Читать книгу Sweet Persuasions - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 8

Xavier Philip Eaton maneuvered into the empty parking space on King Street. The owner of one of the antiques shops lining the street had called him the day before to let him know that she’d been able to acquire some crystal and silver serving pieces from an estate sale, which he was thinking of giving his sister as a wedding gift. In less than three months, his sister Denise would be getting married and changing her last name from Eaton to Fennell.

He’d been as surprised as his parents were when Denise announced that she’d reconciled with her college sweetheart—after a six-year separation—and was marrying the successful Washington, D.C. businessman Garrett Fennell on New Year’s Eve. When Xavier had asked his mother Paulette Eaton about a wedding gift, she’d suggested giving the couple something in keeping with the late-nineteenth-century architecture of their D.C. town house. His future brother-in-law, Garrett, had purchased a four-story town house just blocks from the city’s trendy, upscale Dupont Circle, renovating the first three floors for his various holding companies and the fourth floor as their personal residence. The renovations were scheduled to be completed before the end of the year, and Denise had decided to decorate the town house with period antiques and reproductions. Besides the wedding gift, he also had to buy something for his sister’s upcoming birthday.

As the brother of the bride, Xavier was not only part of the ceremony, but he would have the honor of walking his sister down the aisle, since their father Judge Boaz Eaton had agreed to officiate. For the moment Denise’s wedding had taken the pressure off of him, since his mother was obsessed with having her children get married and giving her grandchildren. It seemed Paulette Eaton was competing with her sister-in-law, Roberta Eaton, whose children had all married and made her a grandmother many times over.

Xavier wasn’t against marriage, per se. It was just that he hadn’t met a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Considering his former girlfriends, he could honestly say there hadn’t been “one that got away.” He’d been forthcoming with the women he’d dated, admitting that he wasn’t ready to settle down and become a husband and father. And at the time, he wasn’t certain where he’d wanted to go with his military career. Most of the women respected his honesty, and many of them had remained friends even after their relationship ended. Those who wanted marriage opted for a more permanent break.

In the past year, he had undergone major changes in his life. A combat injury had ended his military career, and he had moved back to Charleston, South Carolina for the second time in more than a decade. In college, he’d been a student at The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina, where he’d graduated with distinction. He’d subsequently enrolled in The Citadel’s graduate school, earning a degree in U.S. History and then went on to earn another degree at the Marine Corps War College. This time, he was back in Charleston not as a student, but as a teacher at a small, elite military prep school, teaching U.S. Military History. Just when he’d thought his days of wearing a uniform were over, he found out he still had to wear one whenever he was on campus.

It was late September, and the sultry heat of summer had not yet subsided. After growing up in Pennsylvania, he’d come to appreciate the relatively mild Southern seasons. Walking along King Street, he slowed his pace when he peered into the window of a pastry shop that displayed desserts and sweets reminiscent of a Parisian patisserie.

He smiled when he read the white lettering on the dark blue awning: Sweet Persuasions. The delectable confections were the pastry shop’s best advertising. Xavier stared through the front window at the customers sitting at bistro tables, sipping espresso and noshing on savories and tarts. When he saw a sign indicating that shipping was available, he knew exactly what he’d get Denise for her birthday. He’d always thought of his sister as delicate when it came to desserts. She preferred chocolate éclairs and tiramisu to pound cake or peach cobbler.

He opened the door—painted a high-gloss, dark blue—and walked into the cool air-conditioned space. The soft tinkling of the bell just inside the door caught the attention of the young woman behind the counter. She offered him a friendly smile.

“Good morning. Welcome to Sweet Persuasions.”

Xavier went completely still. Her voice was as enticing to his ear as the pastries in the window were to the eye. The sound of her voice was low, rich and ethereally melodic. The inflection had Charleston overtones, but not so much that he could detect exactly where she was from.

“Good morning,” he said, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from the face that matched the hypnotic accent. If he had been asked to describe her, it would have been in the mouthwatering way one describes a confectionery masterpiece. Her face was the color of toasted hazelnuts, and her almond-shaped eyes were as dark as chocolate chips. He liked the way her nose crinkled when she smiled, but it was her mouth with its perfectly curved lips that garnered his rapt attention. His gaze shifted from the blue-and-white-checkered scarf tied around her hair to the trays of pastries, cookies and tarts.

“May I help you with something?” Xavier stood awestruck. “Sir?” she said, when he didn’t respond.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Everything looks too pretty to eat.”

Selena Yates felt her heart rate kick into a higher gear when she stared at the tall, slender man who’d walked into her pastry shop. She had lost count of the number of gorgeous men she’d seen since moving from West Virginia to Los Angeles and now Charleston, but the one standing before her literally and figuratively took the cake. He was more than delicious—he was scrumptious.

He wore a white polo shirt and khakis with the aplomb of a well-tailored suit. There was something in his ramrod-straight posture that commanded attention. Thick black eyebrows framed a lean reddish-brown face that lifted a fraction when their gazes met and fused. She found the deep dimples in his face breathtaking whenever he smiled. There was a tattoo on his inner right arm, but she wasn’t able to make it out.

“Is there anything you’d like to sample?” she asked.

Xavier laughed heartily, the rich sound bubbling up from his chest. “I don’t think you’d want me to do that,” he said when he sobered.

Selena smiled. “Why not?”

He leaned in closer. “Because, I’d inhale everything in here like an anteater. I saw the sign said that you do shipping. Where?”

“We can ship our goods anywhere in the lower forty-eight.”

“Overnight?” he asked.

“I can guarantee overnight if it’s along the east coast. Otherwise, it’ll be two-day delivery. Your order will be packed and sealed in a special container that is heat resistant, ensuring that it will be fresh by the time it arrives.”

Smiling, Xavier continued to stare into the dark eyes that didn’t seem to look at him as much as through him. “I’d like to send something to my sister in D.C. for her birthday. What would you suggest?”

“Is she allergic to chocolate or nuts?” Selena asked him.

It wasn’t often that she had male customers. Most of her patrons were women who came into the shop to enjoy specialty coffees and teas with a pastry or savory tart, or to pick up an assortment of cookies or sweets for their offices, or to place an order for a special occasion. In the six months since the shop opened, Selena had been blessed because business was good. Some of her customers had standing orders, and her mail-order business had increased appreciably in the past few months.

Xavier shook his head. He pointed to a tray with cream-filled chocolate cookies. “She prefers sweets like these.”

Selena peered into the showcase. “Those are hazelnut galettes. They’re chocolate rounds filled with fromage frais, a kind of cream cheese,” she explained.

“Will they stay fresh during shipping?”

She wanted to ask him if he’d heard her when she’d mentioned the special shipping container. Flashing a smile usually reserved for children, Selena nodded. “If it arrives inedible, then I’ll replace the order at no charge. By the way, they are usually served chilled.”

Xavier moved along the length of the display case, his gaze lingering on the trays of brownies. “What kind of brownies are these?” he asked.

“Those are caramel-pecan.” Selena reached for a pair of tongs and a napkin with her clear latex gloves. She picked up a brownie square, and handed it to Xavier. “Taste it.”

He bit into the moist fudge, chewing slowly while shaking his head. “That’s definitely X-rated,” he drawled, after swallowing.

“The sweets in this showcase are what I call decadent delectables.”

Xavier took another bite. “I take it back. It is triple-X-rated.”

That’s what Selena loved, someone who appreciated her variation on the classic brownie recipe. “Do you think your sister would like the brownies?”

“Yes.” If there was one thing Xavier knew for certain, it was that Denise was a chocoholic. “She loves chocolate,” he added.

Selena smiled. “Do you mind if I put together an assortment that I think she might like?”

“Please.”

“I’ll need you to fill out the shipping information.” She pointed to a counter-height table with an empty stool in the corner. “The forms are over there. I’d appreciate it if you would sign the guestbook so that I can send you notices about our specials.”

Reaching for his BlackBerry, Xavier scrolled through the directory for Denise’s address. He filled out the shipping information, but decided it was best to send the package to her job instead of her apartment.

The coziness of the shop enveloped him as he hummed along with the soft music piped in through the speakers. Three couples sat at bistro tables, talking quietly as the tantalizing aroma of coffee filled the shop. Sweet Persuasions was exactly what the name implied. The subtle charm of the owner and the tantalizing pastries had drawn him in. But taste had been what sealed the deal. His gaze lingered on the raised lettering on the stack of business cards in a silver tray. A smile tilted the corners of his mouth. If the woman with the sensual voice behind the counter was the owner, then she had to be Selena Yates.

As he completed the shipping information, Xavier thought about his mother. Since she had retired from teaching, she’d begun baking in her spare time. Even though Paulette Eaton’s cakes and cookies were delicious, they weren’t as fancy or elaborate as those in Sweet Persuasions.

He picked up another shipping label. “I’d like another box like the one you’re putting together.”

Selena’s hand stilled. “Is it going to the same address?”

“No. The other one is being shipped to Philadelphia.”

“If you look in the drawer under the table, you’ll see a choice of note cards and envelopes. Take the ones you want to accompany your orders.”

Selena reached for a white box stamped with the shop’s logo, filling it with brownies and miniature raspberry and peach almond cream tarts. She added two slices of a chocolate pecan torte and hand-rolled chocolate mocha candies filled with nuts and dried fruit.

She packed a smaller box with four one-ounce jars of homemade preserves: strawberry, plum-vanilla, blueberry-maple and peach. “All first-time customers receive homemade preserves as a gift,” she told Xavier, as he stared at the tiny jars tied with blue-and-white ribbon.

“That’s really nice,” he crooned. He handed her the shipping forms.

Selena noticed that both labels were addressed to women with the same last name. She glanced at the return address. Now she had a name to go along with the face: Xavier Eaton. What she also noticed was that he lived in Charleston, so there was the distinct possibility that he would become a regular customer. Repeat business and local referrals had made Sweet Persuasions profitable.

“They’ll go out today and they should receive them tomorrow.”

Xavier took a small leather case from his pocket, and handed Selena a credit card. She stared at the plastic card. That’s when he realized she was staring at the tattoo on his arm. He’d been tattooed twice. The first time was the Marine Corps insignia—a globe of the western hemisphere with an anchor through it and an eagle on top—over his heart. He’d gotten the second tattoo after he was discharged.

As she took his credit card, Selena noticed that the image of a helmet resting on a rifle between a pair of boots, with the words Never Forgotten was the same as the one her brother had tattooed on one of his biceps.

Xavier’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Does my tattoo bother you?”

Selena shook her head as she processed his payment. “No. My brother has the same one.”

“Is he active?”

“No. He was in the reserves. But after two tours in Iraq, he decided it was time to get out. His wife threatened to divorce him if he didn’t,” she said, trying to avoid his gaze. “Are you active?”

Xavier exhaled an audible sigh. “No.”

“Were you deployed?”

There came a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Yes,” he finally said.

Selena felt the handsome stranger withdraw, even though the timbre of his voice hadn’t changed. It was something she’d witnessed whenever her brother Luke had come home on leave. He’d spend hours locked in his bedroom, and when he’d emerged sometime later he was the brother she’d recognized from their youth—the practical joker.

“I’m sorry for prying.”

Xavier forced a smile. “It’s okay. You weren’t prying.”

If he hadn’t worn a short-sleeved shirt, then she never would have seen the tattoo, he thought. He’d gotten it before the corps began cracking down on them. Suddenly, he seemed all too aware of it.

The carefree demeanor Selena had exhibited when he’d walked into Sweet Persuasions was now missing. “I’ll be back to let you know whether my mother and sister enjoy them,” Xavier said, hoping her smile and the cute way her nose creased would return.

“You can email me your comments.”

He didn’t know whether Selena Yates was married, single or engaged. But there was something about her that made him want to see her again. “I’ll come by. Maybe next time I’ll buy something for myself.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up like a hundred-watt bulb. There were some people who smiled with their eyes or mouths, but with her it was both.

“Thank you, Mr. Eaton. I’d like that very much.”

She could not afford to turn away any new customer. She knew the risks of starting a new business, especially in a tough economy. But opening up a patisserie when she’d had no experience running a business at all defied common sense.

“It’s Xavier,” he corrected.

Selena extended her hand. “And I’m Selena.”

He took her hand, holding it gently between his much larger one. “It’s nice to meet you, Selena.” Reluctantly he released her delicate fingers. “I’ll be seeing you.” Turning on his heels, Xavier walked to the door, standing aside to let a petite, dark-skinned woman with chin-length twists enter.

“Thank you,” she crooned seductively.

“You’re welcome,” he said, chuckling under his breath as he closed the door.

Monica Mills pirouetted in a pair of flats before bowing gracefully. “Now that looks as delicious, maybe even better, than what you’re selling,” she said to Selena.

Selena smiled at her next-door neighbor. “He’s definitely eye candy.”

Not only was Monica her neighbor, but they were also friends. Monica helped out in the shop during her free time, while Selena looked after the single mother’s school-age daughter before and after school hours.

“I’ll be right back,” Monica said over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen at rear of the shop. She washed her hands, and then pulled a bib apron over her head tying it around her waist. She covered her hair with a nylon bouffant cap, pushing the wealth of neatly twisted hair under the elastic band.

Monica worked for a major Charleston law firm as a paralegal, and there were times when she didn’t leave the office until well past seven o’clock, which is why Selena Yates was such a lifesaver.

Selena made certain Monica’s daughter, Trisha, got on and off the school bus, completed her homework and fed her dinner. Selena refused to accept payment for babysitting Trisha, so Monica helped out at Sweet Persuasions. For the past month, she’d put in sixteen-hour days at the law firm because of a high-profile murder case that was scheduled to go to trial soon. So she’d decided to take two weeks off in lieu of overtime payment. No amount of money could take the place of her spending time with her eight-year-old daughter.

Selena was cradling the boxes to her chest when Monica emerged from the rear of the shop. “Please take care of the front, while I get these ready for the early pick up.” A courier from the shipping company came twice a day—before noon and at six. A morning pickup ensured next-day delivery and the afternoon was for two-day deliveries.

“No problem, boss.”

Selena rolled her eyes at Monica, who’d put off going to law school when she’d discovered a week before graduating from college that she was pregnant. Rather than tell her boyfriend he was going to be a father, Monica moved from Atlanta to Charleston to be closer to her family. When Selena had asked her neighbor why she hadn’t told the man with whom she’d had a four-year relationship that she was pregnant with his child, Monica had said she didn’t want to talk about it. Respecting her privacy, Selena never asked again.

“I’m not paying you, Ms. M. So, I’m not your boss.”

Monica mimicked Selena’s eye-rolling. “I should be the one paying you for all you do for Trisha.”

Trying to avoid a pointless argument with her friend, Selena walked into the back of the shop. When she decided to open Sweet Persuasions, she’d had the contractor divide the space in the rear into a kitchen and a small alcove that she’d set up as an office. A desktop computer, printer, a two-drawer file cabinet and shelves stocked with boxes and shipping supplies was the mail-order lifeline of Sweet Persuasions. The kitchen where she baked her goodies was the heart and soul of the patisserie.

Selena gift-wrapped the boxes and attached gift cards. Forty-five minutes later, Xavier Eaton’s bakery goods were wrapped and sealed in vacuum packaging and stored in containers of dry ice. She printed out the shipping labels, affixed them to the packages and placed them on a side table with three other orders.

When Selena had left West Virginia at eighteen to attend college in California, she never imagined that eight years later she would be running her own business. In less than three weeks, she would be celebrating her twenty-seventh birthday. And although she didn’t know why, she suddenly felt older. Not old, but older. Becoming a pastry chef hadn’t been her career choice at first. But spending hours making mouthwatering recipes for delicious desserts and candies had become her passion. She didn’t have a husband, children or even a boyfriend, so her time was hers and hers alone.

Glancing at the wall calendar, she studied the requests for the upcoming week. There were orders for three dozen red-velvet cupcakes for a ladies auxiliary meeting, a specialty cake for a North Charleston couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary and a Black Forest cherry cake for an engagement party. Closing Sweet Persuasions two days a week allowed Selena to fill those special orders.

The nightmare that had sent her fleeing California to South Carolina was now a distant memory. Living and working in Charleston was like being reborn. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder every time she left her house, or glance through the peephole whenever the doorbell rang.

She’d claimed a new city and state as her home. She had a new career and had set up a new business. Not only did Selena think her of herself as lucky—she believed she was blessed.

A hint of a smile softened Xavier’s lips as he strolled out of Sweet Persuasions and down the block to the antiques shop. The past four months had become a summer of firsts. He had purchased his first house and he’d become a teacher.

He’d had second thoughts about relocating to Charleston after accepting the teaching position. But now that he’d moved into his house and settled into teaching military history, he felt as if he’d come home. Xavier was also rediscovering his adopted city—a city with a troubled past and a bright future.

He opened the door to the antiques shop, glancing at the unorthodox greeter sitting on a perch and staring at him from inside a large birdcage. “We have a visitor,” squawked the colorful parrot. “What’s your name?”

“Willie, I’ve told you about asking people their names,” admonished a woman with fashionably coiffed hair the color of moonlight. The elegantly attired shopkeeper smiled at Xavier. “Good morning, Mr. Eaton. You’re going to have to forgive Willie this morning. It’s as if he’s forgotten his home training.”

“He’s forgiven,” Xavier mumbled under his breath.

He wanted to tell Charlotte Burke that her pet needed more than home training. Willie needed to be at home. The first time he’d visited the shop he was treated to a monologue peppered with salty language that left Mrs. Burke red with embarrassment.

Charlotte Burke sighed. She’d given Willie a lengthy lecture as soon as she’d removed the cover from the cage earlier that morning. Her scolding had continued while she cleaned the cage and gave the parrot food and water. Willie had learned his colorful language from her husband, who claimed he could say whatever he wanted within the confines of his home. What Walter Burke had refused to acknowledge was that although there were no small children in the house, the parrot repeated everything he said.

She smiled at the incredibly gorgeous man, who made her wish that she was at least thirty years younger so she could flirt with him. Fortunately for her, she was married, and she wasn’t a cougar like some of her friends.

“You’re not teaching today?”

Xavier pulled his gaze away from what had become a stare down with the foulmouthed bird. Charlotte Burke’s cornflower-blue eyes matched her pantsuit exactly. The strand of South Sea pearls around her neck coordinated with the pearl studs in her ears. Her face, unlike her hands, was wrinkle-free, leading him to believe she’d had some work done.

“Today’s a school holiday.”

The Christopher Munroe Military Academy, a college preparatory school for grades eight through twelve, had opened its doors to day and boarding students ninety years ago with just fourteen young men. The school’s population had changed dramatically over the years with the acceptance of students of color and females, expanding to include grades one through twelve.

“That is so nice,” Charlotte crooned, her Southern drawl more pronounced than usual. She pressed her palms together. “If you come with me, I’ll show what I picked up at the estate sale.”

Xavier followed her to a table with a collection of silver and crystal pieces. “How old is this one?” He’d pointed to a heavily decorated silver teapot.

Reaching for a square of felt, Charlotte handed him the pot. “It was made by Samuel Kirk & Son in the mid-nineteenth century. Throughout the late nineteenth-century Kirk specialized in flatware and hollowware with heavy repoussé work or chasing that resembles neo-Rococo. If you turn the pot over you’ll see that it’s signed.”

“What is chasing?” he asked.

“It is a surface decoration drawn on the piece and then the decorator hammers it with a blunt, ballpoint chisel to distort the surface to achieve the desired effect without removing any metal.”

“Amazing,” Xavier said in a quiet voice. He set the teapot on the table, and picked up a coffeepot.

“That one is a silver Hallmark English coffeepot. It was made around 1767.”

“I’ll take the coffeepot, the teapot and the matching service pieces.”

Charlotte nodded, staring at the length of lashes touching the top of Xavier Eaton’s cheekbones. “What about the crystal?” She was hoping to sell him most of the silver and the crystal.

Reaching into a back pocket of his slacks, he took out a credit card. “I’m not sure what crystal pattern my sister would like, so I’m going to pass on it. But I know for certain that she’s partial to silver.”

“You’ve selected some very fine pieces.” A slight frown appeared on Charlotte’s face. “Didn’t you tell me you’re a history teacher?”

“Yes.” Xavier had had a lengthy conversation with her when he’d first visited her shop. She was aware that he’d graduated from The Citadel, and that he’d returned to Charleston to teach part-time at a military school. A smile parted her lips, the gesture reminding him of a Cheshire cat.

“I have something I believe would be of interest to you.”

His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Charlotte said in singsong voice.

His curiosity piqued, Xavier watched as the antiques dealer put on a pair of white-cotton gloves and placed a leather pouch on the table. She took out a tattered clothbound journal and then another that was equally worn. “These are the journals written by a freeman of color who fought with the Union army in the War Between the States.”

He wanted to correct Mrs. Burke by telling her that the official term was the Civil War, but knew that the Confederate loss was a sore point with most Southerners. She opened the journal, turning the pages as if she were handling a newborn. Some of the entries were written in pencil and others in ink. Incredibly, most of the writing was legible.

Xavier leaned over the table. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get these?”

Charlotte gave him a sidelong glance. “I found them.”

“You just happened to find journals that are more than one hundred fifty years old?”

A flush suffused the woman’s face. “I really didn’t find them. But, I promised the woman who gave them to me that I wouldn’t divulge her name. She was cleaning out her house and she found them in a trunk in her attic. The trunk belonged to the great-grandmother of a woman who used to clean her grandmother’s house.”

Xavier tried to process what he’d just been told. “Why did she give them to you rather than a museum or historical society?”

Charlotte’s flush deepened. “She said the memories were too painful and she just wanted them out of her house.”

Realization dawned for him. Journals, if authenticated, that could be worth five or six figures at auction were given away like a bundle of old newspapers. “How much do you want for them?”

“I can’t sell them.”

A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up Xavier’s back. “If you don’t intend to sell them, then why show them to me?”

“That’s because I want to give them to you.”

He went completely still. “Do you have any idea what these are worth?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, and I don’t want to know. You teach history, Mr. Eaton, so I know you will make certain they will find a good home.”

Xavier leaned forward. “You trust me not to sell them?”

“I’ve lived long enough to believe I’m a good judge of character. And I know you won’t sell them because you’d want to share what’s in these journals not only with your students but anyone interested in our country’s history.”

Charlotte Burke was right. He wouldn’t sell the journals because he wasn’t the rightful owner. Perhaps if he’d inherited or purchased them, then Xavier would possibly consider donating them to the South Carolina Historical Society. He planned to read the entries and then verify the accuracy of the events. After having them appraised, he would look for the rightful owner or owners. It was only fair that the descendants of a man who’d chronicled a war in which brothers took up arms against one another should be aware of what he’d had to sacrifice.

“You’re going to donate them, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked.

Xavier smiled. “I will—but only if I can’t find the rightful owners. That shouldn’t be too difficult if they’re still living in South Carolina.”

“What if they’ve moved out of the state?”

“It will make the search a bit more difficult, but not impossible. Did the lady tell you how long it had been since the woman cleaned her grandmother’s house?”

Charlotte slipped the books into the leather case and removed her gloves. “No. I would’ve asked, but she appeared very upset. You would’ve thought she’d found a live snake in her house instead of century-old books.”

What, Xavier mused, was her connection to the man who’d written of his wartime exploits? It had been a while since something had fired his imagination, and he was looking forward to what was certain to become a research project.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to hold on to the journals until I come back. I have some more shopping to do. Meanwhile I’ll pay you for the silver.”

“But, we haven’t negotiated a price, Mr. Eaton.”

Xavier waved his hand in dismissal. “I don’t like haggling. Please let me know how much I owe you.”

Charlotte took umbrage to the term haggling, but dismissed it with a slight lifting of her shoulders. Haggling was for peddlers, not a professional antiques dealer such as herself. Xavier’s willingness to meet whatever price she’d quote spoke volumes. He was a man willing to pay for whatever he wanted. She completed the transaction, processing his credit card and returning it to him. “My assistant will be in within the hour and, if you want, she can gift wrap them for you.”

Xavier smiled and deep lines appeared along his lean jaw. “I would really appreciate that.” And for the second time that day, he’d filled out a gift card to his sister. Six years older than Denise, he had always assumed the role of her protector. He’d put the word out in their neighborhood that if anyone bothered Denise Amaris Eaton, then they’d have to deal with him. Of course, he hadn’t had to deal with bullying or fighting, since it wasn’t tolerated in military school. Anyone who broke the rules was dealt with immediately. Three infractions in a school year meant permanent expulsion.

Xavier left the shop, skirting a couple standing in front of a shoe store, and headed for a specialty shop featuring tailored menswear. His day off had come with surprises. He’d discovered Sweet Persuasions and he had come into possession of a valuable piece of Civil War history.