Kickstart My Heart (Burgers and Brew Crue #1) - Lacey Black Page 0,21

outside wasn’t working right. Sure, I could wait until Sunday to fix it, but I know that’s not what she really wants. If she feels safer with that bright-ass light illuminating her backyard, then I’ll replace the bulb in that bright-ass light.

I jump into my Jeep, but don’t throw it in gear. Instead, I sit there and think about what Isaac said. If he was interested in her, why would he insinuate I should break my no-dating-employees rule? And why the hell do I want to go back inside, especially knowing she’s in there working?

Growling, I throw the Jeep in reverse and pull out of the lot. I’ve never been so anxious to get away from my business as I am today. The only problem is my confusion over Mallory and the feelings she drums up are riding shotgun alongside me.

***

It’s just after eleven on Sunday morning when I pull into Aunt Edna’s driveway. My mom’s car is already there, as well as Uncle Donald’s, my cousin Jamal’s, and even Bernice’s old Chevy Cavalier that’s only a few years younger than mine. But there’s also a fourth car I don’t recognize.

I hop out and head for the house. Talking filters from the backyard, so I slip through the small place Edna’s called home for four decades and head for the kitchen.

“There he is,” my great-aunt says, standing at the stove, stirring something that smells like fried chicken gravy. It’s one of my favorites.

“Good morning,” I reply, stopping to kiss her cheek before slipping the butter pecan pie into the fridge.

“Whatcha got there?” she asks, glancing around me to sneak a peek in the box.

“Pecan. It’s from Jasper. He made a couple last night when he was bored,” I state, grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge before I close the door.

Edna shakes her head and chuckles. “That boy. He already cooks better than I do, but now he bakes too?”

I laugh at her indignation. “No one cooks better than you, Aunt E.”

She preens like a proud peacock at the compliment.

Jasper is a damn good cook. Sure, we may offer specialty burgers and a few sandwiches on our menu, but the truth is he can make just about anything. And baking is how he de-stresses. Occasionally, we’ll offer a dessert special, but that’s usually something the kitchen can whip up in a large pan like bread pudding or apple crisp. Sometimes cookies. I know when he’s overthinking something because he bakes. Pies, cakes, fancy breads like pineapple zucchini or strawberry banana. Last night, it was pecan pies, which told us he was working through some shit in his head.

“Everyone outside?” I ask, taking a long drink of my Coke.

“Mmhmm,” she replies before turning off the head on the stovetop. “Gravy’s ready. Why don’t you go on back and say hi to your mama. We’ll be eating in five minutes,” she says, practically pushing me out the door.

I place a quick kiss on her cheek before exiting the kitchen and stepping out onto her small patio. Mom and Uncle Donald are sitting on the swing, talking, and Jamal is on his phone, as always. But then my eyes meet Bernice, and what’s probably the real reason my ornery aunt pushed me out the door quickly.

There’s a young woman sitting across from the woman at the picnic table. Bernice spies me first, her face lighting up with a grin. “Oh, Walker! I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, glancing over at the woman with a gleam in her eye.

Sighing, I realize what this is immediately.

A setup.

I head for my mom first, bending down and kissing her cheek. “Morning, Mom.”

“Hello, Walker. You look nice today,” she says, taking in my jeans and basic gray T-shirt. I put absolutely no effort into my appearance, but I usually don’t. I try to make sure I don’t dress like I just rolled out of bed. One time I made the mistake of coming over for lunch in joggers. Edna wacked me with a rolling pin and told me Jesus doesn’t appreciate my laziness.

“Thanks,” I mumble, reaching over and shaking Uncle Donald’s hand.

“How was work last night?” he asks like clockwork. He inquires every Sunday morning, always interested in hearing about the business.

“All good. Jameson played last night, so we had a good crowd.”

He nods. As much as I’d like to stay and chat, I know I have to continue to make my rounds.

I walk over to Jamal, his legs kicked up on the end of the