four

In Harper’s haste to get settled back in Sugar, she’d neglected to remember that Crumbs was there for one purpose—to sell cupcakes—and had initiated move-in in the middle of a week day without bothering to clear it with Jack.

Jack didn’t know which annoyed her the most—the banging and scraping as her father and brother lugged Harper’s couch up the too-small staircase or her mother’s repeated insistence that Harper moving into the apartment was a good thing. She was trying to remain optimistic, but it was getting harder by the minute.

Three customers had paused outside the door and walked on by when they noticed the furniture and boxes crowding the few feet of space between the tables and the counter. If Harper’s move made her lose another sale, Jack might call the whole thing off.

She jumped when the floor above boomed and the wall shook hard enough to rattle the art hanging on it. Glaring at one of the paintings, she dared it to fall. She walked over to straighten it and reconsidered. The ceiling rumbled again, quieter this time, as her family maneuvered the sofa across the floor. Better wait until they’re finished, she decided and sighed.

Not that her sister had that much stuff. From the looks of the belongings cluttering the front of the store, Harper only had the necessities: two sausage-like duffle bags; the bed from her room at their parents’ house; and reams of art supplies, including blank canvases in three or four different sizes, brushes, paint tubes, paint-spattered sheets, and three easels.

Some things never change. As long as Harper had enough materials and space to paint, she could make anywhere home. And if this was now home, Jack figured she’d better make the best of it.

She listened to the tinkling of voices drifting down the stairs as she surveyed the remaining pile of her sister’s things. Jack lifted a couple three-by-five-foot canvases and, gauging the weight, decided she could handle it. If she went up the stairs slowly.

“Got a load coming up,” she called and shifted sideways to make the turn into the stairwell.

Her dad was at the top, holding the door. His dark hair was flecked with gray, which stood out in the florescent light. “Thanks, darlin’.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Taking a quick break and then I’ll be back at it. Don’t have much left though.”

She smiled up at him. “You got the heavy stuff. The least I can do is haul up some of the rest.” Resting the load onto her hip, she angled it so neither end scraped wall or floor as she went up. She was halfway when a rush of warmth traveled up her arms and settled in her head, making her dizzy.

The tangy scent of mint and lime knocked her back a step. Graham. His desire—whatever it was—was unmistakable.

She braced a hand against the wall to steady herself. The air was thick and clogged in her throat. It pressed against her, making each heartbeat vibrate under her skin.

“Need help?” Graham asked.

Jack took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ve got this one. But there are more down there, if you want to bring some up.” She readjusted her grip on the canvases, continued up, and brushed her lips against her father’s stubbly cheek when he took them from her. “Thanks.”

“You and Graham go on. We can finish the rest,” he said.

“Too late,” she said when Graham rounded the corner carrying an easel under each arm. She watched him come up the steps without distraction. Stepping out of his way and into the apartment, she noticed again just how little stuff her sister had.

The studio layout maximized the space by eliminating any unnecessary walls. The living room fed into the kitchen, which was separated from the bedroom by a pocket door. Harper’s full-sized bed was against the back wall with a stack of folded sheets and blanket on one corner. Jack recognized them from her parents’ house. Harper didn’t have a dresser that Jack could see, but with only two bags of clothes, her sister could probably fit them all in the closet.

Other than the one framed photo of Jack, Harper, and Hutton as kids that Hutton had brought that morning as a housewarming gift, there was no evidence her sister had had a life in the past five years. No pictures of friends, no ribbon-tied bundle of love letters. The only thing that came close was one portrait of a man half turned from view, which was propped on the kitchen counter. Harper had captured him—whoever he was—in mid-smirk. The mischievousness all but popped off the canvas.

Catching her staring, Harper laid the painting facedown.

Jack shrugged when Graham sent her a what-was-that-about? look.

Her mom stood by the window. From the back, Charlotte Pace might have passed for her youngest daughter, minus the choppy pink sections of hair. She was slim and toned from walking miles on her treadmill each day. Jack walked over to the window seat and they sat together, looking out.

The oak trees outside shook in the wind like a pack of wet dogs. Last year’s foliage flew from the trees and spiraled to the ground, a few at a time. The new spring leaves still on the branches were a deep, vibrant green. A woman tugged her toddler down the sidewalk by the hand and into the grocery store on the corner.

“The wind’s getting crazy out there,” Jack said.

“I know you’re not thrilled about your sister moving in, but—”

“I’m gonna have to start a drinking game where we all take shots any time you tell me this is a good thing,” Jack said.

“Very funny.” Her mom watched Harper a moment before turning back to Jack. “I was going to thank you. Your sister seems a little down and I think it’ll help her to be so close to you and your brother.”

“Hey, Harp, do you have any liquor? Mama’s forcing me to drink.”

“I am not,” her mom protested. She wrapped her cool fingers around Jack’s wrist when she tried to stand. “Harper, did you hear me say it was good?”

“It was implied,” Jack said.

“Aren’t you and Graham supposed to be downstairs working?” Harper asked.

Before Jack could respond, Graham caught her eyes from across the room and shook his head. “We’re working on it,” he said.

She clenched her jaw and told Harper off in her head.

By the time Jack got back downstairs, two women were waiting outside Crumbs. Their hands cupped around their eyes, they peered in the front windows for signs of life. Jack waved to them from inside. They waved back and motioned for her to unlock the door.

She rolled her eyes. Did they even try it before deciding it wouldn’t open?

She swept the door open to a rush of vanilla. It wasn’t strong enough to ruffle the air—boring flavors usually weren’t—but she sensed it just the same.

“Sorry for the wait,” she said.

“Oh, that’s all right, hon,” the first customer said. She set her purse on the counter and rifled through it. “We saw the lights on, but with all those boxes we thought you might be done for. But you’re here now.”

“The boxes are my sister’s. She’s moving in upstairs,” Jack clarified so they wouldn’t start spreading rumors that Crumbs was closing.

“Can I get a dozen of your French vanilla for next Thursday?”

Jack jotted down the order and ran the woman’s credit card. “Can I talk you into one for today, too?”

“Oh, no. I shouldn’t.” The woman patted her curvy hips. “I’m trying to be good.”

“I admire your willpower,” the other customer said. She was bent over, examining the cupcakes in the case. Her breath fogged on the glass. “I could eat them all.” Straightening, she tugged at her dress. When she released it, the floral print fabric suctioned back to her stomach.

“I can help with that,” Jack said. She took the signed receipt from the first customer, wished her a good day, and asked, “Which one’s caught your eye?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll take three of whatever’s the most exotic.”

Jack scanned the display case. Though she loved every flavor they offered, nothing jumped out at her as exotic. The chocolate turtle cupcake had the most potential. She boxed them up, adding extra toasted pecans and caramel drizzle to the tops.

The woman smiled and said, “Don’t those look fun?”

“They’re to die for.” But Jack was already thinking of ways to turn the flavor up a notch.

When the shop was empty again, she looked up and followed her sister’s frenetic footsteps. Back and forth. Pause. Back and forth. Maybe I’ll get her an area rug as a house warming gift, she decided. Maybe she won’t burn it just because it came from me. Shaking her head, she resolved to try and get along with Harper.

She and Harper had been friends once—back when she was ten and Harper five. She remembered one summer afternoon when the rain had been relentless, coming in droves that beat on the windows and rattled the doors. They’d pretend-baked mountains of cupcakes and pies, meat loaf, and garlic bread. They gorged on the exotic delicacies they’d invented until they rolled back on the cushy shag carpet, patting their imagined fat bellies, their heads inches from each other as if they were whispering secrets.

Jack rolled over and pushed to her knees to stare out the window. The sky was rotten. Dark and splotchy from the clouds that whizzed by in the wind. She stuck her tongue out at it, and Harper mimicked her displeasure.

“Stupid rain,” Harper said.

“Don’t let Mama hear you say that,” Jack cautioned. She turned to hide her smile.

Her sister’s lips pouted and puckered like she had eaten a lemon. Her little twig arms crossed defensively over her chest when she began to cry.

“I have an idea,” Jack said, cuddling her sister. She rocked back and forth, swaying to the rhythm of Harper’s sniffles. “Do you trust me?”

Harper nodded and the stream of tears rolled faster down her red cheeks.

“Okay then. You wait here.” She went to the scratchy, plaid chair in the corner and shoved it. She pressed her feet against the wall to move it two feet to the left. Positioned underneath the window, it was the exact height for her to stand on the arms—pressing her slender frame against the threadbare back cushion—and heft the glass up enough for them to squeeze through. She was thankful there wasn’t a screen.

“C’mon,” she whispered.

When her sister stood on the chair, she bent and fitted her shoulder under Harper’s bottom, then lifted her to the sill. Jack mimed for her to jump down and pressed a finger to her lips for silence. Something below popped, followed by a loud rush of air. Scrambling up and out of the window, she avoided landing on the green plastic dome of the turtle sandbox, which already had two Harper-sized footprints.

The gravel crunched under her sneakers like Pop Rocks. She lifted the top of the sandbox and smoothed out the dents with a loud pop before putting it back in place and joining her sister.

Three black, rubber swings hung in deep Us from the sun porch above. With Harper already settled in her usual end swing, Jack took the one in the middle. The chains groaned in the warm air. But the girls refused to slow their pace. They pumped their legs harder, leaned back farther to coax the swings high enough that Jack could’ve toed the ceiling if she’d tried.

The air was thick as Jack breathed in through her mouth. It tasted like vanilla pudding and freedom.

She turned to smile at Harper, who had her eyes closed, head lolled back so her hair hung down in a blond sheet. “Harp,” she whispered. “It’s fun, huh?”

“Can we stay out here all night?” Harper asked, her voice low and raspy.

“We can’t let Mama find out,” Jack said.

The rain transitioned between a drizzle to a ticklish mist to fat raindrops that pelted their legs as they left the protective covering on the outswings. She shivered as the wet wormed its way into her socks.

They giggled when their mother’s fairy-tale voice called to them from inside. Jack ended their freedom with a firm grasp on the chains of both swings. They jerked to a halt. Her arm flung out to stop Harper from dumping onto the ground. Her sister’s fingernails sunk into her forearm.

“You’re okay,” Jack whispered. “I wouldn’t let you get hurt.”

They repeated their escape sequence in reverse. The turtle deflated under their combined weight. The brick was gritty, rough on her skin. She scraped her forearms and Harper’s knees in the struggle to get back inside.

Jack rubbed the pad of her thumb over her wrist as the footsteps above multiplied as her parents started down the stairs. There were no scars from the injuries, but she could remember the wounds just the same. She couldn’t pinpoint where she’d gone wrong with her sister. But if she had making up to do, there was no time like the present.

***

By the time Graham got back from helping Hutton drop off the moving van, Jack was prepared to state her case for adding new flavors to the menu. In the office she booted up her computer. The screen blinked to life with a dull gray that lightened to reveal the cupcake-and-crossbones image she had as her background.

Hard-core, kickass cupcakes. That’s what she’d set out to make. So far, they were falling short.

Graham poured sugar into the mixer, a melodic trickle of granules against metal. She leaned back in her chair so she could see him. “So I was thinking that we should have a daily special. You know, like one really out-there cupcake that we don’t have on the menu all the time,” she said.

“Out-there flavors being?” Graham raised an eyebrow at her as he emptied a package of butter into the mixer. He turned it on low, and the ingredients slapped together.

Jack read off the list she’d made. “Orange creamsicle, red chili chocolate, Cheerwine or Coke, Irish car bomb, or maybe margarita.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” he asked.

“I read blogs.” She turned her computer screen toward him. The cupcake fanatic site she was currently reading included a recipe, step-by-step instructions and photos of a beautifully decorated cupcake served in a margarita glass with lime-slice garnish.

“Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? It’s research to keep us on the cutting edge. I don’t want Crumbs to get boring or predictable.”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean you, Graham. But while cupcakes are the hot trend now, we have to work extra hard to keep this place going when the next wave of ‘in’ desserts hits.”

He switched the mixer off and scraped the sides of the bowl before he responded. “All right. But instead of a daily special, could we just have one day a week where we have the super spectacular cups? I’m running all day and night as it is.” His voice was haggard, as if they’d been arguing for hours instead of minutes.

“Do we need to hire a part-time baker?” she asked.

Her brain kicked into high gear calculating net sales, food costs, overhead, and potential labor to determine if hiring another employee was even feasible on top of replacing the oven. They had a few weddings and big-ticket events on the horizon. If those jobs came through they might be able to eke out enough extra cash for ten to fifteen hours a week for a baker. A junior baker.

“I can do my damn job, Jack.”

“I never said you couldn’t.”

“You basically just ran through finding my replacement in your head.” Graham yanked the speed lever on the mixer. It whirred to life and made it impossible for him to hear Jack’s reply.

She pushed out of her chair. It rolled back, slamming into the wall with a deep thud. “Replacement? What are you talking about?” She yelled it, more to ensure he heard her than because she felt like it.

When he yelled back, she realized it hadn’t been the right tactic. “I could see those wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours. If I can’t make your damn daily specials you’ll find someone who can.”

“Back up,” she said. She held her hands in front of her to keep him from verbally running over her. “I was trying to figure out how to get someone in here to keep you from going off the deep end if we get super busy. Obviously it’s too late for that. You’ve already lost your damn mind. There is no replacing you, Graham. I don’t have a business without you.”

“You do know that people can hear you, right?” Harper called from the front counter.

Jack’s head whipped up. A quick scan revealed that her sister—smirk and all—was the only customer in the place. The fact that no one else had witnessed their meltdown lessened Jack’s embarrassment by a small degree. But her face continued to blaze. The heat spread across her cheeks and down her neck to settle on her collarbone.

Graham had his hands jammed in his front pockets, head down, not looking at either of them. He ground the toe of his shoe absently into the floor. He jumped back a step when Jack brushed by him.

The front of the shop was a good five degrees cooler than the back.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Harper asked. With her hair slicked back in a ponytail, it looked more pink than blond. She unzipped her puffy vest halfway, revealing the words Grr Argh on the front of her long-sleeved tee.

“I’m not in the mood.” Jack sagged against the wall. She tried to decipher how the argument had started in the first place. Somehow she was at fault. She just didn’t know how or why.

“When are you ever in the mood, Jack? You know you’d both be a lot happier if you’d jump each other already.”

“Keep your voice down. He’s already freaked out by me as it is. He doesn’t need you putting those kinds of thoughts in his head.”

Harper rolled her eyes. “If those thoughts aren’t already in his head, he must be half dead,” she said.

Jack glanced back into the kitchen to make sure Graham couldn’t hear them. “Then, Harper, I’m telling you the man’s a freakin’ zombie. Everything all put away upstairs?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Mostly. All the unpacking left me famished so I thought I’d see what the living dead was doing tonight. Was hoping that maybe he’d want to grab a bite at Blue Plate. It’s been forever since I’ve had one of their chili dogs, and I’ve been craving it for days.”

“Oh,” she said. The word warbled in the air before she could stop it from escaping. Jack should’ve known her sister wasn’t there to see her. The disappointment ate at her anyway. “He’s all yours.”

“I doubt that,” Harper retorted. “But I’ll borrow him for now.”

Jack stared after her until her sister disappeared into the kitchen. The soft rumbling of voices and laughter drifted out. Chased her from the store. She grabbed her purse from behind the counter and managed to turn the closed sign around before letting the door slap shut behind her.

Outside smelled like burned sugar. She wrinkled her nose. The sun was low in the sky and peeked between buildings, streaking the street in bands of light and dark. Shielding her eyes, she realized her car was parked around back as usual. Jack stood on the sidewalk debating her options. She either had to go back inside and traipse through the middle of Graham and Harper’s love fest or walk to the end of the block, cut around the side of the building and double back through the parking lot. She started walking.

She should’ve walked home.

Graham was leaning against her driver’s-side door when she turned into the parking lot. His legs were crossed at the ankle. She could just make out the hint of a smile as he stared at his feet. Her heart thrilled at the fact that he’d come after her. Her brain on the other hand, cautioned that it meant nothing. He looked up when she was a few feet away. His dark eyes were a mix of concern and pity.

Jack looked away. She held her breath to keep the hurt from spreading from her chest.

“Going somewhere?” he asked. He was still in his apron. He picked at the knot as he waited for her to answer.

“That’s the plan,” she said.

“Plans can change.”

“Not this one.” She rooted beneath her wallet, a bottle of migraine pills, and crumpled receipts to unearth her keys from the depths of her purse. “Let it go, Graham.”

“Come with us. Please,” he added when she hesitated. His arm jerked as if he was about to reach for her and then changed his mind. He shifted a few inches, freeing up the handle.

She may have given in if he hadn’t.

***

“So, you’re back,” Graham said as the waitress unloaded their bucket of beer. He pulled one out and picked the ice chunks from the side. They fell back in with a crunch. The bottle was wet as he rolled it in his hands. He took a swig and wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

Harper sat across from him armored in piercings, dark makeup and a wry smile. “Yep. And winning people over left and right,” she said. When she laughed, the sound was so familiar, it was hard not to think of Jack.

“So I noticed.”

“The sad part is that I don’t even know what I did to piss Jack off. She’s so damn touchy. No matter what I do or say, I set her off.”

Harper reached up and nudged the Mason jar lantern hanging from a cord above the table. The light swayed in a lazy arc. The exposed lightbulb inside the jar clinked against the side and made the gouges and pock marks in the surface of the wood table look like ants marching.

Squinting against the light, Graham leaned forward and stilled the jar with a steady thumb and forefinger. “I know you’re not that thick, Harp.”

“What?” she asked, shrugging.

“She probably thought you were coming to hang out with her. And then not only did you not want to spend time with her, you wanted to go out with me. You didn’t even invite her to come along.”

“She tell you all this when you went out back?” The bar in her eyebrow caught the light when she cocked it.

“No. Thanks to you, she wasn’t really in a talking mood. I just know her,” he said. And he did. Over the years, he had memorized the way her right cheek dimpled slightly when she sensed a strong desire from someone, the subtle smell of flowers and citrus and sugar that lingered in the air to taunt him even after she’d left a room and the soft sound of her breathing. And, as much as he hated it, he could picture the flecks of gold and green in her eyes that intensified when she was hurt and disappointed. “It was a big deal for her to let you move in upstairs, both on a personal and on a business level. And I think she was thinking it might help the two of you get your relationship back on track. Despite how she may act, she loves you.”

“Well, she’s not very good at showing it.”

“You don’t give her the chance.”

Harper opened her mouth and then shut it again as if unsure how to respond.

Graham could wait.

He scanned the restaurant, nodding to three or four people he knew. In the far corner, Tabitha Jenkins sat across the table from her husband, Jerry, in a dress so tight Graham wondered how she could breathe. Jerry picked at his teeth with a folded Sweet’N Low packet. Tabitha’s mouth was set in a line so thin it almost disappeared in her round face. She uncrossed her legs and smiled at him when she caught him staring.

He shifted in his chair. It creaked under his weight. His hand came away sticky from the underside of the seat. Rubbing his hand on the bottle, he hoped the condensation would remove whatever had attached itself to him.

“Who’s that?” Harper asked.

He pretended to be mesmerized by the peeling label on his beer. “A girl Jack, Hutt and I went to high school with. Married her high school sweetheart and has regretted it ever since.”

“Isn’t that the way marriage always goes?” she said, distracted.

“Not if you find the right person,” Graham said. He couldn’t stop the very vivid image of a sixteen-year-old Jack walking away from him in the misty rain. He could still taste her lip gloss, feel her shiver in his arms. Shaking his head to dislodge the memory, he continued, “But yeah, for most people, it seems to suck.”

He sighed in relief at the heaping pile of cheese fries that seemed to materialize on the table. “Thanks, Cheryl,” he called as the waitress walked away.

“Anytime, hon,” she said.

Harper dug in. She flinched at the heat, but continued to pick up a few fries at a time and drop them on her plate. “So, I guess there’s no way Jack’s your soul mate?”

Graham choked on his beer. Coughing, he managed, “Not that I’ve noticed. But maybe Hollingsworth men are full of shit and there’s nothing to the myth anyway.”

His granddad had always told him that finding the right girl was as comforting as a warm glass of milk before bed. Jack was more like taking a shot of whiskey. She made him hot and jittery half the time and muddled his brain the rest. So, if she wasn’t the one, why couldn’t he get her out of his head—or his heart?

“Then what’s stopping you?” Harper asked.

The off chance that it might be real. That one day I might love someone else more than her and leave her and everything we’ve built together without a backward glance, like my father did. That I might not even hate myself for doing it.

Graham met her eyes, which were so much like Jack’s that his heart stuttered. “We’re friends. And we work together, which means we spend a lot of time together. End of story,” he lied.

“You look a little disappointed there, Graham. You know, despite trying to inhale your beer.”

He slid her beer away from her and said, “Whoa. One drink and you’re already hallucinating.”

“Actually, I haven’t had any. I gave up beer for Lent.”

He had to think about it for a moment. It couldn’t be that late in the season already. He still had a good month before the Twilight, and that came just past Easter. He ran through the calendar, mentally ticking off each day until the holiday. “Lent hasn’t started yet.” He was fairly certain.

“Well, I’ve got a lot of making up to do.” She smiled a wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing smile.

“Since when do you go to church, anyway?”

“I don’t,” she admitted. “But it’s easier to explain that I gave up beer for God than because I’m just tired of drinking. People tend to look at you like you’re crazy when you turn down a perfectly good beer just because.”

“You could have mentioned that before I ordered a bucket. There’s no way I can get through five on my own. Or at least I shouldn’t.” He reached out for another fry. His fingers slid through warm cheese sauce without hitting anything solid. The paper crackled in the empty basket as his fingers groped.

Still hungry, Graham waved Cheryl over and ordered a bowl of chili. Harper got a burger. “Got a thing for fries?” he asked when her meal arrived with another half-plate.

“Can’t seem to get enough. This guy I know eats them by the bucketload. I think this is just his residual bad influence.”

“Could be worse,” he said. He breathed in the steam rolling off his chili and added three shakes of Tabasco.

“I’m not so sure about that,” she mumbled. Slouching down in the chair, she rested her head on the top rung of the seat back and closed her eyes.

“You okay, Harp? Hutton always said you seemed really happy wherever you were. But now you seem not unhappy exactly, but certainly not like you want to be here.”

Harper cracked open one golden eye to glare at him.

He blew on a spoonful of chili. “Not that I don’t love you, but why did you want to come out with me? We’ve never hung out just the two of us.”

“If you didn’t want to come out with me, why did you?” she snapped.

“Honestly, I was a little curious. I wasn’t sure if you just asked me out to piss off Jack or if there was something you wanted that you didn’t want the rest to know about. You’ve never been one to do anything without a reason. Spill.”

“All right,” she huffed. She straightened and stuffed another couple of fries in her mouth. When she’d swallowed she said, “I was hoping you could tell me how they’re all handling me being back. Do they think it’s temporary and that I’ll skip out any day? Or are they okay with the idea of me sticking around awhile?”

“They’d be happy if you never even took a vacation again.”

His assurance seemed to wipe away her sour mood. “Really?” she asked, laughing. “Jack too?”

“Give her a chance, Harp. She may surprise you.”

“Can you give her the same speech?”

“Consider it done.”