“I do care about the culture and flavor of the historic district. I live here, and I work here.”
“I know.” He gave her hand a firmer squeeze. “So join the committee. Join in a little. Make Lawrence happy, improve your city and unblock the permit for your deck.”
When he put it that way, other than the babysitting challenge, there seemed little wrong with the plan. It felt opportunistic, but she wouldn’t call it unethical.
Hank leaned in and lowered his tone. “With Frederick gone, I’m sure you want Downright Sweet to be as successful as possible.”
“I do.”
Callie had grown up severely impoverished, never knowing from week to week how her dysfunctional family would afford food, never mind clothes and electricity. Frederick had pulled her out of all that. He’d been a wonderfully sweet man, vital and full of life. The wheelchair had never held him back.
He’d had enough of a nest egg to buy both their house and Downright Sweet here in Charleston. The business had no capital debt, but it was still a struggle to keep operating costs manageable.
A shadow crossed the table, and a deep male voice interrupted. “Excuse me?”
Callie glanced up, startled to see the tall stranger. She looked into his blue eyes and felt a strange pressure build against her chest.
“Are you Callie Clarkson?” he asked. “The bakery owner?”
“Yes.” She slipped her hand from beneath Hank’s, wondering if the man was a lifestyle reporter or maybe a restaurant critic.
He held out his hand to shake hers.
She took it, and felt a surge of comfort and strength. He was gentle. He didn’t squeeze her hand. But his palm was solid, slightly rough, not too warm, not cool, but an identical temperature to her own.
“Deacon Holt,” he said.
Hank pulled back his chair and came to his feet, putting on his practiced political smile. “I’m Mayor Watkins. Are you new to Charleston?”
“A tourist,” Deacon Holt said, without breaking his eye contact with Callie.
She knew she should look away, but there was something in the depths of his eyes that was oddly comforting.
“Well, welcome,” Hank said in a hearty voice. “I hope you’ve checked out the Visitor Centre on Meeting Street.”
“Not yet,” Deacon said, slowly moving his attention to Hank.
“They’ll have everything you need—hotels, dining, shopping and, of course, the sights.”
“I’ve already found dining,” Deacon said.
Callie felt a smile twitch her lips.
“Well, then I hope you have an enjoyable stay.”
Deacon didn’t seem fazed by Hank’s dismissive tone. He looked back to Callie. “What do you recommend?”
“Everything’s good.”
He grinned at her answer, and the feeling of familiarity increased. “That was diplomatic.”
Hank cleared his throat. It was obvious he wanted to get back to their conversation, to hear Callie’s decision.
She’d made a decision, but it could wait two minutes for whatever Deacon Holt wanted. On the chance he could offer free publicity, she was going to make him feel more than welcome.
“The sourdough is terrific,” she said. “Any sandwich made with that. If you have a sweet tooth, I’d try a cupcake. The buttercream frosting is to die for.”
“Buttercream frosting it is,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Callie?” Hank prompted as Deacon walked away.
“My answer is yes,” she said.
Hank beamed. He really did have an extraordinary smile. He took her hand in both of his. “I’m so pleased.”
“When’s the next meeting?”
“Thursday. Six thirty.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Deacon had been surprised to find Callie in an intimate discussion with Mayor Hank Watkins. Deacon had only been in town a couple of days, but he’d already learned all about the Watkins family. They were the Clarksons of Charleston—all the power, the prestige and the local money.
He’d also been surprised, even more surprised, that Callie was poised, polished and so stunningly beautiful in person. He hadn’t expected that of Frederick’s wife. Frederick hadn’t exactly been suave with the opposite sex.
Deacon had gone to a different high school than Aaron, Beau and Frederick. Deacon had been at PS-752. His three half brothers had gone to Greenland Academy. But there had been enough cross-pollination through sporting events and in social circles, that he’d known the basics of each of them.
He and Beau were the same age. Aaron was a year older, and Frederick was two years younger. Aaron was blond, Beau dark like Deacon and Frederick had ended up with ginger hair and freckles. He was thinner than his brothers and shorter, and always seemed to live in Aaron’s intellectual shadow, as well as Beau’s athletic one.
Even in the best circumstances, Deacon couldn’t see a woman like Callie falling for a man like Frederick. He supposed it could have been the money. It was often the money. Heck, it was usually the money.
For some reason, Deacon didn’t want to think that of Callie. But he’d be a fool if he didn’t consider the possibility.
After first meeting her yesterday, he’d waited overnight, waited through the morning, and now he was eating lunch at Downright Sweet for a second time. He was looking for more information, particularly for information on her relationship with Mayor Hank Watkins.
From what Deacon could see, Callie was way out of Hank’s league. But Hank obviously thought he had a shot. She must have given him encouragement of some kind.
Fact was, Hank had money just like Frederick. There was a chance Callie’s charming personality was an act, hiding a shrewd woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
She was behind the counter now, serving customers and looking as enchanting as yesterday. Her dark blond hair was in a jaunty ponytail. Thick lashes framed her blue-green eyes, and her cheeks were flushed with heat and exertion. Her apparent work ethic didn’t dovetail with a gold digger. Then again, most people had contradictions in their personalities. And he hadn’t even begun to get to know her.
She’d been right about the sourdough bread. It was beyond delicious. Yesterday he’d gone with black forest ham. Today he was trying sliced turkey and tomato. He hadn’t decided on dessert yet. There were too many choices.
His gaze moved from the tarts to the cupcakes to the pastries and cookies. He was tempted by the peanut butter white chocolate. Then again, he could practically taste the strawberry cream tarts. Maybe he’d have two desserts. Maybe he’d have to run ten miles before he went to bed tonight.
He was just about to bite into the second half of his sandwich, when the café door opened. Two young boys rushed inside, followed by a perky teenage girl in a T-shirt, shorts and white runners.
Deacon set down his sandwich and watched the boys with amazement. There was no question that they were Callie’s two sons. The four-year-old was a mini version of Aaron, while the eighteen-month-old looked exactly like Beau.
“Mommy, mommy,” the younger one called out. He trotted through the maze of tables, while his brother followed at a more measured pace.
Callie smiled at her toddler. “Hello, my little darling.”
“We were going to stop for ice cream on Parker Street,”