Southern Discomfort Read online

Oh, good gravy. Awkward! It took everything I had not to do a face-palm right there in front of him as I thought, Way to go, Quinn. Only you could misread his intentions this badly.

  Chapter 2

  I realized I was standing there dumbfounded with my mouth open, so I snapped it shut. I’d read way too much into Drew’s ticket offer. How could I have mistaken a simple gesture of kindness for an invitation to start a relationship? I must have been more tired than I’d realized. I was incredibly relieved, but mostly just embarrassed. I could feel a red-hot blush climbing my neck and onto my cheeks.

  In an attempt to save some face, I said, “Me? Sure. I can totally find a date to go with me tonight. Easy.” The only prospect I had for a “date” was my sister.

  “Perfect. I’m happy someone can use them.”

  I nodded, and before I said or did anything else completely stupid, I replied, “Okay, then. I’m going to…I’m just…going to go.”

  Spinning on my heel, I hurried for the door. Drew followed me, leaning against the doorframe as I leaped down the steps and into the small garden in the backyard. “Quinn?”

  “Yes?” I paused, hoping he wouldn’t realize the reason for my quick exit, although I couldn’t imagine how he’d missed my beet-red face.

  “You forgot your herbs.” At least he was kind enough not to call me out over my mistake. There was no way he hadn’t felt the vibe I was radiating.

  “Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me.”

  In addition to being part owners of Green, Jason and Valerie owned a spice shop in the City Market, which Valerie ran. As a fresh supplement to the unusual spices she gathered from around the globe, she grew many of the herbs she sold right here behind the restaurant. Drew always let me buy fresh herbs here instead of having to make the trek downtown to Valerie’s shop.

  Drew came down the steps and began searching the small backyard garden for my plants.

  Valerie’s voice yelled out the back door, “Drew? Are you done with—” She appeared in the doorway, and once her eyes came to rest on me, she frowned. Her voice dripping with totally fake sweetness, she said, “Oh, hi, Quinn. I didn’t realize you were still here.”

  For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Valerie seemed to dislike me. I’d never been anything but polite to her, and I didn’t even know her that well. I mustered up what I hoped was a genuine-looking smile. “Good morning, Valerie. I’m here to get some of your lovely lavender and thyme for my scones.”

  She snorted, lazily twisting a strand of her curly red hair around her finger. “How many scones do you make a day? A hundred? You came over here to buy lavender last week.”

  She wasn’t wrong. I was a terrible gardener, and had trouble keeping my plants alive. I often had to re-buy fresh herbs because I’d killed them. Not something I wanted to admit to her.

  Before I could come up with a less-embarrassing reason why I needed more lavender, she added curtly, “And I’m out of thyme.”

  After handing me a pot of lavender, Drew let out a forced chuckle and looked at his watch. “Hey, so am I. I have a dentist appointment this morning. I’ll be late if I don’t get going. I’ll walk you out, Quinn.”

  As I paid Drew for the lavender, I heard a heavy wooden door slam to my right and a gruff voice bark, “What is this, a garden party?”

  Drew sighed quietly. “Good morning to you, too, Jason.”

  “It might be a good morning if some people would get to work instead of socializing.”

  Jason Green wasn’t a big guy—in fact, he was shorter and much scrawnier than his younger brother, but he made up for it with his imposing personality. Without my glasses, I couldn’t see him clearly from where I was standing, but the tone of his voice told me he had one nasty scowl on his face. He stalked toward us, ignoring me as he brushed past on his way to the door. He bumped his brother out of the way with his shoulder and grabbed his wife’s arm, dragging her along with him as he stormed into the kitchen, angrily cursing at her as they went.

  Drew let out another sigh and gestured for me to go ahead of him down the sidewalk. “Quinn, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  I was sorry that he felt embarrassed by his family in front of me. I thought about Valerie and Jason as Drew and I walked out the back gate. Pretty much every time I’d ever talked to her she was icy and borderline angry, but given what she had to live with, I instantly forgave her. I could never have kept a positive outlook on life if I were married to someone like Jason. The Green brothers were such polar opposites, it was difficult to believe they were even related, much less brothers. Jason was quite a piece of work.

  Drew must have been stewing over Jason, too. “I realize my brother is known for being gruff, but his behavior lately…” He shook his head. “The restaurant isn’t doing so great these days. I’d like to do something to get more people in the door—change the menu or try different advertising—but Jason’s in utter denial. If we can’t turn it around soon, we’re going to need to consider selling the place before things get really bad, and we start actually losing money. Jason won’t hear of any of it. We’ve been fighting for weeks.”

  My face falling, I replied, “I’m so sorry to hear that. I’d hate it if you had to sell Green.” I gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s not always easy working with a sibling.” That wasn’t completely true in my case. Even though we disagreed daily and had the occasional spat, as sisters did, there was no one I’d rather work with than Delilah.

  “Yeah, I guess you do.” Once we were on the sidewalk on Charlton, Drew gave me a pat on the back and said, “Well, you enjoy that play tonight. I want to hear all about it afterward, okay?”

  I nodded, trying not to cringe as I thought about sitting through an evening of sheer torture. “Absolutely. Thanks for the tickets, Drew.”

  “My pleasure. See you later.” With a wave, he jogged the other way down the street.

  I trudged back to the B&B, kicking myself for being such a complete ding-dong. How did I make that monumental of a mistake? Looking back, I guessed Drew never specifically asked if I wanted to go on a date with him. He’d merely stated that he had two tickets to the theater. But come on—he could have been a little more clear. On one hand, I was glad that we weren’t going to complicate our friendship, but it was still the most humiliating thing that had happened to me in months.

  I rounded the house to go in through the back entrance, which was for employees only. The embarrassment of the ticket fiasco still looming heavily over me, I didn’t feel that I could put on a professional face for any guests I might meet. As I climbed the steps to the screened-in porch, I noticed a man sitting there—the plumber who should have been plumbing.

  Already in a dither, I could no longer keep my emotions in check. My manners flying out the window, I entered the porch and said, “I believe I’m paying you to replace a commode, not sit on my porch. It’s been, what, twenty or thirty minutes since you arrived here this morning, and you’re already taking a break?” When he offered no apology or explanation, I raised my voice. “Need I remind you that you didn’t even show up yesterday, and now you’re—”

  “Quinn!” my sister exclaimed, coming through the door to the house with a tray of scones and coffee. “What are you yelling at Tucker for?”

  I turned to her. “Tucker? Who’s Tucker? And why is the plumber lounging on our porch?”

  The plumber stood. “Um…I’m Tucker. Tucker Heyward. Don’t you remember me, Quinn?”

  I took a couple of steps toward him and squinted up at his handsome face. Oh, I remembered Tucker Heyward, all right. He was older and had a beard now, but I could never forget his smirky smile. And I didn’t care much more for him than I did for the good-for-nothing plumber who I suspected probably still hadn’t shown up.

  I managed to paste on a smile, but just barely. “Yes. Good to see you, Tucker. Sorry about the mix-up
. Lost my glasses. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have to see a man about a toilet.”

  Brushing past Delilah, I entered the kitchen and went straight for the jug of sweet tea we always kept in the fridge. Before I could pour myself a glass and cool off, she marched into the kitchen and stared me down.

  “What in the hell was that?”

  My jaw dropped. “Language, D.”

  The rebellious Bellandini sister, Delilah was forever getting her mouth washed out with soap by Grandmama Hattie, who always preached that proper ladies should never curse.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up. Adults use adult words. You should try it sometime.”

  “A lady never—”

  She held up a hand. “Instead of discussing my supposed potty mouth, I think what we should really be focusing on is why you thought Tucker Heyward, our neighbor since forever, was a plumber and why you felt the need to rip him a new one.” Smirking, she added, “Talk about being unladylike, Quinn.”

  I sank down into the nearest chair at the kitchen table and propped my chin up on my hands. “For starters, the plumber had it coming. I just had the wrong guy. And Tucker hasn’t been our neighbor forever. I haven’t seen him in years. Plus, I literally can’t see.”

  Reaching into the pocket of her apron, she pulled out my glasses with a flourish. “I can help you with that. I found these in the candy bowl in the foyer. Why did you leave them there of all places?”

  “I didn’t,” I said indignantly as I put on my glasses. “I left them here in the kitchen.”

  Delilah chuckled and looked up at the ceiling, calling, “Uncle Frank, you know Quinn hates it when you move her glasses.”

  I frowned at my sister. “I’m pretty sure it was you who moved my glasses. You were the only other person in here with me this morning.”

  “Don’t blame me. Uncle Frank was sitting right where you’re sitting now while we were cleaning up after breakfast. It’s not my fault you didn’t notice him.”

  I rubbed my temples, itching to knock some sense into my sister. “Delilah, I’m having a bad day. Can we not argue about the nonexistent ghost of Uncle Frank right now?”

  Why Delilah had for years tried to convince me that ghosts were real was beyond me. It really irked me that she moved objects around the house and blamed it on “the ghost of Uncle Frank.” She’d done it since Uncle Frank had died when we were teenagers. Papa Sal was just as bad. He would tell anyone who would listen that his dead brother lived upstairs with him in his room. No wonder everyone in town thought the Bellandinis had a screw loose.

  She shrugged. “Whatever. I need to get back out there and smooth things over with Tucker, anyway.”

  I stared at her. “Why in the world are you even speaking to that guy after what he did to you in high school?”

  Waving a hand in dismissal, she said, “He had nothing to do with it.”

  “He had everything to do with it. You’re only thirty-two, D. You shouldn’t have memory problems already.”

  She gave me a strange look. “I think you’re the one with memory problems, Quinn. He wasn’t even there when the incident happened. Anyway, I’ve kept in touch with him for the past few years on Facebook. He made a point a long time ago to make sure I knew he wasn’t in on any of the nonsense his friends pulled, and he even apologized for their actions. He moved back to town over the weekend and wanted to catch up, especially since we’re going to be neighbors again.”

  I wasn’t convinced of any of that. “If you say so.” As she was turning to leave, I had a stroke of genius. “Would you like two tickets to see a boring play tonight? You can take your old friend Tucker.” He deserved to be bored to death by a horrendous play. Two birds, one stone.

  She gave me a puzzled look. “You bought theater tickets to a play I’m not in?”

  “Not exactly. Long story. Do you want them or not?”

  “Of course. What do I owe you?”

  I took the tickets out of my pocket and placed them in her hand. “All I want in return is a synopsis of the plot and maybe one fun fact about the performance that would prove I went there myself.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  My bright idea was a win-win all around: Delilah would love it. Tucker the Jerk would hate it. I didn’t have to suffer through a play. I could still provide Drew with a rundown of what happened, like he’d asked for. And most importantly, he wouldn’t have to find out that I’d misread the situation and fibbed about being excited about going.

  Chapter 3

  My day improved considerably from there. The actual plumber showed up and fixed the broken commode in record time. I worked on the marketing and accounting tasks for our B&B, which I got done quickly and easily for once. That gave me a ton of extra time to work on an intricate cookie recipe I’d been perfecting for months—lemon macarons filled with strawberry buttercream. We always served light refreshments in the early afternoon for our guests and for the excited children who came to see the real gem of Pulaski Square—Papa Sal’s daily magic show.

  After I set out my cheerful yellow and pink macarons and a pitcher of sweet tea on the sideboard in the dining room, I went and stood in the doorway to the parlor to look out over the crowded room. Adults and children alike had their rapt attention focused on Papa Sal.

  “I need an ear. Any ear will do. You, there. Do you have an ear I can borrow?” Papa Sal said to a giggling little girl sitting on the floor at his feet. He reached down and pulled out a small red ball from behind the girl’s ear, which he then showed the audience. “Would you look at that? Look at what was hiding behind her ear.” As the children gasped, he walked over to a boy sitting near the wall. “Can you hold this ball for me?”

  The boy took the ball from him, but after a moment, a puzzled expression crossed his face, and he opened his hand. It was empty. “It’s gone.”

  Papa Sal slapped his forehead. “Oh, I’m sorry. These balls have a mind of their own sometimes. Let’s try again.” He walked back over to the little girl and pulled another red ball from behind her ear, which sent her into another fit of giggles, then he gave that ball to the boy. “Hold this one tight, okay? Make a strong fist around the ball.” Papa Sal waved his hands over the boy’s fist. “Abracadabra. Open your hand.”

  The boy uncurled his fingers one at a time, and his jaw dropped as four red balls poured out of his outstretched hand and fell to the floor. The room exploded in applause, and Sal the Magnificent, totally in his element, took a sweeping bow.

  I smiled. Sal the Magnificent was a Savannah legend. As young men, he and his brother, Frank the Great, had traveled the country as the circus act, “The Amazing Bellandini Brothers.” They’d stopped once in Savannah, and Papa Sal fell in love at first sight with a beautiful young woman named Hattie. Much to Uncle Frank’s disappointment, Papa Sal stayed behind in Savannah, effectively ending their illustrious career together. Uncle Frank went on without him, and the two didn’t speak for decades. The brothers finally reconciled, and Uncle Frank retired from the circus and settled in Savannah. The Amazing Bellandini Brothers resumed their act here at the B&B until Uncle Frank passed when Delilah and I were in high school. Lucky for us and our guests, Papa Sal had kept on performing.

  * * *

  —

  Late that evening, the B&B was quiet. Most of our guests were out on the town, soaking up the atmosphere. Delilah was at the theater with one of her fellow community troupe members (Tucker had impolitely declined), and Papa Sal was already in bed. I took the opportunity to sit on the back porch and play my guitar and sing, which was pretty much my favorite thing in the world to do. I wasn’t nearly good enough to make a career out of it, but my friends and I had formed an all-girl band in high school called Sister Wildfire, and we still played at small venues around town a couple of times a week. It was a great release for me to do something so different from m
y real job.

  A little before ten, I set my guitar aside, unable to continue concentrating with what was gnawing at me. I had come up with my half-cocked idea of having Delilah give me the skinny on the play because I hadn’t wanted to tell Drew I’d given his tickets away after everything that had happened this morning. But I couldn’t go through with it. I felt like that lie would loom over my head when we hung out, and I didn’t want that. Best to put my pride aside, come clean about the entire situation (including my gross misunderstanding of his intentions), and hope we could laugh about it.

  “Aw, are you stopping?” a voice called, startling me so much I jumped.

  I got up and walked over to the side of the porch. Tucker Heyward was leaning lazily against the porch railing of the home across Harris Street, next door to the house where he’d grown up. His parents, Charlotte and Jed Heyward, owned the four connected houses on that block plus several other properties in the area. After Dr. Heyward had retired from his medical practice, they’d started buying up real estate around town and turning the places into vacation rentals. They had a nice little empire and had since moved to a larger historic home closer to downtown. Evidently they were letting their son stay in one of their properties now that he was back in town. In my mind, that was only a step above living in their basement.

  “Were you eavesdropping on my practice session?” I asked, irritated by Tucker’s blatant lack of respect for my privacy.

  He at least had the grace to look embarrassed. Ducking his head, he said, “I have to admit something here, Quinn. I’ve eavesdropped on your outdoor practice sessions ever since we were in high school.”

  My eyes widened. I didn’t know what to say to that.

  When I didn’t respond, he said, “I’m not trying to be a creeper or anything. I just…I really enjoy your music. I’ve missed hearing it all the years I’ve been gone.”

  I still had no words. Tucker Heyward, superjock, liked my music. Me. Quinn Bellandini, the younger half of the “Loco Bellandinis.” (The idiots I went to high school with couldn’t even get their ethnic slurs right, evidently unable to recognize the difference between Spanish and Italian.) There was no other explanation for his supposed interest in my music—he had to have been making fun of me, just like his group of friends had ridiculed Delilah and me when we were teenagers.