1
Troy Elliott was not expecting the chaos that greeted him when he came through the doors of Just Desserts, the thriving Beale Street bakery that he co-owned with his brother Quentin and Quentin’s new wife Harper. But chaos reigned as Quentin and Harper stood staring into a massive hole that had been cut through the wall that bordered the building next door.
Troy moved to stand between them, staring where they stared. “Hey,” he chimed cheerily. “What’s going on?”
Quentin shook his head from side to side, tossing a nod of his head toward Harper.
She responded excitedly. “They broke through the walls today! This expansion is going to be so perfect. The contractors promised me they’ll be able to frame out this entrance by Wednesday, then we’ll be able to take down this dust sheet and be right back to business.”
“They still have some work to do in the new building. I can just hear the health department now. We won’t be taking down the dust sheet,” Quentin stated. “We’re losing money being closed, Harper!”
Harper rolled her eyes. “It’s only two days, Quentin.”
Troy laughed. “You know they say a renovation can kill a marriage. You two sure you wanted to do this so soon after saying your vows?”
Harper waved a dismissive hand at him. “This won’t challenge our marriage one bit,” she said.
The two brothers locked eyes, Quentin’s wide as he stared at his sibling. The two men suddenly burst out laughing.
“You two are not funny,” Harper chided. “I’m not talking to either one of you now.” She pushed past the plastic wall sheet into the other space, gesturing for the building contractor’s attention.
Quentin moved behind the bakery’s large counter, moving toward the coffeepot. He poured a cup for himself and one for his brother. Troy crossed to the other side of the room, dropping down into a seat at the corner table.
“So what’s on your agenda today?” Quentin asked, moving to take a seat across from his brother.
Troy took a sip of his morning brew. “I have to close out some cases this morning. Then I have a meeting with my election committee.”
“Mayor Elliott. That’s going to be something. Pop would have been proud,” Quentin said, referring to their mentor and surrogate parent. Pop had also been Harper’s biological father.
The late Everett “Pop” Donovan had been the brain trust behind the bakery, dedicating his life to his business and his two foster sons. His sudden death a year earlier had taken all three of them by surprise and had cemented their familial bond in ways neither of them could have anticipated. Both men enjoyed telling people how Quentin had married their sister, the reactions always priceless. It made for a good laugh out loud moment.
Troy couldn’t have been happier for Quentin and Harper. The love the two shared was the sweetest thing. And with the two of them happy and content, both focused on the growth and success of their family business, it was now his chance to do something he’d wanted for himself. To follow one of his dreams.
Running for political office was the next step to what had already been a successful legal career and Troy was excited for the new challenge. He saw putting in a bid for Mayor of the city of Memphis as the beginning of a trek that would eventually lead him to a gubernatorial run or maybe even a senate seat in Washington. With no one and nothing to distract him, Troy imagined his political ambitions were limitless.
He smiled warmly. “Yeah,” he said. “Pop would have been proud of both of us.”
“What are you wearing?” Basil Salman asked, his gaze shooting from the top of his sister’s head to the bottom of her low heeled pumps.
Amina Salman cut an annoyed eye at her older brother. “I’m wearing clothes. What are you wearing?” she asked, her tone curt.
Basil’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Your attire is inappropriate, Amina. Father will not be happy.”
Amina looked down to the conservative Ann Taylor suit that fit her petite frame nicely. She blew a deep sigh. She’d barely been in Memphis one month and her family’s criticisms were already starting.
Her younger sister Rasheeda giggled, softly. The girl was covered from head to toe in a traditional Islamic hijab, befitting their strict Muslim upbringing. No one ever criticized what Rasheeda wore. She shook her head, unable to see her sister’s smiling face beneath the veil. She turned back to eye her brother.
“Basil, I appreciate the fashion advice, but after earning two college degrees and procuring my law license in three states, I think I’m more than qualified to pick out my own wardrobe.”
Basil skewed his mouth to give her a terse retort when their father, Nasser Salman entered the room. All three of his children stopped speaking as he crossed the room to take a seat behind his desk. He looked from one to the other, his gaze pausing on Amina.
“Daughter, we have had this conversation before. I cannot control what you do in your mother’s home, but you will respect my rules in my house.”
Amina took a deep breath. “Yes, Father.”
“So what are your plans today?”
“I’ve rented space to house your campaign headquarters. I need to pick up the keys and make sure all the utilities are turned on. By tomorrow I want to have most of the computers and equipment in place.”
Nasser nodded as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “I’m glad that you agreed to come run my campaign, Amina. It’s good to have all my children here working with me.”
Amina smiled. “So am I, Father. I actually need to get going. We need to have a press conference announcing your candidacy next week so I want to contact the press and get that scheduled.”
As she headed to the door Basil called after her. “You should change clothes before you leave, Amina.”
Turning back, she gave him a wide smile. “Whatever you say, Basil,” she answered as she met her father’s stern stare. As the door closed behind her, her smile dropped to a deep frown. “In another lifetime maybe,” she muttered under her breath as she exited the home and headed to her car.
Maneuvering her way toward downtown Memphis, Amina shook her head from side to side. Working for her father was going to be a bigger challenge than she’d fathomed, she thought to herself. Despite her proven track record with grassroots fundraising and success as a political game changer in Atlanta, running her father’s mayoral campaign was starting to feel like she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
Her mother had warned her and Amina had chosen not to listen. It had been some six years since she and her father had last seen each other. Amina had chosen to follow her mother after her parents’ divorce and her mother had chosen to leave their Muslim faith behind. Amina was slowly realizing that battling her father’s political agenda was not going to be the only fight she would have on her hands as she wrestled with his strict values and her own personal faith.
She blew a deep sigh. It was starting to feel like a chocolate donut kind of moment, she thought.
Maybe even two!
She suddenly smiled, a bright lift to her face as her full lips bent upward. Paused at a stoplight, she thought back to the Beale Street bakery she and her sister had found on one of their recent jaunts. There’d been a wedding reception taking place and the bakery storefront had been closed. The bride and groom had been beautiful as they’d danced together inside.
There’d been a very nice looking man who’d spoken to them as they stood outside, kindly inviting them in to share the wedding cake. He’d had the kindest eyes and the most welcoming smile. Amina had wanted to take him up on his invitation but Rasheeda pulling on her arm to leave had killed the mood. He’d invited them to come back the next day and had her father’s plans not interfered she would have gone. That had been three weeks ago and she still hadn’t found her way back.
Amina pointed her car in the direction of Beale Street and Just Desserts, that chocolate donut calling her name. And as she did she found herself hoping that she might run into that handsome stranger one more time.