Sweet Love of Mine: Sweetly Southern by Lindi Peterson

Author:Lindi Peterson [Peterson, Lindi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01N28FFGX
Publisher: Flourishing Ink Publishing
Published: 2017-04-14T04:00:00+00:00

The next morning I still feel the press of Grant’s lips on mine. I would say that they still tingle, but that only happens in novels and movies. I’ll take the memory of last night. We didn’t say much on the way home. He kissed me again before I got in my car, like a date would.

But I’m not sure we were on a date.

It was more like a let’s-forget-the-real-world interlude. And his kiss certainly made that happen. Because kissing Grant isn’t real world.

Having no food for a party is real world.

Grant losing his job is real world.

I pull my hair into a ponytail, ready to tackle the day. I have to figure this food thing out. Every time I think about it I become flushed and hot. Nervous is not a strong enough word. I know Grant wants to help, and it might be good medicine for him, but I need food that people will eat.

Not food that is destined for the garbage disposal.

I promised to go over this afternoon for another trial run. Today is Tuesday. He said he’d have it figured out by now. I want to be hopeful, but everything is pointing the opposite direction.

I spend the next two hours scouring the local catering services.

Again.

I actually set up two appointments for tomorrow, although I did that just to make me feel better. I will still have to borrow money if I hire a caterer.

At two o’clock I arrive at Sonya’s like I promised Grant I would. I brace my nose for a decent smell as I walk into the house.

And it does smell good.

Smells familiar.

Smells appetizing.

Smiling I make my way toward the kitchen. “Knock, knock. I’m here.”

Walking into the kitchen I find Grant at the stove. The back door is open slightly, and I see smoke coming from the grill.

He turns. “Hi. I think I’ve hit on something. Look.”

He motions to the counters which are filled with silver trays. I walk over. One tray is filled with hot dogs, another with hamburgers. The next tray boasts chicken legs, the one next to that french fries. “What is this?”

“Fair food. And it’s good. Have a dog.” He pulls a bun out from a plastic bag next to the stove and tosses it to me.

“A hot dog? What has gotten into you? I know we had a great time last night, but I’m not sure how this food fits into my picture.”

“I thought we could do this for your parents’ party. Cool, huh?”

I make a fist, squishing the bun. “No. Not cool. I’m having a swanky party. At the club. With a band and champagne. And class. Not hotdogs.”

His eyes widen and my heart hurts, until I follow his gaze. The grill has flames shooting from it. He rushes outside and grabs a glass of water sitting on the table and douses the flames with water.

As he saves the burgers, I take a good look around the kitchen. There’s a note hanging on the refrigerator that says ‘Cotton Candy Machine for Rent’ and a phone number.

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