Sweet Persuasions

“No. He was in the reserves. But after two tours in Iraq, he decided it was time to get out. His wife threatened to divorce him if he didn’t,” she said, trying to avoid his gaze. “Are you active?”

Xavier exhaled an audible sigh. “No.”

“Were you deployed?”

There came a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Yes,” he finally said.

Selena felt the handsome stranger withdraw, even though the timbre of his voice hadn’t changed. It was something she’d witnessed whenever her brother Luke had come home on leave. He’d spend hours locked in his bedroom, and when he’d emerged sometime later he was the brother she’d recognized from their youth—the practical joker.

“I’m sorry for prying.”

Xavier forced a smile. “It’s okay. You weren’t prying.”

If he hadn’t worn a short-sleeved shirt, then she never would have seen the tattoo, he thought. He’d gotten it before the corps began cracking down on them. Suddenly, he seemed all too aware of it.

The carefree demeanor Selena had exhibited when he’d walked into Sweet Persuasions was now missing. “I’ll be back to let you know whether my mother and sister enjoy them,” Xavier said, hoping her smile and the cute way her nose creased would return.

“You can email me your comments.”

He didn’t know whether Selena Yates was married, single or engaged. But there was something about her that made him want to see her again. “I’ll come by. Maybe next time I’ll buy something for myself.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up like a hundred-watt bulb. There were some people who smiled with their eyes or mouths, but with her it was both.

“Thank you, Mr. Eaton. I’d like that very much.”

She could not afford to turn away any new customer. She knew the risks of starting a new business, especially in a tough economy. But opening up a patisserie when she’d had no experience running a business at all defied common sense.

“It’s Xavier,” he corrected.

Selena extended her hand. “And I’m Selena.”

He took her hand, holding it gently between his much larger one. “It’s nice to meet you, Selena.” Reluctantly he released her delicate fingers. “I’ll be seeing you.” Turning on his heels, Xavier walked to the door, standing aside to let a petite, dark-skinned woman with chin-length twists enter.

“Thank you,” she crooned seductively.

“You’re welcome,” he said, chuckling under his breath as he closed the door.

Monica Mills pirouetted in a pair of flats before bowing gracefully. “Now that looks as delicious, maybe even better, than what you’re selling,” she said to Selena.

Selena smiled at her next-door neighbor. “He’s definitely eye candy.”

Not only was Monica her neighbor, but they were also friends. Monica helped out in the shop during her free time, while Selena looked after the single mother’s school-age daughter before and after school hours.

“I’ll be right back,” Monica said over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen at rear of the shop. She washed her hands, and then pulled a bib apron over her head tying it around her waist. She covered her hair with a nylon bouffant cap, pushing the wealth of neatly twisted hair under the elastic band.

Monica worked for a major Charleston law firm as a paralegal, and there were times when she didn’t leave the office until well past seven o’clock, which is why Selena Yates was such a lifesaver.

Selena made certain Monica’s daughter, Trisha, got on and off the school bus, completed her homework and fed her dinner. Selena refused to accept payment for babysitting Trisha, so Monica helped out at Sweet Persuasions. For the past month, she’d put in sixteen-hour days at the law firm because of a high-profile murder case that was scheduled to go to trial soon. So she’d decided to take two weeks off in lieu of overtime payment. No amount of money could take the place of her spending time with her eight-year-old daughter.

Selena was cradling the boxes to her chest when Monica emerged from the rear of the shop. “Please take care of the front, while I get these ready for the early pick up.” A courier from the shipping company came twice a day—before noon and at six. A morning pickup ensured next-day delivery and the afternoon was for two-day deliveries.

“No problem, boss.”

Selena rolled her eyes at Monica, who’d put off going to law school when she’d discovered a week before graduating from college that she was pregnant. Rather than tell her boyfriend he was going to be a father, Monica moved from Atlanta to Charleston to be closer to her family. When Selena had asked her neighbor why she hadn’t told the man with whom she’d had a four-year relationship that she was pregnant with his child, Monica had said she didn’t want to talk about it. Respecting her privacy, Selena never asked again.

“I’m not paying you, Ms. M. So, I’m not your boss.”

Monica mimicked Selena’s eye-rolling. “I should be the one paying you for all you do for Trisha.”

Trying to avoid a pointless argument with her friend, Selena walked into the back of the shop. When she decided to open Sweet Persuasions, she’d had the contractor divide the space in the rear into a kitchen and a small alcove that she’d set up as an office. A desktop computer, printer, a two-drawer file cabinet and shelves stocked with boxes and shipping supplies was the mail-order lifeline of Sweet Persuasions. The kitchen where she baked her goodies was the heart and soul of the patisserie.

Selena gift-wrapped the boxes and attached gift cards. Forty-five minutes later, Xavier Eaton’s bakery goods were wrapped and sealed in vacuum packaging and stored in containers of dry ice. She printed out the shipping labels, affixed them to the packages and placed them on a side table with three other orders.

When Selena had left West Virginia at eighteen to attend college in California, she never imagined that eight years later she would be running her own business. In less than three weeks, she would be celebrating her twenty-seventh birthday. And although she didn’t know why, she suddenly felt older. Not old, but older. Becoming a pastry chef hadn’t been her career choice at first. But spending hours making mouthwatering recipes for delicious desserts and candies had become her passion. She didn’t have a husband, children or even a boyfriend, so her time was hers and hers alone.

Glancing at the wall calendar, she studied the requests for the upcoming week. There were orders for three dozen red-velvet cupcakes for a ladies auxiliary meeting, a specialty cake for a North Charleston couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary and a Black Forest cherry cake for an engagement party. Closing Sweet Persuasions two days a week allowed Selena to fill those special orders.

The nightmare that had sent her fleeing California to South Carolina was now a distant memory. Living and working in Charleston was like being reborn. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder every time she left her house, or glance through the peephole whenever the doorbell rang.

She’d claimed a new city and state as her home. She had a new career and had set up a new business. Not only did Selena think her of herself as lucky—she believed she was blessed.

A hint of a smile softened Xavier’s lips as he strolled out of Sweet Persuasions and down the block to the antiques shop. The past four months had become a summer of firsts. He had purchased his first house and he’d become a teacher.

He’d had second thoughts about relocating to Charleston after accepting the teaching position. But now that he’d moved into his house and settled into teaching military history, he felt as if he’d come home. Xavier was also rediscovering his adopted city—a city with a troubled past and a bright future.

He opened the door to the antiques shop, glancing at the unorthodox greeter sitting on a perch and staring at him from inside a large birdcage. “We have a visitor,” squawked the colorful parrot. “What’s your name?”

“Willie, I’ve told you about asking people their names,” admonished a woman with fashionably coiffed hair the color of moonlight. The elegantly attired shopkeeper smiled at Xavier. “Good morning, Mr. Eaton. You’re going to have to forgive Willie this morning. It’s as if he’s forgotten his home training.”

“He’s forgiven,” Xavier mumbled under his breath.

He wanted to tell Charlotte Burke that her pet needed more than home training. Willie needed to be at home. The first time he’d visited the shop he was treated to a monologue peppered with salty language that left Mrs. Burke red with embarrassment.

Charlotte Burke sighed. She’d given Willie a lengthy lecture as soon as she’d removed the cover from the cage earlier that morning. Her scolding had continued while she cleaned the cage and gave the parrot food and water. Willie had learned his colorful language from her husband, who claimed he could say whatever he wanted within the confines of his home. What Walter Burke had refused to acknowledge was that although there were no small children in the house, the parrot repeated everything he said.

She smiled at the incredibly gorgeous man, who made her wish that she was at least thirty years younger so she could flirt with him. Fortunately for her, she was married, and she wasn’t a cougar like some of her friends.

“You’re not teaching today?”

Xavier pulled his gaze away from what had become a stare down with the foulmouthed bird. Charlotte Burke’s cornflower-blue eyes matched her pantsuit exactly. The strand of South Sea pearls around her neck coordinated with the pearl studs in her ears. Her face, unlike her hands, was wrinkle-free, leading him to believe she’d had some work done.

“Today’s a school holiday.”

The Christopher Munroe Military Academy, a college preparatory school for grades eight through twelve, had opened its doors to day and boarding students ninety years ago with just fourteen young men. The school’s population had changed dramatically over the years with the acceptance of students of color and females, expanding to include grades one through twelve.

“That is so nice,” Charlotte crooned, her Southern drawl more pronounced than usual. She pressed her palms together. “If you come with me, I’ll show what I picked up at the estate sale.”

Xavier followed her to a table with a collection of silver and crystal pieces. “How old is this one?” He’d pointed to a heavily decorated silver teapot.

Reaching for a square of felt, Charlotte handed him the pot. “It was made by Samuel Kirk & Son in the mid-nineteenth century. Throughout the late nineteenth-century Kirk specialized in flatware and hollowware with heavy repoussé work or chasing that resembles neo-Rococo. If you turn the pot over you’ll see that it’s signed.”