, I’m sorry that you were hurt. Now tell me about Jeffrey James.”

She took a deep inhalation of oxygen. “I met Jeffery two years ago and fell head over heels. I really thought he was my future. He was smart, good-looking, accomplished, heterosexual, and had no previous relationship baggage.”

“Sounds like quite a guy.”

“I thought he was,” Harper said matter-of-factly. “I had done my due diligence and vetted him completely. Checked his credit, his background, his Facebook page, everything. I couldn’t imagine finding a more perfect man and I thought everything was going perfectly for us. We’d started talking about marriage and our future together and I was more than ready to start planning our wedding.

“Jeffrey was a venture capitalist and his business took him all over the nation. One weekend he had to go to North Carolina, which was his home state, and I thought I would surprise him by showing up unannounced. He seemed very happy when I arrived and I thought we were going to have a great weekend away.”

“So what happened?”

“His wife thought the same thing.”

“Brother had a wife?”

“And two kids.”

“They didn’t come up on that background check?”

She shook her head. “Nope! There we were, buck naked in his hotel room when the door suddenly opens and his wife walks in.”

Quentin laughed. “Buck naked?”

She gave him a hard stare, her eyes narrowed. She shook her head. “It wasn’t funny. Obviously, his wife was upset and she started screaming at him. At first I didn’t have a clue what was going on and once she explained, I was upset and I started screaming at him. Then that fool ran and locked himself in the bathroom. She was banging on the door to get inside and he was curled up in the bathtub crying ‘no, no, no’ like a baby.”

“He was crying?”

“Like a baby!” she said, her tone emphatic. “Nothing hurts more than to see the man you thought you loved exposed for a cowardly, pathetic excuse of a human being.”

Quentin bit down against his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Harper shot him a look and then laughed herself. “See, I’m a complete mess, my love life is wacked and I have my parents to thank for it!” she said, tossing up her hands in frustration.

“Pop wasn’t perfect,” Quentin said. “In fact, he was somewhat of a womanizer himself. But he did try to do right by me and Troy, and with us not having any parent who cared about us, it meant a lot.”

He drew his fingers along the side of her face. His voice softened, the sincerity in his tone melting Harper’s anguish away. “I do wish you had known him like I did though. I think you would have really liked the man that he was.”

She nodded, a deep sigh blowing past her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just a hot mess and I shouldn’t be dropping my issues in your lap.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s all good,” Quentin said. He pointed at her face. “You should get a tissue. You have something . . . right . . . there . . .” he said as he poked her nose.

Slapping her hand across her face Harper jumped to her feet, popped into the bathroom, and looked into the mirror. She peeked back into the room, meeting his gaze. Quentin’s grin was wide and teasing.

“There is nothing on my nose,” she said.

“Probably fell on the floor,” he said as he skewed his face.

Harper laughed as she wiped the streaks of tears from her cheeks. “I think I need a cookie.”

Quentin tossed his hands in the air and waved his fingers. “Cookies! I can do cookies!”

As he moved in the direction of the door, he paused, turning to stare back into the space. “Harper?”

“Yes?”

“Everything you could ever know about Pop is here in this house. Have you started looking through any of the stuff in this room?”

Her eyes trailed the décor in the bedroom. She had thought about snooping through the drawers and the closet but it had been intimidating. Fearful of what she might find, she had talked herself out of the chore. She shook her head no.

“Let’s do it together then,” Quentin said. “And I’ll tell you everything I can about him.”

As he turned to make his exit Harper called him back.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I meant it about calling Cindy, Sue, Sally, or whatever their names are to apologize about your being a jerk. You’re calling them tomorrow!”

Minutes later Quentin was still laughing.

 

 

Jasmine was laughing hysterically. Harper shook her head at her best friend as she shifted her iPad to see the screen better. Video chat had become her new favorite thing; the online, face-to-face application enabling her to catch up with her best friend in real time.

“That mess was not funny!” Harper exclaimed.

Jasmine gasped for air. “I keep telling you not to tell people that story about you and Jeff.”

“I didn’t mean to tell him. I was having a moment and it just came out. He was just really easy to talk to.”

Harper and Jasmine had been chatting for over an hour. The women had caught up on business, laying out a plan of operation for them to follow while Harper was in Memphis. Jasmine had been surprised when Harper had called to say she might stay a little longer than anticipated but both had reasoned a day or two more wouldn’t put either one in over her head.

Jasmine shifted closer to the camera on her own device, her image filling Harper’s iPad screen. “So where are those brothers of yours?” she asked, the question low and conspiratorial. “I want to meet them.”

“
Brothers?
” Harper repeated. The word caught her off guard. “What do you mean
brothers?
”

“Y’all got the same daddy, right?”

“I guess, but it’s not like we’re related by blood,” Harper intoned.

“Maybe, but it’s almost like you’re family, isn’t it?”

Harper shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I guess. I really hadn’t thought about it like that,” she said as she suddenly pondered the idea. At no time had she ever considered Quentin in a brotherly fashion. If she had, then all of her other thoughts about Quentin would definitely be incestuous.

She lifted her eyes to see Jasmine watching her with interest. “What?”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Jasmine chimed. “Fess up! What’s going on?”

Harper rolled her eyes, the dark eyes skating toward the ceiling and back. “There’s nothing to confess. I haven’t done anything.”

There was a moment of silence as the two sat staring at their respective screens.

Jasmine giggled softly. “Harper Donovan, you must have bumped that lumpy head of yours if you’ve forgotten how well I know you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you don’t give me details it means something is going on. Spill it.”

Thirty minutes later Jasmine was laughing hysterically again having heard every detail, the good and the bad, of Harper’s trip. “I knew you were holding something back!”

“If you say one word,” Harper admonished.

Her friend shook her head. “You know me better than that. So, back to my first question, when do I get to meet them? Are they there?”

“No. When I woke up there was a note on the table that they’d gone to church and would be back after lunch.”

“Church? Oooh, I like that!” Jasmine gushed. “The man cooks, has a sense of humor, is musically talented, and prays. I like that a lot. So, can I see the pictures?”

“Okay, I’m done with you!” Harper laughed. “Good-bye!”

“Hold on!” Jasmine shrieked. “On the serious, Harper. You are still grieving. Do not, I repeat, do not make any major life-changing decisions for at least six to eight months.”

“Six months! Are you serious?”

“Very. You’re emotional right now, Harper. Your heart’s hurting. You need to let that heal before you think about putting it through some relationship drama.”

Harper laughed. “I’ve always had an issue with sixty days and now you want me to hold out for months. I think you have lost your mind.”

“Maybe so but wait it out anyway. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Jasmine!”

“Promise?”

“I promise!”

“And pray for me, please!”

“For what? Why do you need prayer?” Harper asked.

“Mama Pearl is going to dinner with me and my date tonight.”

Harper laughed. “Video that for me, please!”

 

 

Quentin and Troy had been attending Mt. Vernon Baptist Church since their first weekend living with their pop. That first day, both had gone to church kicking and screaming. As soon as they’d passed through the building’s front doors every one of the church mothers had claimed them, nurturing their spirit with worship, praise, and a host of discipline. Since that first time both men could count on one hand the number of times they’d missed Sunday service and still have fingers left over.