Sugar Rush

The bell at the front of the store rang, announcing a walk-in customer. “I’ll get it,” Wayne announced. He gave Sophie an I-told-you-so look and headed to the front of the store.

“No, it was your fault!” Lonnie laughed loudly, her attention still completely focused on Dante. “You kept playing around, throwing that box of packing peanuts at me.”

“What packing peanuts?” Sophie asked.

“We found a big box almost filled to the top,” Dante answered, stealing glances at Lonnie. “Looks like it was used to ship something here.”

Sophie shrugged off the issue, discreetly watching the interaction between the pair. Wayne maybe on to something, she thought, because surprisingly Dante definitely looked infatuated with Lonnie, and Lonnie looked just as interested in Dante. Could it be the girl was sending signals she was not aware of? Maybe she would have to talk to Dante. She thought he understood that despite their being the same age and physical development, Lonnie’s mental development was not where his was. Maybe she’d have to remind him.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, handing it off to Dante. “My doctor called in a prescription for a wheelchair. Can you go pick it up for me? Here’s the address.”

“Sure,” he said, pocketing the paper. “Wanna come?” he asked Lonnie.

“Okay.” With a wave, she followed him out of the store. “See ya, Sophie.”

Sophie frowned, watching the pair leave. They were too close. How had she not seen the relationship growing? But she hadn’t. Not until Wayne mentioned it. But, truth be told, she didn’t pay much attention to Lonnie—not nearly as much as she should, she thought guiltily.

Lonnie had been a victim of circumstance almost from the moment she’d been conceived. She was the daughter of Mae’s firstborn, Sharyn, who’d been into one thing or another since her teen years, according to family gossip.

Sophie didn’t know her mother’s older sister very well, because she’d been banned from their home most of Sophie’s life. But when Sharyn came up pregnant at the age of forty-one, everyone in the family was concerned, given her track record. And eventually, the concern was proven valid when Lonnie had been diagnosed with Down syndrome.

When Lonnie was born, Sharyn apparently did try to be a good mother for a while, but soon the responsibility of caring for a mentally challenged child became too much for her. Somehow—no one really remembered—Lonnie ended up in the collective hands of the family, eventually landing at the door of her grandmother, with whom she’d lived the past six years.

As far back as Sophie could remember, Lonnie had tagged after her like a little sister, desperate for attention and approval. And, although no one ever said it, Sophie did feel a certain responsibility for the girl.

Mae reappeared in the door with a plate laden with so much food Sophie’s eyes widened in concern. “Grandma! What am I suppose to do with all that food?”

Mae gave a look that seemed to question Sophie’s sanity. “What anybody would do. Eat it.”

Sophie shook her head. “I will never understand why you and Granddad opened a bakery instead of a restaurant. The way you like to cook…”

Mae’s age-worn face took on a softer look as she remembered her long-dead husband. “That bakery was your granddaddy’s idea—and it wasn’t his first, let me tell you! We tried a laundry service at one time, and we even tried a grocer’s store. None of it ever amounted to much.” She chuckled to herself. Sophie listened patiently with a smile, thinking of the man she had only the vaguest memories of. She’d heard all the stories of her grandparents’ failed business ventures a dozen times. Sophie also knew it was part of what kept her parents, aunts and uncles from stepping in to help when the bakery started going under.

“Your granddaddy never had much of a head for business, but he had ideas and more ideas!” She looked at Sophie with a playful grin. “And I loved him so much, he could’ve wanted to sell sand in a desert and I would’ve been right there beside him.”

She reached out and touched her granddaughter’s face. “You remind me so much of him, always with ideas.” She bent and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “Now you just have to find a man you can sell sand to.” With a chuckle, she turned and walked out, wiping her hands on her apron, the habit of a lifetime.

And for the first time since she’d limped into the front door, Sophie found herself completely alone with her thoughts. Once again they wandered back to her handsome new baker.

With his copper golden skin and eyes that matched, he could’ve been the love child of Apollo, the sun god. He wore his hair in short locks, which were an unusual sandy brown. With his skin tone the color was likely natural. El did not look like the hair-dye kind of brother.

He was tall, maybe six feet plus, and tended toward lean except in the shoulders, which were bunched with muscles visible even beneath the thin material of his shirt. Another factor that would rankle Wayne. The ex-convict was built like a bulldog, short and stocky.

At first glance, she’d thought El was younger, closer to her age. But one look in his eyes, and there she found a man who knew something of life. Top all that lusciousness off with beautiful, perfect, bubble-gum-pink lips and he was scrumptious enough to go in the counter next to any of the confectionary treats there.

She heard a light rap on the door and jumped, slightly startled to see El standing there smiling at her, as if summoned by her thoughts.

He glanced at the plate of food. “I see Mama Mae’s struck already.”

Sophie laughed. “Yeah. You’d think after a lifetime of her cooking, I’d be as big as a house.”

His eyes roamed over her body appreciatively, as he said, “No but it looks like you filled out in all the right places.”

Sophie decided to ignore the remark. They were already getting off to a less-than-professional start. She reached over and pulled up a chair. “Got a minute? I was hoping we could talk.”

“Sure.” He took a seat, leaning forward slightly. “You sure you should be here? Just getting out of the hospital and all?”

“‘Should’ is not the issue. I need to be here. We have just taken on a lot of big contracts including Morningside. We even outbid our competition—”

“Your competition?”

“Fulton Foods, out of Memphis. Heard of them?”

“Yeah, I think I have. But they’re a really big operation.” He frowned. “No offense, but are you really capable of competing with them?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Honestly—no. But we are going to give it a hell of a try. How else can we grow? The market we’re in is saturated. There are dozens of small neighborhood bakeries in this area. But Fulton has a monopoly on all the larger contracts.” She counted off on her fingers. “The schools, hospitals, municipalities. If we can just get these first few contracts fulfilled to each client’s satisfaction, we can start building some reputation equity. Does that make any sense?”

His eyes had narrowed on her face as he listened intently. “Yes, sorta like a fighter training to move into a different weight category. Light to middle, middle to heavy.”

She laughed. “Exactly! That’s a terrific analogy. And that’s where you come in.” She looked directly at him. “If we are going to be a premier bakery, we need a premier chef.”

He nodded, looking down at the floor. “I’m flattered, but I must admit that I don’t see the need. Mama Mae’s pastries are exceptional. The quality and taste could compete with anything Fulton puts out.”

Sophie glanced at the door. “My grandmother is a talented baker, but she’s not a young woman, El. She’s getting up in age, and sometimes she…sometimes she forgets things. We are really going to be under the gun in the next few months, and I don’t want that kind of pressure on her.” She reached over and laid her hand on the big recipe book. “I was hoping you could take a look at her book and learn the basics as well as some of the fancier designs she doesn’t really do on a daily basis. And we’ll incorporate those into our new menu.”

El’s eyes came up to hers in surprise. “You want me to learn her recipes?” He glanced at the door. “Is she okay with that?”

Sophie smiled. “Look, I know where you come from must be ultracompetitive, and bakers would probably kill before revealing their recipes. But my grandmother bakes and cooks because she loves it. Truth is, she’d probably give the stuff away if she could.” She shook her head. “There is not a competitive bone in her body. I only ask that you not share her recipes. My grandmother may not care one way or the other, but those recipes are the lifeblood of this bakery. Without them we would be destroyed.”

El nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

He understood, she thought. “Good. Now is there anything you would like from me?”

El stood. “No, that pretty much covers it.”

“Oh, wait!” She reached across the desk and picked up a manila folder. “I need you to fill out the contact sheet and tax forms. And your health insurance information is inside, as well.”

“You offer medical benefits?” he asked, opening the folder.

“Yes. Didn’t Tom tell you that?”

“Yes—of course. It must’ve slipped my mind.” He glanced through the pages. “It probably cost you a fortune with such a small staff.”

She shrugged. “It ain’t cheap, but I owe it to them. I owe it to you.”

Eliot just looked at her for several moments, and she had no idea what he was thinking. It wasn’t like the flirty little look he’d given her earlier. This look was more like he was trying to work something out in his head. Although she had no idea what. “Everything okay?”

He nodded and held up the folder. “I’ll read it over and bring it back tomorrow.”

“Oh wait.” Sophie reached over and tried to pick up the recipe book, but it was too heavy. “Did you want to take the recipe book with you to look over tonight?”

He stared at the book for several long seconds, just the way he’d stared at her, and finally shook his head. “No, I’ll look it over later.” He started to leave again, and paused. “Um, I may not be in tomorrow.”

She started to protest but held back. The man had just arrived in town. Of course he would need some time to get himself settled. As much as they needed his skills, it was only fair to give him some time.

“Sure, no problem,” she said. “And El, again, welcome. I know this is not the type of environment you are used to working in, but I think if you give us a chance we could win you over.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

He answered with a soft smile. “You already have.”

Chapter 6

The next morning, sitting in his office suite at the Fulton Foods corporate office in downtown Memphis, Eliot considered everything he’d seen and learned about the Mayfield Bakery the day before. And most important, what he’d learned about Sophie Mayfield.

After she’d settled into her new living space, the afternoon had pretty much taken off at twice the speed of the morning. She was like a general directing troops. As he watched her throughout the day, she coordinated delivery schedules for the weeks to come, assigning task and duties.

Eliot was surprised to learn that in addition to the few contracts she’d stolen from him, she had been busy getting other large contracts, as well.

His first order of business this morning had been to call his lawyer, Steve, and have him make another offer to purchase Mayfield. Now knowing what he knew, Eliot was certain he could custom-design a package that pretty little Sophie would find irresistible.

The door to his office swung open and slammed against the wall. Eliot sighed. He knew that eventually he was going to have to have that wall repaired and a stopper placed behind the door.

“Morning, Uncle Carl.”

“Where were you yesterday?!”

Eliot sat back in his high-back leather chair, resting his elbows on the padded arms. “Out.”

“Don’t be coy with me, nephew! Where the hell were you? I tried calling you all afternoon and you didn’t answer your cell phone.”

Eliot narrowed his eyes on his uncle. “I haven’t accounted for my whereabouts to you since I was twelve. So, what’s this really about?”

“Got another damn e-mail!” He shook his fist and Eliot saw the crumpled papers for the first time.

He took the pages and pretended to be interested in what he was reading. He already knew it was for the Willows Day Care. He’d seen the requisition for their order yesterday. He considered warning his uncle that there would be one coming from the Thumbelina Nursery, as well, but decided that was only asking for trouble.

“Here we are sinking, and you’re out gallivanting around.”

“I told you I’m taking care of it.”

“How? By spending the day doing whatever the hell you do, instead of finding a way to get rid of this little pain in my ass!”

Eliot picked up his pen and twirled it between his index fingers. “What if I told you I spent the day working in the kitchen of the Mayfield Bakery and now know a lot more about them than I did two days ago?”

For one of maybe three times in his life, Eliot realized he’d managed to surprise Carl.

“What?”

“I went there to speak to the owner. They all assumed I was the new baker, so I played along to get the feel of the place. Do you realize they are still using a recipe book?” He shook his head, still stunned by that fact. “The owner is a woman named Mae Ann Mayfield, but the real brains of the operation is the granddaughter, Sophie. She’s the real threat.”

“How big an operation is it?”

“It’s just what we thought it was—a small-town bakery. But I could see they were improving their equipment and processes, and with Sophie in charge they will be able to really compete soon enough.”

“They are already competing, that’s the problem. But…you were inside the store, huh?”

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