Sweet Heart (The Hearts of Sawyers Bend #2) - Ivy Layne Page 0,9

writing. I'd assumed his spontaneous invitation to dinner had been a whim. I took in the bouquet. Lilies, roses, and a few vibrant gerbera daisies in a blown glass vase I knew hadn't come from the flower shop.

J.T. was right, I didn't want to guess what they must have cost either. I only knew it was a lot.

“Dinner?” Grams prompted again, a gleam in her eye. Dammit. I knew that gleam.

“It's nothing. He's just… He doesn't mean it. He's Royal Sawyer.” They both continued to stare at me, expectant. “You guys, he doesn't really want to go out with me. He’s Royal Sawyer,” I reminded them again.

Grams raised an eyebrow. J.T. shook his head at me. “Exactly. He's Royal Fucking Sawyer. I assume your eyes are still working. Let him take you to dinner. At the worst, it's a free meal, and Royal Sawyer is not gonna take you out for a bad meal.”

“I'm not interested in being Royal Sawyer's piece of the week. He's nice to look at, sure. And he's grateful I helped them out with the thing the other day. He feels bad I got socked in the face. That's all. It's a small town and tourist season hasn't really kicked in yet. He's probably bored.”

J.T.'s eyebrow was still raised. “That's a lot of protests there, Daze. You sure you're not interested?”

“I told him I have a boyfriend.”

J.T. shook his head. “You know you don't have to—”

I cut him off. “That's not the point. I'm not going out with Royal Sawyer.” I looked to Grams, waiting for her to back up J.T. and try to badger me into going out with Royal. She just looked from me to J.T. to the flowers and shook her head.

“You're wasting your life buried in the kitchen here, baby girl. You don't have to marry the boy, but I don’t see the harm in letting him buy you a meal as a thanks for saving his bacon.”

“I already got a thank-you. J.T. delivered the first order to The Inn, and they paid the invoice before lunch. That's all the thanks I need.”

Grams shook her head again. I knew better than to think that meant she was dropping the subject. Grams knew how to bide her time. She also believed in letting people go their own way, so it could be she really was prepared to drop it. She'd speak her piece when she decided to and not a moment sooner.

In the meantime, I had to focus on my own problems, none of which had anything to do with Royal Sawyer.

“You should at least thank him for the flowers. That's just good manners,” Grams added.

I should have known Grams couldn't let it go without getting the last word. Fine. She was right. It was a beautiful arrangement that required thanks. Later. I had special orders to fill, and more business to drum up before I could take a break.

A knock landed on the back door of the kitchen. Still lingering by the bouquet, J.T. was closest, and he moved to swing the door open. The slight figure in the doorway took me by surprise.

“Mom,” I said, my heart giving a leap of hope.

If she was here, then maybe—

A smile crossed her face before her eyes skittered from mine to Grams.

And maybe not.

As always where my parents were concerned, that leap of hope flipped into a dive.

“Is Dad with you?” I asked carefully. J.T. and Grams waited along with me for my mother’s response.

“Oh, he'll be along,” she said vaguely. “He had some business to wrap up. I thought I'd come ahead and see if y'all needed any help in the bakery.”

As she always had, Grams stepped into the void. “It's good to have you back, honey.” She crossed the room and pulled my mom into a tight hug, rocking Sheree’s form against her taller, broader one. “You have good timing. J.T. has a full load of classes this spring—he started in the culinary program at Tech—and we could use some help during the week. It's good to see your beautiful face.”

Grams had a bottomless well of love for Sheree Hutchins. According to Grams, my father, her son, had shown up almost thirty years before with Sheree in tow, presenting her as his new wife and asking Grams to take them in after Sheree’s own parents had cut her off for dropping out of college to marry a “shiftless white boy.”

I'd never met my maternal grandparents, and I didn't want to, given the