Sweet Somethings Read online

  "I know. I met her today," he murmured.

  "She spent her early childhood here, then came back several months ago. Her bakery has really taken off. We sell a lot of her desserts. She's very nice."

  He didn't comment, thinking that the word nice didn't fully describe Juliette. Not that she wasn't nice, but she was a lot more complicated than that.

  "Donavan," Sara said, waving a hand from the counter, where the line had grown.

  Donavan gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I better get back to work."

  "No problem."

  "Don't be a stranger, Roman."

  As Donavan left, his attention shifted back to Juliette, and he was remarkably glad that she was speaking loud enough for him to hear.

  "I'm really sorry to interrupt," she said. "I'm Juliette Adams, Mr. Prescott, and I want to know if you might be interested in selling the property on Primrose Lane to me."

  Vincent sat up a little straighter at her question. "I'm just starting a remodel on that house."

  "Yes, I know that, but I wonder if you'd consider an offer before you do any more work."

  "What kind of an offer?" he asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  "Well, I'm not sure. I'd need to get an appraisal, but do you have a number in mind?"

  "Why do you want that house?"

  "My parents used to own it. I lived there until I was twelve."

  "You said your name was Adams," Vince said. "Frank and Tricia—those were your parents?"

  She nodded. "Yes."

  "Tragic what happened to them."

  "Did you know them?"

  "I met your dad a few times. He was a baker."

  "And I'm following in his footsteps. I run the Sweet Somethings Bakery across the street. But getting back to the house—"

  "Sorry, but I'm not interested in selling right now," his grandfather said firmly. "Once the remodel is done, I'll consider it. You can buy it then if you still want it."

  "But I want it the way it is now."

  "Why? It's got a lot of problems."

  "Because it's part of my history."

  "It's just a house. It's part of a lot of people's history. It was there before you, and it will be there after you. You're a young woman. There will be plenty of houses in your life."

  A frown crossed Juliette's face. She obviously didn't care for his grandfather's dismissive comment. "Well, if you change your mind, will you let me know?" she asked.

  "I won't change my mind."

  Juliette looked taken aback by his grandfather's blunt words, but she nodded and then walked away from the table. She headed toward the counter, and she was almost there when she saw him. She hesitated and then changed course, taking the seat across from him.

  "You heard all that?" she asked.

  "Yes. I'm not surprised."

  "I don’t understand why your grandfather is being so stubborn."

  "He probably thinks the same thing about you."

  "I have a personal reason for wanting the house; he doesn't."

  "The house will be better after it's remodeled. You might like it even more then."

  She sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "No one seems to understand that I'm not interested in a remodel. I want it to be the same as it was."

  "That's your choice, Juliette. But let's be honest. You don't have the money to buy the house now anyway, regardless of what it would be appraised at, do you?"

  He could see the truth in her eyes.

  "I might be able to make something happen," she said. "I could borrow money from my aunt, maybe get a loan." She blew out a breath. "But that's all pointless if your grandfather won't sell. I really wish you'd talk to him."

  "It wouldn't make a difference. He doesn't care what I think; he never has."

  She stared back at him with defiance in her eyes. "Well, I'm not giving up."

  "I figured," he said, impressed she was still ready to do battle. He liked someone who was willing to fight for what they wanted.

  She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I need some coffee."

  After she left the table, a cold blast of wind entered the room, and he looked toward the front door. A man about his age walked into the coffee shop wearing black slacks, a cream-colored dress shirt, and a maroon and gray striped tie, his brown hair edged with blond highlights, his hazel eyes very familiar.

  Doug Winters had certainly aged well, boasting the same good-looking features that had gotten him dates with half the high school cheerleading squad.

  Doug had been the closest thing to a best friend he'd ever had, but that friendship had ended on a summer night a week before he left town to join the Marines.

  As their gazes met, he saw surprise and wariness flash through Doug's eyes. Apparently, thirteen years had not been long enough for anyone to forget.

  He took the final sip of his coffee and set his mug down on the table, then got to his feet.

  Doug moved in front of him. "So, it's true. You lied again. You did come back, even though you said you never would."

  "I said a lot of stupid things when I was eighteen." He paused, looking Doug straight in the eye. "So did you."

  More discomfort entered Doug's gaze, and his lips drew into a worried line. "How long are you staying?"

  "Not sure."

  "I don't want any trouble, Roman."

  "Why would there be trouble?"

  "You know why." Doug drew in a breath.

  They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds, and he could see beads of sweat appear on Doug's brow. That surprised him a little. Doug had always been cocky as hell as a teenager, convinced that his father, who'd been chief of police, and his mother, who ran the PTA, would be able to get him out of any problems. And, in fact, they'd done just that. So why the worry now?

  Doug cleared his throat. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm running for mayor."

  Ah—now he understood the concern. Doug was afraid he would try to damage his reputation. "Good luck," he said.

  "I don't want any trouble with you, Roman. Can we let the past be the past?"

  He wasn't at all interested in soothing Doug's nerves. "I guess we'll find out."

  * * *

  Juliette tapped her fingers restlessly on the counter while Donavan made her espresso. She probably shouldn't be getting coffee; she felt in more emotional turmoil now than she had in years. But she needed a taste of something strong, something grounding, something to give her the energy to keep thinking and strategizing. Her outreach to Roman's grandfather had been unsuccessful. But she wasn't done trying. As she'd told Roman, she didn't quit easily. She just needed a new approach.

  Thinking about Roman filled her with more turmoil…but a different kind—the kind that came with butterflies in her stomach and sweaty palms and a tingly feeling of anticipation, uncertainty.

  She was happy he'd left the coffee shop, although she was curious about the tense exchange he'd just had with Doug Winters. She hadn’t been close enough to hear their words, but there was no denying the angry, tense body language.

  She wondered what it was all about. Doug was one of the most well-liked people in town. He was a lawyer and a city councilman, and now he was running for mayor. Roman might have been a troublemaker in high school, but he'd gone on to become a soldier, a Marine. They both seemed to have a lot going for them, but something from the past was still between them, and she was very curious as to what that was.

  "Hello, ladies," Doug said, as he stepped up to the counter. "How is everyone today?"

  "Great," Donavan replied. "The usual, Doug?"

  "Give me two shots of espresso today, and I'll take a to-go cup."

  "Must be a tough day," Donavan commented, a gleam in her eyes. "Or did it get tougher when you saw Roman?"

  "Roman has always made my life more difficult," he said, then turned toward Juliette. "I have to tell you that the coconut lemon cake you made for my mother's birthday has won me a lot of points. She said it was t
he best present I ever gave her."

  "I'm so glad. It's one of my favorites."

  "The bakery looks like it's doing well."

  "Very well," she said.

  "That's great. It's nice to have you as part of the business community." He paused. "We should have dinner one night. I'd love to take you out."

  "Oh—sure," she said, a little surprised by the invitation.

  "Good. I'll give you a call or I'll stop by the bakery." He picked up his coffee, tipped his head to Donavan and then left the coffee shop.

  "Sounds like Doug is interested in you," Donavan said, a gleam in her eyes. "Any interest back?"

  "Uh, I don't know." She gave a helpless smile. "He's definitely attractive. He seems like a good guy." She paused. "Is there something between Doug and Roman? They certainly had a tense exchange when they saw each other."

  "There's a lot of history there. They were friends in high school, but some stuff happened senior year that Roman took the heat for, and I've always wondered if Doug was as innocent as he claimed to be."

  "What kind of stuff?"

  Before Donavan could explain, a crowd of teenagers came into the coffee shop, overwhelming the counter.

  "Sorry, I can't talk now, but later," Donavan promised.

  "Of course."

  She moved away from the counter to allow more space for the new customers.

  Donavan's words had made her curious, which did not make her happy. She'd already thought about Roman way too much; now she had to wonder about Doug, too.

  Four

  Juliette beat her alarm by an hour on Friday morning, bringing an end to her sleepless night around four in the morning instead of her usual five a.m. wake-up time. She'd been sleeping so well in Fairhope. She'd actually thought she'd beaten her insomnia until last night, when her mixed-up brain ran around in circles between her childhood home on Primrose Lane, the sexy and somewhat brooding Roman Prescott, his stubborn grandfather, and finally the charming Doug Winters.

  Too many men, she decided, as she got out of bed. They were quickly becoming the source of all her problems. She needed to put a stop to that.

  Not that Roman wanted to be a problem in her life; he'd probably be happy if he never saw her again. And no doubt his grandfather felt the same way.

  Doug—he was another story, a story she wanted to know more about, not just because he wanted to take her to dinner, but also because the first time she'd ever seen him flustered was after he'd spoken to Roman. There was some mystery there, and she couldn't help wondering what it was as she showered and changed into leggings, a long-sleeved tunic top, and her super-comfortable bunny slippers. While she'd slip into her boots once the bakery opened, she'd be on her feet a few hours before that, and she wanted to be comfortable.

  When she'd finished dressing, she went downstairs, happy again that her landlord had not only rented her the bakery space but the studio apartment on the second floor. Her commute was perfect.

  It was dark outside, and she quickly turned on the lights and started preheating the ovens. Her first job of the day was to get her bread loaves baking, and within minutes she fell into her morning routine. Happy to be doing what she loved, she lost herself in the rhythm of baking, and soon the sun had come up over town.

  Once the bread was done, she turned her attention to her Wish cookies. Yesterday's batch had been pretty close to what she remembered. She'd duplicate that and stop trying to tweak the recipe. The cookies were good and as magical as she could make them.

  With all ovens firing and timers set, she went into the store and refilled her display cases. Then she made coffee from Donavan's for those customers who didn't hit the coffeehouse across the street.

  With that done, she wiped down the café tables by the window. She couldn't help but take a few quick glances outside to see if there were any attractive early morning joggers headed her way, but the block was empty.

  Roman had probably decided to take a different route after their two encounters yesterday. Not only had she had a meltdown in her old house right in front of him, but then she'd gotten into an awkward discussion with his grandfather, all over a house that in reality she could not afford to buy.

  She didn't know what she was thinking, begging Mr. Prescott to sell it to her when she didn't have any money. She needed to start thinking first before acting. Not that she'd given up on the idea of getting her house back, but she needed to go to Mr. Prescott with a much better informed and planned strategy.

  As the clock struck seven thirty, she unlocked her doors and turned the Closed sign around. She'd been opening earlier and earlier since Christmas, as more and more people stopped in on their way to work to pick up a morning sweet or to put in an order for a special cake or dessert for some important occasion in their lives. Since she was still building her business, she'd take customers any time she could get them.

  "Good morning," Susan said, as she entered through the front door.

  "How are you today?"

  "I'm ready for another busy day selling Wish cookies."

  "They are popular."

  "I can't tell you how many stories I heard yesterday," Susan said. "The cookies bring back a lot of special memories for more people than you would think. I have to admit I was skeptical when you first told me about the tradition, but I have been proved wrong."

  She laughed. "I think people want to believe in magic, no matter what form it comes in."

  "I think so, too." The doorbell dinged, and the first customers of the day walked in. "I better get to work," Susan said.

  While Susan filled orders, she went back into the kitchen and adorned another tray of Wish cookies with lavender frosting and tiny red hearts. Then she took them out to the front of the store and filled the display trays of mix-and-match cookies that were open to the customers to pick and choose their favorite cookies. The rest of the desserts, they kept on their side of the glass.

  The line had grown even longer, so she helped Susan out at the cash register, happy to see so many familiar faces coming back for desserts. She was starting to feel a part of the Fairhope family again, and that was an amazing feeling.

  As she finished with a customer, she noticed a small boy by the cookie case. He was about eight or nine, with blond hair and blue eyes. She'd seen him in the bakery before and had thought he looked a little ragged. His skin seemed pale and unhealthy, his clothes looking like they hadn't seen a washer in a while.

  The kid gave a few furtive looks around him, then grabbed a couple Wish cookies from the help-yourself tray, stuffed them into the pocket of his jacket, and then ran for the door. He ducked under the arm of a woman coming into the bakery, almost knocking her off her feet.

  Frowning, she told Susan she'd be back in a minute and went out the door after him.

  He was a block ahead of her and moving fast, but she needed to catch him. It wasn't so much that she couldn't afford to lose the two cookies; it was more that she wanted to know who he was, why he was stealing from her, and more importantly, why he looked like he needed someone to go after him.

  He cut around the corner, running down an alley behind a row of retail shops. He flung a quick look over his shoulder and then ran faster when he saw her.

  As he came out of the alley and darted around a corner, she lost him for a second, then picked him up again when he reached the next intersection. He was heading out of the downtown area and into a residential neighborhood.

  Her bunny slippers flopped on her feet, impeding her progress. She really wished she had her boots on, but she'd never had a second to change into her street shoes.

  The kid darted through some trees and down a side yard next to a big, two-story house. She quickly followed, but as she went toward the open backyard, a big dog came bounding toward her with a ferocious bark.

  Stopping abruptly, she froze, then whirled around and started to run back the way she'd come—only to barrel straight into a hard male chest.

  A man's hands came out to catch her�
��Roman!

  She stared at him in shock, only to have surprise turn to fear as the big dog came closer, still barking his head off.

  "We have to get out of here," she said. "I don't think that dog is friendly."

  "Are you kidding? He's super friendly." Roman turned his head toward the German shepherd. "Barkley, calm down, buddy." He let go of Juliette to pet the dog, whose barks of warning had turned into woofs of joy.

  "You know this dog?" she asked in amazement.

  "Yeah, he chases me almost every morning for about two blocks. He likes to run with people."

  Her racing heart began to slow down. "Good to know. I thought he was going to take a bite out of me."

  "Why were you running into his backyard?"

  "I was following someone."

  "That little kid?"

  "You saw him?"

  "Yeah, I saw you chasing him."

  "So you followed me?"

  "Well, you were following him," he returned. "I was curious as to why."

  "He stole some cookies out of the bakery."

  Roman raised an eyebrow. "And you always chase down eight-year-old thieves?"

  She felt a little foolish now. She really wasn't giving Roman the best impression of her. "Not normally. But this isn't the first time he was in the bakery, and he has a look about him that worries me. I wondered what his story was. But I lost him when Barkley here decided to come after me." She paused. "Have you seen the little boy before?"

  "Nope—not that I've noticed anyway."

  She glanced toward the neatly landscaped property and the stately house. "I don't think he lives here."

  "You don't think rich kids can steal cookies?" he asked, a sharp note in his voice.

  "I didn't say that."

  "It's what you were thinking. You'd have felt much better if he'd taken you the other direction, to the apartment buildings on Randolph Street, or the run-down area off Gardner."

  "I wasn't thinking anything. He stole two cookies. I followed him. That's as far as my thought process got." She realized her defense wasn't painting her in that good of a light.

  "You're right. I forgot how impulsive you are."

  "Considering you've known me for less than a day, I don't see how you can make that statement."