Chapter 1

chapter one

camilla (ami) diane webb

" O h, my gawd!" I mumbled to myself while examining both sides of the liquor store aisle. "Who knew there were so many types of rum!"

The cupcake recipe I was working on needed something different, something better than the rum I'd borrowed from my elderly neighbor's bar. I'd had an idea for a cupcake recipe late in the evening and could not rest until I tried it out. I knew Ms. Anita had a bar, so I borrowed a half-empty bottle of rum from her to use in the recipe. While the cupcake turned out okay, it wasn't ambrosial. I need it to knock you off your feet with flavor.

After a couple of batches of not achieving my desired flavor, I decided the issue was the rum I'd used.

Thinking I would make a quick run to the liquor store closest to the house and grab a different bottle of rum had turned into me standing in the aisle with a cart full of various types, reading each bottle, Googling the brand and trying to decide which one to purchase.

"White rum…filtered after aging to remove any color.

"Spiced rum…infused with spices and sometimes caramel during or after distillation.

"Agricole Rum…made from fresh sugarcane juice rather than molasses.

This is impossible. Google should just know what I'm looking for and tell me which one to get. What is the use of technology if it doesn't help?"

I was almost ready to leave my cart in the aisle and walk out of the store.

"You're planning a big party, huh?" A baritone voice said.

I looked up from the amber rum label and found myself looking into the darkest, most alluring eyes I had ever seen. I had been so preoccupied with reading labels and searching on Google that I hadn't even noticed him standing beside me.

"Umm…" I had to quickly recalibrate my brain to figure out what he'd said. "Oh!" I responded, realizing he was talking about my cart. "I'm not planning a party," I chuckled. "I'm trying to find one to add to my recipe. I had no idea I would have so many choices."

He reached for the bottle I was holding. "May I?"

"Sure," I said and handed him the bottle.

I took a second to examine the handsome man sharing the aisle with me. His body was a landscape of muscle and tattoos that were littered down each of his thick arms. It was apparent he didn't miss gym days based on the way his gray t-shirt stretched across his broad chest.

His skin was the color of dark roast coffee with no creamer. He had a well-groomed beard and closely trimmed dark and shiny hair. The sharp angles of his jaw were accentuated by the expertly shaped full beard. His eyes, framed by thick, expressive eyebrows, held a powerful intensity, but there was a subtle softness in his gaze. His nose was broad and well-defined, complementing the striking contours of his face. His dark denim jeans fit well and sat right above his Dior Air Jordan 1's, which was a solid shoe choice. He smelled like a warm wood and citrus, very masculine but clean at the same time.

"So, this is a good choice if you are making a warm drink like a hot buttered rum or a rum coffee. What recipe are you making?"

"I'm actually trying to create a cupcake recipe, and the rum I used didn't give me the flavor profile I was trying to achieve. I figured I could run in here and grab another bottle, but I know I've been in this aisle for at least fifteen minutes," I explained.

I had no idea why I was explaining myself so thoroughly to a stranger… a fine stranger, but a stranger, nonetheless.

"Oh, well, that makes a difference. You should try a dark rum. It has a fuller flavor that will stand out in your recipe. I think you'll like…" He scanned the shelves until his eyes landed on a bottle on the top shelf. "This." He handed me the bottle.

"Eclipse Seduction," I said, reading the label.

A sexy half-smile appeared on his face.

"It's excellent."

"Why should I take your word for it? You could be some liquor distributor trying to sell your product."

He flashed a perfect smile, leaned in closer and said, "Or I could just be a good man trying to help out a woman in distress."

His breath smelled like freshly picked peppermint leaves.

"So, you just go around saving all the damsels in distress?"

He chuckled. "No, just the beautiful ones trying to find the right rum in the liquor store."

"Nox, you ready?" A pretty lady called from the end of the aisle.

"Yeah," he said. He grabbed two bottles of the Eclipse Seduction and turned to walk away.

The cute ones were always taken.

"Thank you, Knocks," I called behind him.

"Anytime, Beautiful," he threw over his shoulder.

" F lour. Thirty-four pounds."

"Check."

"Sugar. Forty pounds."

"Check."

My sister Caeli, whom I called Lee, and I were going through our inventory, preparing for the week ahead.

"Butter. Twenty-five pounds."

"Check."

We were the proud proprietors and managers of Sweet Reasons, a charming dessert truck gaining a reputation for serving the most delectable cupcakes in the entire area. Our cupcakes were not simply desserts; they were indulgent treats that melted in your mouth with every bite. While I was the creative force behind the delicious treats, experimenting with flavors like lavender honey and salted caramel, Caeli expertly navigated the business side with strategic expertise. Together, we complemented each other perfectly—I thrived in the interpersonal aspects, establishing and nurturing connections with our customers.

Sweet Reasons was our dream for several years. We always talked about starting a business and being independent businesswomen. However, dreams and money never happened at the same time until we were blessed to inherit a small amount of money from our great-aunt, Florence. She didn't have any children but loved Caeli and me like we were her own. When she decided to move into a retirement facility, she willed her house to us and the small payout.

Typically, people didn't give you their things until they passed away. Aunt Florence said she wanted to see us thrive with the few years she had left. There wasn't a question about what we would do with the money Aunt Florence gave us.

We did our research; when I say we, I mean Caeli. My attention span wasn't long enough to sit for hours at a computer trying to figure things out. Caeli found out how to purchase the food truck and everything we needed to get it going. I focused on the cupcake recipes.

After a few months of paperwork and back and forth with the truck's designer, we had our truck and all our permits. We were ready to roll.

"I already inventoried the eggs, salt and baking soda. Everything else will arrive in the next delivery," I explained.

"Good. I don't want us to run out of peanut butter like we did last week," Caeli said.

"I'm not the one who put in the order and forgot the peanut butter," I said under my breath.

"What did you say?" Caeli asked.

"I said I agree," I lied.

While I was the older sister by ten and a half months, Caeli was definitely the bossier one. I shied away from conflict as much as possible while my sister ran into conflict head-on. I remember the time when I was in fourth grade, Tina Smothers took my chocolate milk, claiming it was hers. I was just going to let her have the milk, but Caeli, although smaller than Tina, walked right up to her and demanded that she give me my milk back. I'd already prepared my taste buds for the regular milk because milk is milk, right? Not to my sister. She didn't let anyone mess with me.

Caeli had already proven that messing with me would get you slapped down. Erica Thompson, Tina's friend, knew that all too well. Tina probably recognized the fire in my sister's eyes and remembered helping her friend, Erica, up from the ground when she said my ponytails were uneven. Tina chose wisely and placed my milk back on my lunch tray.

We were those sisters who dressed alike even though we weren't twins. Our mother had a habit of buying two of everything she liked. Despite being a grade ahead of Lee, people often mistook us for twins, perhaps because of our matching outfits. I enjoyed sharing the same style, but as soon as Lee could start dressing herself, she discovered her own style. Now that we're older, we didn't look like twins, but anyone could look at us and know we were sisters.

"Oh, okay. Do you want me to help you put everything away? I have some more fliers to design," Caeli asked.

"No, go on and take care of business. I'm going to the kitchen after this to work on that cupcake recipe."

"I thought you finished it. The mojito twist?"

"Yes."

"I tasted it. It was terrific," Caeli said.

"It wasn't terrific. It passed. I need it to be earth-shattering. You haven't mentioned it since you tried it. That means it wasn't the best."

"Girl, it was fine. You'll kill yourself trying to make something perfect."

"It doesn't have to be perfect, but it has to be near perfect."

"I know arguing with you won't change anything because you're stubborn like that…"

"Girl! I know you're not calling somebody stubborn," I countered.

We both laughed.

Having a sister so close in age was like having a built-in best friend. Lee was my biggest cheerleader, my rock, my shoulder to cry on and my sounding block.

"Anyway, I'll be in the office if you're looking for a taste tester," Caeli said.

"Cool."

I went into the kitchen and pulled out all the ingredients I would need to make the cupcakes, including the rum Knocks helped me select.

Knocks was a strange name. I wondered if that was his real name. Why would his name be Knocks, though? Was it like hard knocks, or did I mishear it? He responded when I repeated what I heard, though. Maybe it's a nickname, but a nickname for what?

Knockley?

Knockton?

Knocksworth?

I chuckled. All of those were terrible names. He was too handsome to have such a strange name.

It was crazy how helpful he was, although his girlfriend was in the store with him. Dudes know they be on one when it comes to being loyal. Why is it so hard for a man to stick with one woman?

I pushed the handsome stranger out of my mind and finished getting prepared to make another batch of cupcakes.

When we moved into Aunt Florence's house, it was already set up for us to run our business. The large house had six bedrooms and four bathrooms and was in one of the historic districts in Carmel Cove. The living room, dining room and kitchen were spacious, giving us plenty of room to entertain and stay out of each other's hair.

Aunt Florence loved to cook, so her state-of-the-art kitchen served us well. We purchased a double wall oven to help speed through the cupcake preparation and a more oversized, deeper kitchen sink to help with clean up. Everything else in the kitchen was exactly what we needed.

After sifting together the dry ingredients, I set them to the side to cream the butter and sugar together.

I loved the feeling of sifting flour and creating a beat while stirring the ingredients into a smooth, velvety batter. I adored the way the sweet smell filled the house when the cupcakes were baking.

Each time I prepared my cupcake batter was another chance I had to make it better than the last time. I enjoyed seeing people's reactions when they tasted my fluffy cupcakes for the first time.

After finishing the mix, I scooped an equal amount into the cupcake liners. Then, I put the entire pan into the oven. I set the timer for eighteen minutes. I pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island and sent a text to my mother.

Ami:

Hi, mom. Just checking in. Wanted to say hello.

I mindlessly scrolled through social media, waiting to see if she would respond. It wasn't a guarantee that she would. Caeli and I didn't have the best relationship with our parents.

I saw a post from the Carmel Cove Business Consortium.

"Calling all food trucks! We have six permits available for the Indie Love Literary event."

I quickly stood from the stool and went in search of Lee. I tapped on her office door before sticking my head in.

"Hey."

Caeli looked up from her computer.

"What's up?"

"Look at this," I said while showing her the post. "You think we should try to get a permit for it?"

Lee took my phone to look at the post.

"Oh look, your mother is texting you," Lee said.

"She's returning my monthly text. What did she say?"

"She said, Hi Camilla. You wouldn't need to check in if you would've stayed here in Lake Grove and made better life decisions."

We both laughed.

"It's just never going to change, is it?" I asked.

"It doesn't seem like it is," Lee answered.

Lee hit the share button and sent the post to herself. "Here, respond to your mother. I'm going to look into this."

"Do you think we can get a spot?"

Lee replied, "Hell yeah, we are going to try. I told you ain't nothing stopping us. Not even your irritating-ass momma with her stupid text responses. I'll figure out what we need to do."

That was the same thing she said when we found out about the Taste Divine competition. That turned out well, so I knew this would too.

"It smells good out there. What are you baking?"

"Another batch of the mojito. I found a different rum."

I smiled, thinking of Knocks, the cute guy at the liquor store.

"What are you smiling about?" Lee asked.

"Nothing, I just had a funny encounter at the liquor store. Nothing really worth discussing."

"Oh, okay."

"Let me go and check on these cupcakes."

"Bring me one when they're done," Lee said.

"Okay."

Ami:

Okay, I hope you and Dad are well.

That's the only response I had for my mother.

lennox (nox) andrew young

"That took forever," Brayden said when I entered the room.

"I had to go to four liquor stores to find it. You know it sells out as soon as they get it."

"Yeah. That's why we need to figure out a way to manufacture our own."

"We do need to figure that out, but in the meantime, we need to focus on the food truck," I replied.

My cousin Brayden and I were the proprietors of Burnt Offerings, the best barbecue food truck in Caramel Cove and surrounding areas.

When we first had the idea to open the food truck, neither of us had any idea how to make the business work. We took a lot of l's in the first year of business. Like not knowing how to find the best vendor pricing or even knowing we needed to find restaurant vendors for our supplies. We also trusted people who claimed to be business strategists but really weren't. Now we know all about business pricing and to check resumes and references before doing business with people.

Both Bray and I grew up hustling. We figured out ways to make money legally and illegally. However, the illegal money was more abundant, so we tended to lean that way.

Our mothers were sisters and lived close enough to each other that Brayden and I grew up like brothers. After I turned thirty, I fully realized the streets were either going to land me in jail or a cemetery, so Bray and I brainstormed legitimate businesses to make money. I didn't mind working hard now for financial freedom later.

"I didn't think you would be here anyway. I thought you were going over to the truck."

"I did go to the truck, but I left before I caught a case," Brayden said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.

"It's not worth talking about. Did you bring Peaches to write the menu for tomorrow?" Brayden asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, she's out there talking about she's charging overtime since I stopped at a few liquor stores."

"She buggin'," Brayden said, shaking his head.

"Exactly. Give her the sheet so she can get the menu done and get out of my hair. I'll be out here getting these ribs and briskets ready."

"Alright."

Bray and I grew up in the city, but our mothers' father lived in the country his entire life. He loved hunting, fishing and cooking outside. We would go down for the summers, and he would teach us how to do all the things he loved. I gravitated towards the grilling. Grandpa could grill anything, but his specialty was brisket.

Grandpa would say, "Brisket is one of the hardest cuts of meat to prepare on the grill because it takes preparation and patience. Most Black men ain't prepared, and sho' nuff ain't got no patience."

I smiled to myself while I trimmed the fat from around the brisket I was prepping. Brisket and burnt ends (a product of the brisket) were our number one sellers on the truck. We typically sold out of both within the first couple of hours of opening. We sold brisket and burnt end plates, sandwiches and tacos. We considered selling brisket fries, but the addition of the fryer in the truck would take up too much space. Eventually, we planned on having a stationary location where we would be able to expand our selection.

In addition to the brisket and burnt ends, we sold ribs, pulled pork and chicken. On special occasions, we sold turkey wings or vegetarian options like smoked tofu.

I walked back into the building and found Peaches at the counter with the blackboard in front of her.

"I could've had this board done already if you weren't in the liquor store flirting with women," Peaches, my younger sister, complained.

The pretty lady with the beautiful eyes flashed through my mind. I noticed her when I passed her in the aisle while I was searching for the rum. I kept walking because the last thing I needed in my life was another crazy woman. I'd just gotten out of a relationship and knew I didn't really want to be in another one. I also wasn't looking to do anything casual. I was cool on all of that.

However, when I went back to the aisle, I felt drawn to her and couldn't stop myself from asking her if she needed help. When she looked at me with those big, pretty eyes, it felt like I'd met her before, but I knew I hadn't.

I was glad Peaches called me because I would've done something stupid like ask her for her number.

"What color do you want me to use on the board?" Peaches asked.

"I don't care what color you use on the board, Peaches. Just hurry up so I can get your little spoiled ass back to campus."

She'd already cost me a couple hundred dollars buying stuff she claimed she needed for her dorm room.

Peaches was my only sibling. She was fourteen years younger than me and knew she had me wrapped around her pinky finger. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her, including cleaning my life up so I could live long enough to see her become the successful neurosurgeon she planned on becoming.

"I'm not going back to campus. I'm going to momma's house," Peaches announced.

"What are you talking about?"

I worked hard to maintain Peaches' dorm room because my mother didn't provide the discipline Peaches needed. Moms didn't give her a curfew or anything. I'd snatched her out of a couple parties well after two in the morning. That was before she went to college. I encouraged her to take summer classes so she could maintain her dorm room. I didn't want her living with June Young. Sometimes, I wasn't sure who was older, June or Peaches.

"I want to come to the book thing, and I know you won't be able to pick me up because you'll have to be up too early to get the meat started," Peaches explained.

"Mielle…" I looked at her, knowing there was more to the story.

"What? That's it," Peaches said and shrugged.

I continued to look at her.

"And there's a party at The Tabernacle," Peaches finally admitted.

"Nope."

"Nox! Come on! I'm ahead on all my classwork. I'm maintaining my above-average GPA. Actually, I'm at a three-point eight," Peaches explained.

"That's because you stay on campus and keep your head in those books!" I yelled, my frustration evident.

"Exactly! So, why can't I get a break every once in a while to blow off some steam? Dang, I'm trying my best to live up to your expectations," Peaches snapped.

I looked at Peaches, trying to blink away tears.

Damn emotional Pisces.

"Don't start that damn crying," I said. My tone was harsh, but I couldn't stand to see her cry.

"I'm not crying! I'm just trying to explain my point," Peaches responded with a shaky voice, her eyes glistening.

"Fine, but you better be back in the house by two-thirty, or I'm coming to find your ass. Make no mistakes. I'm going to embarrass you and knock out whatever lil' nigga that have you out that late."

Peaches smiled and perked up.

"No need. I'll be in the house by two-twenty-nine."

I shook my head as she smiled and started writing out the menu on the large blackboard we placed outside the truck.

Peaches was a good girl with a solid future. Although my mother tried, she didn't have the skills to keep her from becoming a statistic, so I stepped in and made Peaches my responsibility. She graduated from high school with over a 4.0 GPA and scored 1400 on her SAT. She received numerous offers from colleges and enough scholarship money to get her through graduate school.

I wanted her to succeed, so if that meant being the mean older brother, then I was willing to be that for her.

"Okay, last thing," Peaches started.

"No," I answered.

I knew she was about to ask for money.

"Nox! Come on! I don't have anything to wear!" Peaches pleaded.

"Use your own money, Peaches. I give you an allowance, and I maintain your necessities. Did you forget you just went to Target?"

"I can't have nothing," Peaches mumbled under her breath.

"Whatever. Just hurry up so I can get you out of here."