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“Dude, we have to do this for Mama Kit,” Kofi announced.
Caden squinted his eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t do anything for her, but why are you so gung-ho?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Kofi scoffed as if Caden were stupid. “She’s retiring.”
“What?” Caden chuckled and sat back in his seat. “She’s been running that pageant for years. Fifty, to be exact.”
Kofi shook his head. “Do you hear yourself? She’s given everyone a specific task. I bet whoever can accomplish the goals will get her seat.” He held up his finger to silence Caden. “What better way to expand A&O than with the talented ladies from a beauty pageant? We keep taking on new sports clients, shoveling out the retiring ones to Hollywood. Taking on a singer or budding actress can really turn the page for us. And if that doesn’t entice you, how about your dislike for your brothers?”
“I don’t dislike them.”
“Which is why you’re at my house every Christmas?”
Caden shrugged. “I love my godsons.”
“And they love you, too. We all do in my house, which is why I know you wouldn’t want to see Chase, Heath or Jason running Mama Kit’s beloved pageant into the ground, or worse, making the other pageant scandals pale in comparison.”
Besides being shamed, directors and other staffers were put out of work when some of the pageants shut down entirely.
The people working for his mother had been around for a while, some for all five decades. They worked endlessly to put on a great event that helped women move into jobs in television, modeling, news and more. It wouldn’t be fair to see staff put out of work if the pageant were harmed.
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s business, Caden,” Kofi reminded him. “Save your mom’s legacy or let it crash and burn.”
“Of course I don’t want to see it die down.”
“Then go find that girl so we can take over the pageant and expand our brand.”
* * *
The bell above the glass doors of The Cupcakery jingled for the umpteenth time this today—as expected. A flash of bright sunshine spread on the black and white tiles of the floor. Hungry residents of Southwood, Georgia, clad in bright-colored flip-flops—the silver slipper of the South—shifted patiently in a line in front of the counter. Folks huddled around the pink high-top tables or filled the black leather booths with the checkered tablecloths. Even the bay windows on either side of the front door were filled with a set of readers while they sipped their coffee and waited. Today was the first day of the month, which meant the release of a new cupcake: the Southern butter pecan hummingbird. And it was all Maggie Swayne’s. She hadn’t felt prouder in months. This must be the feeling her beloved father meant when he announced he was cutting her off.
Apparently people frowned upon someone being almost thirty without a career and still receiving an allowance. Not only had her father, Mitchell Swayne, repossessed her Jag, Miami condo and unlimited credit cards, he’d given her the worst ultimatum: if she didn’t find and hold a full-time job for six weeks, he was going to postpone the release of her trust fund for another ten years until she turned forty.
The family owned Swayne’s Pecan Orchard, and it wasn’t like the company was threatened with a pecan glut sending prices down. This was the South. Everything had a pecan in it somewhere.
Being the apple of her father’s eye, Maggie had managed to bargain for a chance. Her father gave Maggie until her thirtieth birthday to get her life together. Haute Tips, Maggie’s vlog, didn’t qualify as a sustainable career. While looking for a full-time gig that would last six weeks, Maggie took up a part-time one at The Cupcakery, which in the beginning had just provided some spending money but after a few weeks gave her enjoyment, too. She liked the people she worked with and the labor itself. If things went well with the success of this cupcake Maggie had created, she might secure a full-time job as a pastry chef for the next six weeks. Besides, if she did get her cupcake featured on a website the owner was targeting, Maggie could win a prize, with well-deserved prize money she planned on using for an upcoming family trip to New Orleans. But the deadline for posting these photos was fast approaching.
Needless to say, Maggie was focused. She incorporated fresh crushed pecans from Swayne’s Pecan Orchard to help create a twist on the traditional cupcake. Not only did she press fresh crushed pecans to make a half inch siding around the rim of the rich cream cheese frosting, Maggie crowned the cupcake with a tiara made of thin slices of fresh pineapple dried until the edges curled upwards into the shape of a flower. The beautiful desserts barely had time to stay in the display case. All she needed was one good picture of the cupcake to send to the Dessert Historian website, and she and The Cupcakery would be set for unlimited publicity. She only had a few minutes left before her window of opportunity closed to get the perfect picture posted.
So when the tiny brass bell over the door jingled again, Maggie hollered out she’d be with them in a moment. Her hands shook. She just needed to crown the golden cupcake with the flower at the right angle of perfection. Her helper today, Tiffani Carres, was on a break. A rather long break.
“It’s okay, darlin’, I’ve got all the time in the world to wait for you.”
Without looking up from positioning the sweetened flower, Maggie knew without a doubt that slow Southern drawl oozed from a pair of full lips like melted caramel on a man she could have sworn she’d never lay eyes on again. Heart racing, Maggie puckered her mouth together to keep from grinning. Most women would be gushing into a puddle if a man like Caden Archibald came in here, all slick and charming with his Southern accent. Not her. The man had basically had a one-night stand with her eleven years ago, then left without saying so much as goodbye. But damn, the time they’d had together was fun. Caden raised the bar for other men in her bed.
“I can tell by the deep dimples popping up on those beautiful cheekbones that you are trying to recall all the reasons you have for being upset with me but can’t.”
If he flattered her one more time with that bedroom voice of his, Maggie might jump over the counter and cover his body with icing.
“Caden Archibald,” Maggie returned the greeting with her Southwood Southern drawl matching his Savannah tone. “Of all the cupcake joints...”
Before she got the chance to finish, Caden held his hand in the air. Gold cuff links caught the lighting of the afternoon sun beaming in through the glass door. Always impeccably dressed, Caden wore a pair of light blue slacks with a darker blue blazer over a blue-and-white-striped shirt. The yellow tie offered the perfect amount of pop. Damn, it was like he stepped off the runway at men’s week—another social media event she no longer attended.
“Save it, Magnolia.”
“Maggie,” she corrected him. “I gather after eleven years of radio silence you may have forgotten what I prefer.”
