Tempting Tatum by Kaylee Ryan

hospitality, but I can’t comprehend what she says. The sweet scent of her hair invades my senses. I follow her into the building where she heads toward my mother’s desk. Mom greets her with her ever pleasant smile. I stand close behind her for a multitude of reasons. One, her scent is intoxicating, and two, I want to know her name, who she is. Shaking my head to break this sudden trance she has me in, I focus on their conversation. I hear her tell my mom her name is Tatum and she is here for an interview with Mayor Hamilton. She must be the candidate Aunt Ruth was talking about.
    The girl, Tatum, takes a seat against the wall. I force myself not to watch her every move. As soon as she walks away, Mom greets me. I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. Because, really, is there any other way to greet your mother?
    Pulling out of our embrace, I ask her, “So where do you want me?”
    “Well, go on back to the break room. I brought freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Make sure you save some for Harry or he’ll never let you live it down,” she tells me.
    “Don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, already headed toward the break room. The smell of freshly baked rolls greets me halfway down the hall, and I pick up the pace. Nothing beats Momma’s homemade cinnamon rolls.
    Mom joins me a few minutes later and I’ve already had two rolls. She just smiles at me and shakes her head. “Good thing I made a double batch,” she chuckles.
    Yep. Best mom ever!
    I finish off my bottle of water and toss it in the trash as I walk to the sink to wash the cinnamon goo from my hands. “I’m all yours. Where are these boxes?” I ask her.
    “Well, all right then.” She leads me to a file room where an entire wall is lined with boxes. These need to be carried downstairs to storage.
    “Any particular place I should put them?”
    She nods her head. “Yes. I’ll follow you down and show you.”
    I lean down and pick up two boxes and turn to face her. “Blaise, you’re gonna throw your back out,” she scolds me.
    I playfully roll my eyes at her. “Mom, I’m a firefighter. The gear I wear weighs more than this.” I then wink at her for good measure.
    Mom stomps her feet all the way down to the basement. All the while, mumbling about stubborn cocky men. My grin widens. I love getting her worked up.
    Mom shows me were to place the boxes, and then goes back to her desk. It only takes me about twenty minutes to carry everything downstairs and organize it the way she wants it. The time actually flies by. My mind is occupied with the dark haired beauty upstairs. When I’m finished, I head back to the break room and wash my hands. The basement is dusty. I grab another bottle of water from the fridge and head back to the reception area.
    What I find when I get there stops me in my tracks. Mom and the dark haired beauty, Tatum, are in what appears to be a deep conversation. Mom has her hand on top of Tatum’s and her eyes are glossy with tears. Tatum looks up and catches my stare. Her eyes, green, peridot green, the same color as the birthstone charm Momma has for Asher and me. Mesmerizing eyes filled with sadness. I can tell I’m making her uncomfortable as she tries to continue her conversation. With one last glance, trying to commit her gem colored eyes and sweet scent to memory, I turn and head back to the break room to allow them some privacy. Besides, Mom would be harping on me for not being a “gentleman” if I didn’t.
    I’m not sure how much time passes before Mom appears at the door of the break room. I busied myself with my phone, updating the shop’s facebook and twitter status, checking e-mails, and going over my schedule for the next week.
    “Thanks for your help,” she says as she leans against the door jam.
    I stand up and stretch. “No problem. Is that all you needed help with? I didn’t want to leave in case there was anything else you needed done.”
    She shakes her head no. “I’m good. Thank you for