Sealed With A Kiss

By Marilyn Baxter and Becca A Miles

The Last Take-Away

Substituting for her ailing mother in their family restaurant, Maggie Sullivan and Drew Paxton start an unusual phone relationship during a series of called-in take-out orders. While neither is looking for love, it finds them, and they have to decide to dare to take the plunge.

Sweetheart

Married for barely a year, police behaviorist, Ashe MacAvoy learns she's pregnant just as her new sister-in-law is kidnapped by a madman. For Detective Chase Weber, his sister's disappearance drives him to push away the only woman he's ever loved, and their future is rocky with so much on the line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
• Release date: Jan 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948029094

Book preview

THE LAST TAKE-AWAY

Substituting for her ailing mother in their family restaurant, Maggie Sullivan and Drew Paxton start an unusual phone relationship during a series of called-in take-out orders. While neither is looking for love, it finds them, and they have to decide to dare to take the plunge.

SWEETHEART

Married for barely a year, police behaviorist, Ashe MacAvoy learns she's pregnant just as her new sister-in-law is kidnapped by a madman. For Detective Chase Weber, his sister's disappearance drives him to push away the only woman he's ever loved, and their future is rocky with so much on the line.

ALSO BY MARILYN BAXTER

Tea for Two

Better as a Memory

Direct Deposit

Picture This

Heart of Stone

ALSO BY BECCA A. MILES

Negotiating Her Release

SEALED WITH A KISS

Two Stories

Marilyn Baxter

Becca A. Miles

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

SEALED WITH A KISS

Copyright © 2018 Rachel A. Brune, and Southern Collective, LLC

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-948029-09-4

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

CONTENTS

The Last Take-Away

Sweetheart

About the Authors

THE LAST TAKE-AWAY

Marilyn Baxter

This story is dedicated to all readers who believe it’s never too late for happily ever after.

Chapter One

Maggie Sullivan grabbed the closest order pad, the stub of an old pencil, and snatched up the phone receiver on the third ring. Hello, she said breathlessly.

Her father, Frank, shot her an annoyed look. Magnolia’s, her father whispered in her direction, and then returned to the supply order he was preparing at his desk.

Oh, yeah, Maggie mumbled into the phone.

Is this Magnolia’s on Palmetto Street? the caller asked.

Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. Magnolia’s.

Oh, okay. But you’re not Nancy. She normally takes the phone orders.

No, this is— Maggie stopped short of telling her name. A complete stranger had no need for that information. —not Nancy. How can I help you?

Nancy’s okay, isn’t she? She always takes my order.

Despite hearing concern in the caller’s voice, Maggie was reluctant to say much more.

Nothing’s happened to her, has it? He sounded nice. Genuinely worried.

She’s fine. Really. She’s a little under the weather. Which was true but not the whole truth. Nancy Sullivan had taken a bad fall in the bathroom and broken both wrists and her left ankle. The combination left her unable to work, and for now, unable to get around under her own steam.

Can you tell her I said hello and to get better soon? Will you be talking to her?

Maggie chuckled. She’s my mother, so yeah, I’ll be talking to her, she answered, forgetting her earlier concern about sharing information.

Not talking to her mother would be difficult since Maggie was living in the same house. When it became apparent Nancy wouldn’t be able to hold up her end of the duties at the family restaurant, Maggie had made the four-hour drive from Atlanta to St. Magnus Island to help out, and had been given the responsibility of taking the evening dinner call-in orders.

She had grown up in and around Magnolia’s, and had performed probably every conceivable task needed to run the eatery. She had bussed dirty dishes, waited tables, and at age six, she had begun learning to cook under the tutelage of the restaurant’s chef, Lucius Boatwright.

You’re Maggie? he asked.

Well, yes, she replied as visions of a crazed, knife-wielding stalker flashed in her head.

I need my usual order, then, Maggie.

And that is?

You don’t know? Your mother didn’t leave a note or anything?

Not that I’m aware of. Maggie paused to wonder about a man who couldn’t remember his alleged usual order. But if you can remember it, I’ll make sure it’s ready for you to pick up.

Pick up? Is Bert out too? He always delivers my order.

Bert Hansen supplemented his pension by doing limited deliveries for Magnolia’s, as well as maintaining the restaurant’s website. He might be pushing eighty, but Bert was sharp as a tack and beloved by all.

And if this caller was a regular on Bert’s delivery route, he fell into a different category. Magnolia’s didn’t advertise its delivery service, but they did provide it for special customers on the island, and only for the evening meal. So, what made this man so special, she wondered?

St. Magnus Island was twelve miles long and only three miles at its widest point, so delivery on the island wasn’t a logistical problem. Therefore, Mr. Usual Order probably lived somewhere on St. Magnus. If he was across the causeway on the mainland and Bert delivered to him, he was more than special. He was approaching royalty.

No, no. Bert is fine. I wasn’t aware you were a delivery customer. I’m filling in for my mother until she can…uhm…until she…for a while.

Well that’s good because I hate driving to the village and having to battle that traffic.

Traffic? Maggie nearly howled with laughter. True, St. Magnus had only two-lane streets, but at its worst, traffic paled in comparison to everyday flow in Atlanta. Don’t get her started about rush hour.

The village was a two-block-long section of shopfronts on Live Oak Street, which consisted mainly of souvenir stores and places to eat. St. Magnus pier sat at the end of Live Oak, and on almost any day, the pier held its fill of fishermen with their rods and reels, and crabbers with traps and containers of chicken necks they used for bait.

Magnolia’s sat a block off Live Oak on a large corner lot. The two-story white building was shaded by ancient oak trees, along with magnolia trees that tourists thought played a part in the restaurant’s name. In reality, the restaurant was named for Maggie’s grandmother, Magnolia Strickland Sullivan.

She bit back the laugh because she shouldn’t risk offending someone who appeared to be a regular customer. And a special regular customer at that. One thing she had learned from her years in the restaurant business was that happy customers were silent. Unhappy ones voiced their displeasure all over social media.

The second line rang, and Maggie’s nerves jangled right along with the phone.

Can you hold please? she asked.

Well, I’m really in a hurry.

She clapped her palm over the receiver. Dad? Help, she called. Frank nodded and picked up the call from the phone on his desk.

Okay, what did you want, sir? She poised the pen over the paper, ready to scribble the order.

Are you sure Nancy didn’t leave a note somewhere about my orders?

Maggie gritted her teeth, then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her mother hadn’t planned on being out of the restaurant. Her accident two nights before was obviously unplanned, because who planned to break an ankle and both wrists?

Let me ask, she replied in an effort to placate the impatient man. She waved toward her father who thanked the person on the other side of his call and hung up.

Dad, is there a list or something with regular orders on it?

Regular orders? Frank narrowed his eyes in confusion.

You know, usual orders. He wants his usual order.

Who is it? I may know, but your mom is the one who normally handles that sort of stuff. There’s not a list that I know about.

Who? she asked, wrinkling her forehead. She uncovered the receiver and spoke into it. Who is this?

Drew Paxton, the man replied curtly.

It’s Drew Paxton, she relayed to her father. Do you know about his usual order?

No clue, Frank replied, returning to the papers on his desk.

I’m sorry, Mr. Paxton, but my mother didn’t leave any notes and no one else knows. We’re at a bit of a disadvantage in her absence. At a big disadvantage if Mr. Drew Paxton was any indication.

The silence on the other end of the call was deafening, and for a few moments Maggie feared she had just lost her parents’ restaurant a good customer. She could read that Yelp review already.

They have no clue about customer loyalty and retention.

I want a Philly cheesesteak with fries, he said abruptly. Lettuce, but no tomato. Mayo. No mustard, no pickles. And go light on the salt on the fries.

Maggie scribbled the order. Anything else? Would you like dessert or a drink?

That’s it. If Nancy is going to be out for long you might want to write that down. It’s my usual Wednesday order.

Will do, sir, she replied as she mentally snapped to attention and saluted. And I’ll have Bert deliver it right away. Oh, and I’ll need your address.

Bert knows where I live. Just tell him who the order is for and he’ll get it here.

Should he go to the front door? she asked, hoping to cover all the possibilities.

Maggie took the man’s grunt as a yes, then thanked him for the order, hung up and entered it into the computer.

Damn, she exclaimed moments later.

Her father looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow. Everything okay?

I forgot to get his credit card number. That whole conversation was so weird.

The hostess will get it when he picks up his order.

It’s a delivery.

Then Bert will get it. He might look like you could knock him over with a feather, but he doesn’t take any crap from anyone, Frank stated. And he carries a stun gun.

Maggie sighed and massaged her temples. If her first day back at Magnolia’s was any indication, this was going to be an interesting couple of weeks.

Chapter Two

Do you have a list of regular customers and their orders? Maggie asked the next morning as she fluffed her mother’s pillow and adjusted the multicolored afghan across her lap. Nancy Sullivan was firmly ensconced in a red leather recliner across from the large-screen television in the den. Against Maggie’s advice, her mother had changed from her nightgown to a rust-colored pants outfit that complemented her auburn hair and creamy complexion. Ever the Southern lady, Nancy had also asked Maggie to style her hair and apply a hint of makeup.

What if Pastor Greening comes to visit? she’d asked. I can’t look like a mess in front of him.

I think he would understand. After all, you do have two broken wrists. Maggie waved her own hands in the air. I’d be willing to bet he’s probably seen a woman without makeup before, and given the circumstances, I don’t believe he’ll think less of you for it.

Maybe a little blush and powder? And what was that you asked for again? Her mother returned to Maggie’s question.

A list of regular customers and their orders.

No, Nancy replied, drawing out the word. I don’t have a list of irregular ones either.

Regular like usual. Or routine. I had a guy call last night all incensed because I didn’t know his usual order. He kind of creeped me out because he knew who I was and—

Drew!

Paxton, yeah. That’s him. Maggie’s curiosity was piqued now.

He is a regular. And he’s some kind of spectacular eye candy too. I met him at a Chamber of Commerce mixer once.

Maggie gave the pillow a slight tug. Stop it, Mom. I don’t need eye candy. I got rid of Ray, and I’m sort of not really fond of men right now.

He’s rich too. Loaded from what I understand.

Maggie groaned. Her mother’s incessant comments regarding her single status were tiring. I make a good salary, she countered. Or I will when I get back to work.

I wish you hadn’t been so hasty to turn down that promotion with the hotel chain.

Mom, I’ve explained it to you, Maggie muttered, settling into a matching