Sweeter Than Candy (The Davenports 1)

I glance over at the passenger seat. He pops the top button of his electric blue oxford button up.

“To support our sister. She’s had a rough start with motherhood. It’s good to see her acting more like herself.” I bite back the comment I want to say to chide him for his selfish behavior.

“She’s always been so upbeat. The post-partum depression diagnosis surprised me,” Micah admits, chiming in from the backseat.

“It’s a matter of fluctuating hormones and stress, not personality. With Joseph away for the first few weeks after Acton’s birth, and the baby fussy and difficult to feed, it created the perfect storm I’d imagine. She’s always been a perfectionist. This must’ve felt like a form of failure for her.”

The second oldest in our parentless family, I’ve stepped up my game in a major way since Luka married a year ago. The unofficial head of the family, our eldest brother sacrificed enough to raise and guide us since our parents perished in a car accident over fifteen years ago. He put himself on the back burner long enough. I’ve made it my mission to help him shoulder the responsibility of the Davenport Candy business and family management. The five of us range from thirty-one to forty-two, but there’s no such thing as being too grown to need help from your family.

Luka’s wife, Olive, has worked wonders on my stiff and stoic brother. With her Bohemian approach to life and light-hearted personality, she’s drawn him out of the tough shell he’d placed around himself. In some ways, I feel like I’m seeing the man he would’ve been had the accident not happened. Olive returned a piece of his very soul once lost in the carnage of the wreckage left behind after the accident.

Losing our anchors and being responsible for running the multi-million dollar candy business our family is known for forced us to sink or swim. Luka manned up and took over the helm, and two years later with a B.A. in Business Management, I joined him. It’s a miracle we made it this far.

“I’m all for supporting baby sister, but a tea party?” Kane quips.

“It’s high tea. There’s a difference. Which you should know given our mother was English. You philistine.”

Kane grins. “I’ve had other worries on my mind.”

“I admit, it feels stuffy,” Micah adds.

“When has Rachel every turned down an opportunity to get dressed up?” I ask.

“Never. On the plus side, I’m sure there will be plenty of single friends there,” Kane drawls.

“Hate to disappoint you, brother, but it’ll be a small, intimate gathering. Her female guests are out of your league.”

A self-confessed serial dater, Kane had a case of Peter Pan syndrome. The green-eyed rogue spent the majority of his time abroad, working from his laptop for the company’s art and research and development departments.

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. We don’t play games with people who matter to our sister.”

“Humph.”

“Keep your complaints to yourself today. Rachel needs a win,” I caution them as I pull into the parking lot of The BonBonerie bakery and café. I’ve spent the first months of Acton’s life heavily involved in the day-to-day while Joseph works on a project abroad. After taking three weeks off around the time of his birth, he’d run out of paternity leave. It’d killed me seeing my sister struggle to recover and find her footing in the strange new world of parenting.

Seeing her find her stride now has given me a new respect for her strength, and the specialists I never knew existed before. Lactation consultants and birth coaches were not in my vocabulary a few months ago. I thought midwives were an outdated practice from before the times of modern medicine. I was wrong.

Exiting the car, I lead the others down the stone stairway past the painted cutout of the chef balancing delectable pastries where people often placed their faces for a photo op. Entering the glass doors, we’re surrounded by mismatched porcelain plates, bowls, teacups, and saucers. Resting on top of antique furniture, beside faux confectioners, they give an Alice in Wonderland vibe. The perfect setup for a place that serves tea and sweets.

We round the corner and step up into a cozy nook made for intimate dining. The space was fitted with three tables and decorated with various plates and posters. Knick-knacks line the shelves high along the walls. Leaving the space behind, we make our way to the backroom that’s been reserved for our gathering.

A long, wooden table sits in the center of the room. Small, white milk jugs full of large blooms rest in the middle. China plates with various floral patterns rest on doilies, beside similarly designed teacups and saucers. The checkerboard floor contrasts sharply with the pale blue walls and serving counter. I take a second to observe Rachel chatting happily with her birthing coach, Austen, and lactation consultant, Clara. Acton dozes peacefully in a pram beside his father who’s talking to Luka and Olive.

Turning, Rachel offers a smile. “Welcome boys.”

Clara visibly stiffens when she sees me. We got off on the wrong foot and never recovered. She treats me with a cool disdain that screams of dislike.

“Oh, she doesn’t like you, brother,” Kane crows. “That’s a first for Señor Suave. I like her already.”

Micah chuckles and I grit my teeth. It bothers me that she continues to remain standoffish. I’m not a people pleaser by any means. I’ve learned to place a wall up when it comes to the opinion of others. It’s a survival skill when you live life in the limelight. Clara, however, isn’t just anyone. She’s becoming a major part of Rachel’s life. That makes her important. Seeing her nurturing nature, inexhaustible patience, and sweetness has left me admiring her.

Determined to charm her, I nudge Kane out of the way and take the seat positioned beside her. The thin-lipped smile she grants me makes me mentally wince. Game on, Clara Paulson.

“Are you a tea drinker, Ms. Paulson?”

“Clara is fine, and not really.”