The Illegitimate Billionaire

“You worked somewhere called the Fork ’n’ Spoon?”

“It was aptly named, since we provided both forks and spoons.” She gave an engaging smile. “It was mostly burgers and chili—not the best clientele. I don’t know how Frederick found it, but he kept coming back.”

Deacon wasn’t surprised that Frederick kept coming back, and it sure wouldn’t have been for the burgers. Callie was enough to draw any man back again and again. Like Hank, who was slowly getting closer.

“He said he liked the chili.” Callie held her coffee mug in both hands, but didn’t take a drink.

“Was it good?”

She laughed lightly. “I’ve seen it bring down a man twice Frederick’s size. He may have been in a wheelchair, but he had the stomach of an ox.”

Deacon decided to let the wheelchair comment slide. “So you moved to Charleston together?”

“That’s when we opened the bakery. We had no idea what we were doing. But Frederick had a little bit of money.”

A little bit? Deacon couldn’t help but be curious about her definition of a lot of money.

“I knew something about the café business,” she continued. “And I wanted to work somewhere nice, somewhere pleasant, somewhere that customers were happy. Desserts seemed like a good idea. When Hannah came on board, we managed to make it come together.”

Hank was closing in, only one persistent senior citizen holding him back. Deacon glanced at his watch, wondering how he might get Callie outside.

She followed suit and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a babysitter waiting.”

Perfect.

She set down her cup and started for the door, and he went along.

“You’re interested in city beautification?” he asked as they walked.

“I am now.”

He held open the door, taking note of Hank’s frustrated expression. “Well, that answer has me intrigued.”

“I...” She looked flustered.

He couldn’t imagine what would fluster her about city beautification. Had she joined the committee to get close to Hank?

“I thought...I should...get engaged and support my community.”

Well, that was the worst lie Deacon had ever heard. She was all but begging him to call her on it.

“Will you tell me the real story?” he asked, assuming that’s what she expected him to do.

Her face flushed under the community center’s porch lights. “It’s embarrassing.”

“We all do embarrassing things. I promise, I’ll understand.”

Deacon was ready for her to walk to the parking lot. Instead, she turned the opposite way down the sidewalk. That worked for him.

She took an exaggerated breath, as if she was about to own up to grand larceny. “I joined the committee to butter up Lawrence Dennison.”

The unexpected answer threw Deacon. “Isn’t Lawrence pushing eighty?”

“Downright Sweet is in the historic district. My deck needs repairs, or I’ll have to close it down. I can’t do the repairs without the permit. Lawrence is holding up the permit. And the beautification committee is Lawrence’s pet project. I’m buttering him up by joining the committee.”

Deacon was impressed. By guiltily confessing to such a trivial lie, she looked like the most honest woman in the world.

If Deacon didn’t believe she was using the story to manipulate him, it would have been enchanting.

* * *

For the next three days, Callie glanced up every time a customer walked through the bakery door. She thought Deacon might stop by Friday. He’d walked her all the way to her door Thursday evening.

He hadn’t judged her for joining the committee. He’d understood. He’d even told her his own story about planning a lavish party when a particular state politician was in town, with the aim of getting an introduction to him in order to help Mobi Transportation expand. He couldn’t say for sure if it had worked, but he’d definitely put out the effort.

They’d laughed and talked for ten blocks. She would have invited him in, but she had to tuck the boys into bed. She’d found herself hoping he’d kiss her. But he didn’t.

Then she’d fully expected him to show up at Downright Sweet and ask her out again. He didn’t do that either.

By Monday, she feared he’d left town. Maybe the right land wasn’t available. Or maybe taxes were too high. There were a hundred reasons why he could have decided against Charleston.

“Callie?” Hannah came out of the kitchen with a phone in her hand. “It’s for you. Lawrence Dennison.”

Callie didn’t know whether to be optimistic or worried. Was Lawrence calling to thank her for joining the committee, or had he seen right through her ruse?

“Does he sound annoyed?” she asked Hannah.

“Not that I could tell.”

“Happy?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Callie took the phone. She steeled herself. “Hello?”

“Hello, Callie.” Lawrence sounded happy—maybe too happy.

“Hello, Councilman Dennison.”

“Please, please, call me Lawrence.”

She couldn’t help but think the invitation was a good sign, but she didn’t want to hope. “All right. Lawrence.”

“I’m calling to thank you personally.”

She felt a wave of relief. “For joining the committee.”

“For the donation.”