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“No. He was in the reserves. But after two tours in Iraq, he decided it was time to get out. His wife threatened to divorce him if he didn’t,” she said, trying to avoid his gaze. “Are you active?”
Xavier exhaled an audible sigh. “No.”
“Were you deployed?”
There came a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Yes,” he finally said.
Selena felt the handsome stranger withdraw, even though the timbre of his voice hadn’t changed. It was something she’d witnessed whenever her brother Luke had come home on leave. He’d spend hours locked in his bedroom, and when he’d emerged sometime later he was the brother she’d recognized from their youth—the practical joker.
“I’m sorry for prying.”
Xavier forced a smile. “It’s okay. You weren’t prying.”
If he hadn’t worn a short-sleeved shirt, then she never would have seen the tattoo, he thought. He’d gotten it before the corps began cracking down on them. Suddenly, he seemed all too aware of it.
The carefree demeanor Selena had exhibited when he’d walked into Sweet Persuasions was now missing. “I’ll be back to let you know whether my mother and sister enjoy them,” Xavier said, hoping her smile and the cute way her nose creased would return.
“You can email me your comments.”
He didn’t know whether Selena Yates was married, single or engaged. But there was something about her that made him want to see her again. “I’ll come by. Maybe next time I’ll buy something for myself.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up like a hundred-watt bulb. There were some people who smiled with their eyes or mouths, but with her it was both.
“Thank you, Mr. Eaton. I’d like that very much.”
She could not afford to turn away any new customer. She knew the risks of starting a new business, especially in a tough economy. But opening up a patisserie when she’d had no experience running a business at all defied common sense.
“It’s Xavier,” he corrected.
Selena extended her hand. “And I’m Selena.”
He took her hand, holding it gently between his much larger one. “It’s nice to meet you, Selena.” Reluctantly he released her delicate fingers. “I’ll be seeing you.” Turning on his heels, Xavier walked to the door, standing aside to let a petite, dark-skinned woman with chin-length twists enter.
“Thank you,” she crooned seductively.
“You’re welcome,” he said, chuckling under his breath as he closed the door.
Monica Mills pirouetted in a pair of flats before bowing gracefully. “Now that looks as delicious, maybe even better, than what you’re selling,” she said to Selena.
Selena smiled at her next-door neighbor. “He’s definitely eye candy.”
Not only was Monica her neighbor, but they were also friends. Monica helped out in the shop during her free time, while Selena looked after the single mother’s school-age daughter before and after school hours.
“I’ll be right back,” Monica said over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen at rear of the shop. She washed her hands, and then pulled a bib apron over her head tying it around her waist. She covered her hair with a nylon bouffant cap, pushing the wealth of neatly twisted hair under the elastic band.
Monica worked for a major Charleston law firm as a paralegal, and there were times when she didn’t leave the office until well past seven o’clock, which is why Selena Yates was such a lifesaver.
Selena made certain Monica’s daughter, Trisha, got on and off the school bus, completed her homework and fed her dinner. Selena refused to accept payment for babysitting Trisha, so Monica helped out at Sweet Persuasions. For the past month, she’d put in sixteen-hour days at the law firm because of a high-profile murder case that was scheduled to go to trial soon. So she’d decided to take two weeks off in lieu of overtime payment. No amount of money could take the place of her spending time with her eight-year-old daughter.
Selena was cradling the boxes to her chest when Monica emerged from the rear of the shop. “Please take care of the front, while I get these ready for the early pick up.” A courier from the shipping company came twice a day—before noon and at six. A morning pickup ensured next-day delivery and the afternoon was for two-day deliveries.
“No problem, boss.”
Selena rolled her eyes at Monica, who’d put off going to law school when she’d discovered a week before graduating from college that she was pregnant. Rather than tell her boyfriend he was going to be a father, Monica moved from Atlanta to Charleston to be closer to her family. When Selena had asked her neighbor why she hadn’t told the man with whom she’d had a four-year relationship that she was pregnant with his child, Monica had said she didn’t want to talk about it. Respecting her privacy, Selena never asked again.
“I’m not paying you, Ms. M. So, I’m not your boss.”
Monica mimicked Selena’s eye-rolling. “I should be the one paying you for all you do for Trisha.”
Trying to avoid a pointless argument with her friend, Selena walked into the back of the shop. When she decided to open Sweet Persuasions, she’d had the contractor divide the space in the rear into a kitchen and a small alcove that she’d set up as an office. A desktop computer, printer, a two-drawer file cabinet and shelves stocked with boxes and shipping supplies was the mail-order lifeline of Sweet Persuasions. The kitchen where she baked her goodies was the heart and soul of the patisserie.
Selena gift-wrapped the boxes and attached gift cards. Forty-five minutes later, Xavier Eaton’s bakery goods were wrapped and sealed in vacuum packaging and stored in containers of dry ice. She printed out the shipping labels, affixed them to the packages and placed them on a side table with three other orders.
When Selena had left West Virginia at eighteen to attend college in California, she never imagined that eight years later she would be running her own business. In less than three weeks, she would be celebrating her twenty-seventh birthday. And although she didn’t know why, she suddenly felt older. Not old, but older. Becoming a pastry chef hadn’t been her career choice at first. But spending hours making mouthwatering recipes for delicious desserts and candies had become her passion. She didn’t have a husband, children or even a boyfriend, so her time was hers and hers alone.
Glancing at the wall calendar, she studied the requests for the upcoming week. There were orders for three dozen red-velvet cupcakes for a ladies auxiliary meeting, a specialty cake for a North Charleston couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary and a Black Forest cherry cake for an engagement party. Closing Sweet Persuasions two days a week allowed Selena to fill those special orders.
The nightmare that had sent her fleeing California to South Carolina was now a distant memory. Living and working in Charleston was like being reborn. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder every time she left her house, or glance through the peephole whenever the doorbell rang.
She’d claimed a new city and state as her home. She had a new career and had set up a new business. Not only did Selena think her of herself as lucky—she believed she was blessed.
A hint of a smile softened Xavier’s lips as he strolled out of Sweet Persuasions and down the block to the antiques shop. The past four months had become a summer of firsts. He had purchased his first house and he’d become a teacher.
He’d had second thoughts about relocating to Charleston after accepting the teaching position. But now that he’d moved into his house and settled into teaching military history, he felt as if he’d come home. Xavier was also rediscovering his adopted city—a city with a troubled past and a bright future.
He opened the door to the antiques shop, glancing at the unorthodox greeter sitting on a perch and staring at him from inside a large birdcage. “We have a visitor,” squawked the colorful parrot. “What’s your name?”
“Willie, I’ve told you about asking people their names,” admonished a woman with fashionably coiffed hair the color of moonlight. The elegantly attired shopkeeper smiled at Xavier. “Good morning, Mr. Eaton. You’re going to have to forgive Willie this morning. It’s as if he’s forgotten his home training.”
“He’s forgiven,” Xavier mumbled under his breath.
He wanted to tell Charlotte Burke that her pet needed more than home training. Willie needed to be at home. The first time he’d visited the shop he was treated to a monologue peppered with salty language that left Mrs. Burke red with embarrassment.
Charlotte Burke sighed. She’d given Willie a lengthy lecture as soon as she’d removed the cover from the cage earlier that morning. Her scolding had continued while she cleaned the cage and gave the parrot food and water. Willie had learned his colorful language from her husband, who claimed he could say whatever he wanted within the confines of his home. What Walter Burke had refused to acknowledge was that although there were no small children in the house, the parrot repeated everything he said.
She smiled at the incredibly gorgeous man, who made her wish that she was at least thirty years younger so she could flirt with him. Fortunately for her, she was married, and she wasn’t a cougar like some of her friends.
“You’re not teaching today?”
Xavier pulled his gaze away from what had become a stare down with the foulmouthed bird. Charlotte Burke’s cornflower-blue eyes matched her pantsuit exactly. The strand of South Sea pearls around her neck coordinated with the pearl studs in her ears. Her face, unlike her hands, was wrinkle-free, leading him to believe she’d had some work done.
“Today’s a school holiday.”
The Christopher Munroe Military Academy, a college preparatory school for grades eight through twelve, had opened its doors to day and boarding students ninety years ago with just fourteen young men. The school’s population had changed dramatically over the years with the acceptance of students of color and females, expanding to include grades one through twelve.
“That is so nice,” Charlotte crooned, her Southern drawl more pronounced than usual. She pressed her palms together. “If you come with me, I’ll show what I picked up at the estate sale.”
Xavier followed her to a table with a collection of silver and crystal pieces. “How old is this one?” He’d pointed to a heavily decorated silver teapot.
Reaching for a square of felt, Charlotte handed him the pot. “It was made by Samuel Kirk & Son in the mid-nineteenth century. Throughout the late nineteenth-century Kirk specialized in flatware and hollowware with heavy repoussé work or chasing that resembles neo-Rococo. If you turn the pot over you’ll see that it’s signed.”
“What is chasing?” he asked.
“It is a surface decoration drawn on the piece and then the decorator hammers it with a blunt, ballpoint chisel to distort the surface to achieve the desired effect without removing any metal.”
“Amazing,” Xavier said in a quiet voice. He set the teapot on the table, and picked up a coffeepot.
“That one is a silver Hallmark English coffeepot. It was made around 1767.”
“I’ll take the coffeepot, the teapot and the matching service pieces.”
Charlotte nodded, staring at the length of lashes touching the top of Xavier Eaton’s cheekbones. “What about the crystal?” She was hoping to sell him most of the silver and the crystal.
Reaching into a back pocket of his slacks, he took out a credit card. “I’m not sure what crystal pattern my sister would like, so I’m going to pass on it. But I know for certain that she’s partial to silver.”
“You’ve selected some very fine pieces.” A slight frown appeared on Charlotte’s face. “Didn’t you tell me you’re a history teacher?”
“Yes.” Xavier had had a lengthy conversation with her when he’d first visited her shop. She was aware that he’d graduated from The Citadel, and that he’d returned to Charleston to teach part-time at a military school. A smile parted her lips, the gesture reminding him of a Cheshire cat.
“I have something I believe would be of interest to you.”
His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “What is it?”
“You’ll see,” Charlotte said in singsong voice.
His curiosity piqued, Xavier watched as the antiques dealer put on a pair of white-cotton gloves and placed a leather pouch on the table. She took out a tattered clothbound journal and then another that was equally worn. “These are the journals written by a freeman of color who fought with the Union army in the War Between the States.”
He wanted to correct Mrs. Burke by telling her that the official term was the Civil War, but knew that the Confederate loss was a sore point with most Southerners. She opened the journal, turning the pages as if she were handling a newborn. Some of the entries were written in pencil and others in ink. Incredibly, most of the writing was legible.
Xavier leaned over the table. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get these?”
Charlotte gave him a sidelong glance. “I found them.”
“You just happened to find journals that are more than one hundred fifty years old?”
A flush suffused the woman’s face. “I really didn’t find them. But, I promised the woman who gave them to me that I wouldn’t divulge her name. She was cleaning out her house and she found them in a trunk in her attic. The trunk belonged to the great-grandmother of a woman who used to clean her grandmother’s house.”
Xavier tried to process what he’d just been told. “Why did she give them to you rather than a museum or historical society?”
Charlotte’s flush deepened. “She said the memories were too painful and she just wanted them out of her house.”
Realization dawned for him. Journals, if authenticated, that could be worth five or six figures at auction were given away like a bundle of old newspapers. “How much do you want for them?”
“I can’t sell them.”
A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up Xavier’s back. “If you don’t intend to sell them, then why show them to me?”
“That’s because I want to give them to you.”
He went completely still. “Do you have any idea what these are worth?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No, and I don’t want to know. You teach history, Mr. Eaton, so I know you will make certain they will find a good home.”
Xavier leaned forward. “You trust me not to sell them?”
“I’ve lived long enough to believe I’m a good judge of character. And I know you won’t sell them because you’d want to share what’s in these journals not only with your students but anyone interested in our country’s history.”
Charlotte Burke was right. He wouldn’t sell the journals because he wasn’t the rightful owner. Perhaps if he’d inherited or purchased them, then Xavier would possibly consider donating them to the South Carolina Historical Society. He planned to read the entries and then verify the accuracy of the events. After having them appraised, he would look for the rightful owner or owners. It was only fair that the descendants of a man who’d chronicled a war in which brothers took up arms against one another should be aware of what he’d had to sacrifice.
“You’re going to donate them, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked.
Xavier smiled. “I will—but only if I can’t find the rightful owners. That shouldn’t be too difficult if they’re still living in South Carolina.”
“What if they’ve moved out of the state?”
“It will make the search a bit more difficult, but not impossible. Did the lady tell you how long it had been since the woman cleaned her grandmother’s house?”
Charlotte slipped the books into the leather case and removed her gloves. “No. I would’ve asked, but she appeared very upset. You would’ve thought she’d found a live snake in her house instead of century-old books.”
What, Xavier mused, was her connection to the man who’d written of his wartime exploits? It had been a while since something had fired his imagination, and he was looking forward to what was certain to become a research project.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to hold on to the journals until I come back. I have some more shopping to do. Meanwhile I’ll pay you for the silver.”
“But, we haven’t negotiated a price, Mr. Eaton.”
Xavier waved his hand in dismissal. “I don’t like haggling. Please let me know how much I owe you.”
Charlotte took umbrage to the term haggling, but dismissed it with a slight lifting of her shoulders. Haggling was for peddlers, not a professional antiques dealer such as herself. Xavier’s willingness to meet whatever price she’d quote spoke volumes. He was a man willing to pay for whatever he wanted. She completed the transaction, processing his credit card and returning it to him. “My assistant will be in within the hour and, if you want, she can gift wrap them for you.”
Xavier smiled and deep lines appeared along his lean jaw. “I would really appreciate that.” And for the second time that day, he’d filled out a gift card to his sister. Six years older than Denise, he had always assumed the role of her protector. He’d put the word out in their neighborhood that if anyone bothered Denise Amaris Eaton, then they’d have to deal with him. Of course, he hadn’t had to deal with bullying or fighting, since it wasn’t tolerated in military school. Anyone who broke the rules was dealt with immediately. Three infractions in a school year meant permanent expulsion.
Xavier left the shop, skirting a couple standing in front of a shoe store, and headed for a specialty shop featuring tailored menswear. His day off had come with surprises. He’d discovered Sweet Persuasions and he had come into possession of a valuable piece of Civil War history.
Chapter 2
Selena adjusted the thermostat on the air-conditioning unit in the bedroom, sank down into a rocking chair, kicked off her shoes, propped her feet on a footstool and closed her eyes. She never realized how tired she really was until she sat down at the end of the day. Once she’d made the decision to open up the shop, it wasn’t the decisions about which pastries she should make for her customers that had caused her so many sleepless nights. But it was the days and hours of running the business and the worries about money that were so exhausting.
Originally she’d considered staying open six days a week, but that would have left her little or no time to herself. In the end she decided to remain open Tuesday through Friday 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. She closed at four on Saturdays to keep her standing appointment to get her hair and nails done. Sundays were relegated to cleaning her apartment, doing laundry and attending church services. Mondays were set aside for banking and baking.
Selena opened her eyes, and stared at the bedroom furnishings she’d chosen as meticulously as she decorated the cookies and truffles displayed in Sweet Persuasions’ showcase. As a girl she had always wanted to become an interior decorator, but that dream changed when she was bitten by the acting bug. Performing on stage and in front of cameras became her passion. But her world was shattered when she had to give up her acting career after her life was threatened.
It wasn’t often Selena thought about what she’d sacrificed to start over, but retreating to the two-bedroom apartment above the shop that had become her sanctuary made it all worthwhile. Cloistered in her bedroom, she was able to relax and sleep in comfort and in peace.
The sound of the telephone ringing interrupted her musings. She picked up the cordless receiver without looking at the caller ID display—something she wouldn’t have done when she lived in California.
“Hello.”
“Hey, you.”
Selena smiled upon hearing her sister-in-law’s greeting. “Hey, Christy. How are you?”
