Savage in the Sweets: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Savage in Love) Read online

  She buys a cake pop and leaves to pass out in a chair.

  Good for her.

  Irene walks through the door and gives me a tight smile before averting her gaze.

  That’s odd…

  Next, a group of PTA members enter and rush over to the counter.

  “Do ya have any pineapple upside-down cupcakes left?” one asks.

  “They’re gone, but I have two left in cake pop form.” I hold a golden-colored pop up. Tiny flecks of candied pineapple shine from the surface.

  The woman’s brow furrows. “Cake pop?”

  “It’s actually really good,” I say. “And not as messy.”

  “I’ll take it!” her friend says.

  “Holy hell, Darlene—wait your damn turn!” the pineapple enthusiast snaps back. Then, with a wry grin, she says, “I’ll take them both.”

  “What the hell, Fiona!” Darlene snaps.

  The PTA squad is always good for sales and a laugh as there’s no shortage of witty banter between them.

  “What goes good with a dry cabernet?” A lady named Beatrice winks as she holds up her travel coffee mug.

  “I’d say this chocolate cupcake.”

  “I’ll take it!”

  More people trickle in, most notably Stacy Livingston, who’s taken to wearing belly shirts and hardly-there skirts after her divorce last year.

  She refuses to even look at me because that’s just the kind of woman she is.

  Countless cups of coffee and hot chocolate, eight cupcakes, fourteen chocolate-covered pretzels, twenty cake pops, and nine coffee cakes later, the board meeting is about to begin. I don’t bother to pack my things up because I know this meeting is likely to last long, and they’ll be coming back to the table during break.

  Just as Irene steps to the podium to test the mic, the door flies open, and in comes a man in expensive-looking athletic wear that clings to his well—defined muscles.

  Has a tracksuit ever looked so dapper on a man?

  Gulp…

  I do a double-take to make sure I’m not seeing things, because by the sugar of my shop—I’m not the only one packing treats tonight.

  Mr. Tracksuit pushes his sunglasses up to rest on his tousled dark hair, revealing a pair of captivating steel-blue eyes.

  A woman could get lost in those…

  I inadvertently begin fanning myself, and when I realize how crazy I must look, I act like I’m trying to corral unruly strands of hair behind my ear.

  Smooth move…

  There are several things that are rather shocking about this development, the first being that there’s a sexy new man in Wilson’s Grove. The second is that his clothes are so stylish, despite being athletic wear. In fact, he could attend a board meeting and not look out of place or shoot a cover for GQ magazine.

  Even though he looks perfect, it’s obvious he hasn’t put too much effort into his appearance, as Donald Setland surely has. He has a five o’clock shadow that I’d love to feel rub against my thighs, and his face is tinted pink like he’s just finished a workout.

  He combs his hair as best he can with his fingers, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have them cupping my rear. Heck, any part of me.

  I squint, and when I see that he’s not wearing a wedding ring, I suddenly feel the need to stand up straighter, push my chest out a bit, and bite my lip a little.

  Men love that.

  He glares daggers back at me.

  I look around to see who he might be directing his aggression toward, but everyone else has taken their seat. There’s just little old me behind the concession stand.

  I downcast my gaze, rearranging the remaining treats as not to subject myself to the man’s further judgment.

  Surely those steel-blue eyes couldn’t have been directed toward me. I’ve never met the guy, and I certainly remember meeting a man like him.

  Plus, I know I’m easy on the eyes, or rather, delightful to look at to some.

  I’m not arrogant, and I know it’s possible he simply isn’t into my type, but still, those were loathing eyes he cast at me.

  He takes a seat up at the front, and Principal Bailey begins going through the items on the agenda.

  These affairs are always boring, but it’s good that I’m here because I’ve scored more than one fundraiser by being present at these functions.

  I also like keeping abreast of issues happening around the community, so I can stay involved.

  Finally, when I think the meeting can’t possibly drag on any longer than it has, Irene says, “There’s been a lot of discussion over the past year regarding our playground equipment. In regards to this matter, I’d like to hand over the podium to someone new to Wilson’s Grove, Mr. Colin Davers.”

  Mr. Tracksuit gets up from his seat and takes a position front and center.

  Well, this should be interesting.

  “Hello, fellow parents. My name is Colin Davers, and my son Michael is in second grade here. I moved to the area just last month, and I have to say, your community is warm, inviting, and so full of life.”

  He sounds nice enough, not like the kind of guy that would purposefully be rude to someone. He probably just had something in his eye.

  Mr. Tracksuit continues with, “As you may already be aware that I’m opening a gym in the commercial complex right across the street named: Mind and Might. I founded it seven years ago, when I decided that being an emergency medical technician wasn’t aligned with being a single parent. I moved here to open a second location. It serves both adults and children and is designed to allow kids to exercise both their bodies and their brains, and I’ll offer a wide range of activities and camps to promote their growth.”

  Well, well, well—if it isn’t my new neighbor. That explains the muscles.

  “I am also going to assist with updating the current playground equipment to make sure that our children can play safely, without fear of injury.”

  A murmur of approval carries across the crowd, and I have to admit, even I am impressed. And not just by his good looks, which have me salivating. He seems genuinely kind.

  And I couldn’t help but notice he said ‘single parent.’

  He continues with, “But these steps are small, and they have to be accompanied by community action. Our children need to learn how to make good decisions. That starts at home and should be complemented by school policy.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Stacy calls out.

  I roll my eyes, knowing how she cares more about drinking than caring for her son.

  “Without sounding like a pretentious know-it-all, I’d like to give the community some advice. I have a suggestion for you, if I may be so bold. The first step in our journey together. A lesson in making good choices for our health…”

  I sure wouldn’t mind Mr. Tracksuit teaching me a lesson…

  He points his finger toward the back of the room, at my table. “…and it’s that sugar-ladened junk food has to place on school grounds, in our fundraisers, or at our board meetings.”

  Wait…what?!?

  All eyes turn in my direction, but the room remains silent.

  Except for him.

  “Sugar is one of the most addictive substances known to mankind. The toll it takes on our health, our teeth, and our life expectancies is too great to allow it into our great school system. By consorting with the likes of that confectionary temptress in the back, we’re basically handing our children a lifetime of preventable health issues.”

  Did he just call me a confectionary temptress?

  This has to be some kind of a joke.

  People are looking at me with wrinkled foreheads, mouths slightly ajar. I’ve always taken great pride in knowing that I help the community, and that because of me, the school can supply instruments to the less fortunate, kids can go on field trips, and if there’s ever an emergency, selling my goods assists in the purchase of relief efforts for ailing families.

  But this man, Mr. Fancy Pants Tracksuit, is making me sound like a monster.

  Irene approaches the podium and says, “Why, thank you, Mr. Davers. We’ll certainly take your thoughts into consideration.”

  Thank you, Irene! Your next fix is on the house!

  My heart thuds in my chest, waiting for what happens next.

  “But isn’t that why we’re here now?” Mr. Tracksuit says. “To discuss and consider?”

  “Mr. Davers, Lacy Savage has been instrumental in securing funding for several important Wilson’s Grove events, despite the fact that she doesn’t have any children in the schools. While I understand your desire to better educate our children so they can make better choices, I believe it is the responsibility of each parent to address the foods they’re allowed to partake in.”

  “And that’s where we fail our children—we don’t make this a community effort. We rely on what’s convenient and easy.” He gestures toward me flippantly. “She’s not the one that has to pay to fill our kids’ cavities. She doesn’t have to worry about hyperactivity. She doesn’t care about your children, but she cares an awful lot about pushing her sugary crack on campus.”

  Did he just liken me to a hardcore drug dealer?

  Now he’s done it. There’s no way I can just stand here while he not only disparages my business but my character as well.

  “Excuse me!” I say, stepping out from my booth and toward the podium. “But who the hell are you to say what it is I care about?”

  He smirks slightly, his eyes traveling up and down my body, causing my arms to break out in goose bumps.

  “You’re the person peddling candied crack,” he says in a firm voice.

  I look around the room at surprised faces, each of them clearly uncomfortable with the development.

  Except for Stacy. She’s elated.

  “I will have you know that I love this community and every one of the children at Wilson’s Grove. I’ve been here through countless fundraisers, helping the kids reach important and sometimes essential goals.”

  “All while taking your cut.”

  The gut punches just keep coming.

  No one comes to my aid, which hurts more than his insults.

  “That’s not fair!” I say, choking back raw emotions. “I’ve donated time and countless items to the school. If you want to run me out of here, what the hell are they going to replace it with?”

  Fuck! Did I really just say that at a school board meeting?

  He doesn’t even address me. Instead, he addresses the crowd with, “I think there are several better alternatives than what this hot-take is serving up.”

  Hot take? Is he insinuating that I like attention?

  He continues by saying, “We could invite the local farmers market to participate in school events. Or perhaps local artisans. We need to think outside the box.”

  “I think that would be a great idea,” Stacy pipes up.

  Before my very eyes, people are nodding and murmuring in agreement. Planning to out me from the community as I stand like a witch on trial.

  “There’s a food truck that sells only organic meals. We should contact them,” a traitorous PTA mom says.

  “Or what about that healthy shake place that opened up?” another voice adds.

  Donald Setland rises from his seat, and everyone goes silent.

  Fuck, I hate that man.

  “Hold on, now,” he says. “Lacy has always been generous with her time and goods, and people love her treats. I don’t see why we can’t continue to work with her and teach our children a lesson in moderation.”

  Thank you, Mister Roving Eyes.

  Mr. Tracksuit comes back with, “While I understand your desire to cling to tradition, why keep on serving up more of the same when you could have a sushi chef serving up tuna rolls at these meetings?”

  What the fuck—kids don’t want sushi!

  The murmurs turn into a deafening roar as enthusiasm is high for the raw E. coli vector. People who I had thought were my friends, are now narrowing their eyes at me, or avoiding me altogether.

  “I think we need to reach out to some local businesses to see what they have to offer,” a school board member says.

  Mr. Tracksuit grins. “I already have, and Don Sashimi from down the street would love to do business here.”

  “That’s a splendid idea,” Stacy says, joined by several other voices in agreement.

  Principal Bailey eyes me sympathetically, finally saying, “Maybe we could invite both Mr. Sashimi and Ms. Savage to events.”

  “We’re already pressed for space,” a school board member says. “I say we try inviting Don to the next board meeting.”

  In the course of five minutes, I’ve become a pariah to the people I thought genuinely liked me. I can barely hold back my tears.

  Not to mention, without the school’s business, I might not be able to stay afloat.

  But I won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how broken they’ve made me.

  Instead, I grab my purse and turn to leave, yelling over my shoulder, “Enjoy your ass worms!” on my way out the door.

  Fuck, this couldn’t have gone any worse.

  Colin

  Almost done. Just a few more weeks, and we’ll be open to the public.

  And more importantly, the children.

  Wilson’s Grove Elementary is failing its students. From its lackluster sports teams to its helicopter-parent mentally.

  But that’s about to change because I’m not about to let our impressionable youth fall between the cracks.

  I tear off the wrapper to a Mounds bar, taking a bite and savoring the sweet coconut flavor.

  Thinking back to last night, I realize I may have been a little harsh toward Lacy Savage. She looked sweet and innocent enough. In fact, she looked good enough to eat, and I gladly would have if she had been a patron at my gym and not a peddler of detestable goods to our youth.

  Still, she looked damn good in her yoga pants and oversized shirt. It’s clear she is in peak physical condition by her curvy backside her pants did little to hide, and if anything, accentuated. It’s a wonder how she stays in such good shape working at a candy shop.

  I stare down at my own dirty addiction, popping the last bite into my mouth and savoring the sugary-sweet flavor.

  There is no room for women like her in my son’s school. In any child’s school.

  “Dad?” Michael’s voice comes from the open door.

  I turn away and crinkle the empty wrapper in my hand, shoving it into my pocket.

  “Dad?”

  I swallow the last illicit morsel and turn to face my progeny. “What’s up?”

  “Today’s the day of the birthday party.”

  Birthday party? I think back to the dozens of fliers and announcements that have been sent home over the two weeks Michael has been in school, vaguely remembering an invite to a party.

  “Oh, yeah. Guess we better go get ready.”

  “It’s at the beach, Dad. I was hoping we could paint some ab muscles on me.”

  Huh? He’s got to be joking.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Some of your clients get their abs painted on. I want some.”

  “Son, it’s more to highlight the abs that they have, not to just give them new ones.”

  “I’ve seen some of the before and after photos. There are some people with zero abs—then they have a twenty-pack.”

  “Where are you getting this crazy idea that you need abs? You’re seven.”

  “April likes Chris Hemsworth, and he has abs.”

  “Chris Hemsworth was Thor.”

  “When April sees that I’m the only kid in second grade with abs, she’s gonna get real serious with me.”

  “How serious, exactly?”

  “I’m gonna get to carry her books. Throw her lunch away. Stand guard as she talks with her friends.”

  “How about we skip the painted abs, and instead, we’ll work toward real ones.”

  Michael rolls his eyes. “Dad! That will take too long. The party is at the beach, and it starts in three hours. It’s the only way.”

  “The girls are going to know they’re fake.”

  “Women get fake boobs, so why can’t men have fake abs?”

  My brow shoots upward in surprise. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Dad, you own a gym. Back at the old location, all the girls would talk about the best doctor for fake boobs for chicks with muscles.”

  “Firstly, it’s women with muscles. They’re not livestock. Second, that has nothing to do with fake abs.”

  Michael glares at me, his lower lip turning outward.

  “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I have real abs, and I still can’t get any chicks.”

  “So, you’re trying to date livestock now?”

  God, where’d he get that smart mouth from?

  “I’ll take you home to get your swimsuit and a towel. We still need to wrap her gift—”

  “Can we get her something other than a stupid jump rope and dodge ball?” he pleads.

  “They’re good gifts,” I reason, “and they’ll save me a trip to the store.”

  “Can’t you just go to one of the shops in the complex? I’d like to get April one of those heart lollipops from that Savage Sweets place.”

  “Absolutely not,” I say firmly.

  “Dad! Girls like candy. If I get her gym equipment, she might believe I think she’s fat.”

  I have to admit, I’m impressed with his logic. It’s not surprising, though. He’s always been gifted in strategizing.

  “We’ll go to Target and pick something up for her.”

  “Can we go to that big store with the comics and figurines? The Gamer’s Grove?”

  “Fine.”

  He exhales in relief, and I make a mental note to put more thought into things that are growing in importance to him.

  Before heading for the door, I wipe down the treadmill I had been running on earlier and turn off the lights.

  “Dad?” Michael says timidly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think I can eat a piece of cake at the party?”

  I exhale a long breath, hating the hopeful tone in his voice.

  When did it become acceptable to feel your children copious amounts of sugar? Society is basically setting its youth up for lifelong health problems.