The Illegitimate Billionaire. Barbara Dunlop
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brown, and she had a perpetual smile on her very pretty face. Both of Callie’s sons, James and Ethan, loved her to death.
“Go take a break,” Callie said. “Nancy and I will be fine.”
“Rest your feet,” Nancy echoed from where she was wiping down the espresso machine. “I’ll do the tables.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Hannah said. “Wait. Hello.”
Callie followed the direction of Hannah’s gaze to see Mayor Watkins striding past the front window, toward the Downright Sweet entrance.
Nancy gave an amused laugh. She was a college student who had come back to her family in Charleston for the summer. She didn’t see the attraction of the Mayor.
Hank Watkins was single, slightly younger than Hannah and equally quick to smile. His dark hair was short at the sides, with a swoop across the top that didn’t particularly appeal to Callie. But he was attractive enough, in a distinguished way that was beneficial for a politician.
She’d describe him as burley, with a deep, booming voice. He was the son of one of Charleston’s most prominent families. They traced their ancestry all the way back to the Mayflower.
The classic little gold bell jingled as the door opened.
Callie stepped away from the cash register, busying herself with tidying the displays of cupcakes and giving Hannah a clear field.
“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” Hannah said.
“You know to call me Hank,” the Mayor answered.
“Hank,” Hannah said. “What can I get you?” She gestured to the glass case on her left. “A lemon puff pastry? Or coconut buttercream? The cupcakes are popular today.”
“What do you recommend?”
“You can’t go wrong with the pecan tart.”
“Done.”
“Whipped cream?” Hannah asked.
“Of course.” The Mayor pulled his wallet from his suit jacket pocket. “Callie?” He turned his attention to her.
“Whipped cream is always a nice addition,” Callie answered lightly. She kept her attention on the cupcakes, not wanting to intrude.
“I was hoping I could talk with you,” Hank said, his tone going more serious.
She went immediately on edge. “Is everything okay?”
Following the unexpected death of her husband six months ago, Callie’s optimism had taken a hit. She realized her years with Frederick had made her complacent. She’d forgotten life mostly dished out pain and disappointment. She intended to be braced for it from here on in.
“Nothing too worrisome,” he said, handing Hannah a ten-dollar bill. He smiled again as he spoke to her. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you, Hank,” Hannah said.
He looked at Callie again. “Will you join me?”
“Sure.” She untied her hunter green apron and slipped it over her head.
Beneath, she was wearing a white blouse and a pair of pressed khaki slacks. Her hair was up in a casual twist, and her earrings were small diamond studs that Frederick had given her for her birthday last year. She wore them every day. And as she walked around the end of the display case, she twisted her engagement ring and her wedding band round her finger.
She feared Hank was here with bad news about her deck permit.
He had offered to talk to the board personally to advocate for its quick approval. She’d turned down the offer, but now she wondered if that had been a mistake. Maybe she should have let him help.
Frederick had always advised her to keep the local politicians on their side. You might not love them, he’d said. You might not even like them. But it costs nothing to be congenial, and you never know which way the wind will blow.
If Downright Sweet didn’t get the permit to renovate the deck, they couldn’t replace the support beams, meaning they’d have to close the deck down while they came up with a new plan. It was May, the beginning of tourist season, and she was counting on running at full capacity by the end of June.
They took an empty table next to the window.
“Is this about the permit?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
Callie’s heart sank. “It’s been denied.”
Hank organized his napkin and fork. “Not yet. But Lawrence Dennison is hesitating.”
“Why?”
The bakery, along with all of the buildings in the historic district, was subject to stringent renovation conditions. There were bylaws to protect the character of the area. But Downright Sweet’s plans had taken that into account. The deck would be larger, but it would be in keeping with the existing architecture.
“Lawrence is Lawrence,” Hank said with a shrug. “He remembers the 1950s fondly.”
“I can’t believe he keeps getting re-elected.”
While she spoke, Callie’s mind pinged to potential solutions. She could shrink the size of the deck, maybe do only the structural renovations and keep the cosmetics exactly as they were. But it would be a shame to spend all that money and not improve the functionality. And to do a modified application, she’d have to start the process over again, losing time, and she’d definitely have to close the deck for the entire summer season.
“His pet project is the City Beautification Committee,” Hank said, a meaningful look in his eyes.
Callie squinted, trying to read his expression. “And?”
“And, if somebody was to...say...join that committee and show a particular interest in city beautification, Lawrence might feel kindly toward that person.” Hank took a forkful of the whipped cream and slid it into his mouth.
Callie found the suggestion unsavory. “You want me to bribe Lawrence to get my permit.”
Hank gave an amused smile. “Joining a committee is not a bribe.”
“It might not be money.”
Hank reached out and covered her hand with his.
It was a startlingly familiar gesture. Her first instinct was to pull back. But Frederick’s words echoed in her mind. It costs you nothing to be congenial.
“Do you have something against city beautification?” Hank asked.
“Of course I don’t.” Who could have anything against city beautification? “But I’m busy, the boys, the bakery, taking care of the house.”
When they’d first moved to Charleston, she and Frederick had bought a roomy, restored antebellum house. It was beautiful, but the upkeep was daunting.
The bakery door opened again, and a tall figure caught Callie’s attention. The man glanced around the room, seeming to methodically take in every aspect.
For some reason, he was fleetingly familiar, though she was sure she hadn’t met him before. He looked to be a little over six feet, with thick dark hair, blue eyes and a strong chin. His bearing was confident as he took a step forward.
“It wouldn’t be much work.” Hank’s words forced her attention back to their conversation. “I’m the chair of the committee, and I promise not to assign you anything onerous. We meet once a week. There are six members. Depending on the topic, there’s usually some public interest, so citizens attend, as well. It’s all very civilized and low-key.”
Once a week didn’t sound like much, but it meant skipping story time with the boys that night, getting a babysitter, doubling up on housework on another evening.
“It’s