Sweet Tea and Sympathy: A Book Club Recommendation!

Sweet Tea and Sympathy: A Book Club Recommendation!

by Molly Harper

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781501151323
Publisher: Gallery Books
Publication date: 11/21/2017
Series: Southern Eclectic , #1
Sold by: SIMON & SCHUSTER
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 320
Sales rank: 20,197
File size: 6 MB

About the Author

Molly Harper is the author of two popular series of paranormal romance, the Half-Moon Hollow series and the Naked Werewolf series. She also writes the Bluegrass ebook series of contemporary romance. A former humor columnist and newspaper reporter, she lives in Michigan with her family, where she is currently working on the next Southern Eclectic novel. Visit her on the web at MollyHarper.com.

Read an Excerpt

Sweet Tea and Sympathy

  • MARGOT CARY LEANED her forehead against the warm truck window as it bounced along the pitted Georgia highway. She closed her eyes against the picturesque landscape as it rolled by. Green, green, green. Everything was so effing green here.

    GREEN WAS NOT her lucky color. It certainly hadn’t blessed the opening of the botanical garden’s newly completed Wesmoreland Tropical Greenhouse. Maybe it had been a mistake to carry the green theme so far. Green table linens, green lanterns strung through the trees, down to emerald-green bow ties for the catering staff. Weeks later, she still remembered the terrified expression on one waiter’s face when she caught him by the arm before he carried his tray of crudités into the party space.

    Despite her glacial blond beauty, the younger man practically flinched away from her touch as she adjusted his tie. Margot would admit that she’d been a bit . . . demanding in organizing this event. She had taken every precaution to make sure that this evening’s black-tie opening was as smooth as Rosaline Hewitt’s recently Botoxed brow. She’d commissioned a silk-leaf embroidered canopy stretching from the valet station to the entrance to prevent the guests’ hairstyles and gowns from being ruined by the summer rain. She’d researched each invitee meticulously to find out who was gluten-free or vegan and adjusted the menu accordingly. She’d arranged for two dozen species of exotic South American parrots to be humanely displayed among orchids and pitcher plants and a flock of flamingos to wade through the manufactured waterfall’s rocky lagoon.

    She was not about to have all of that preparation undone by a cater waiter who didn’t know how to keep a bow tie on straight.

    “Go,” Margot said, nodding toward the warm, humid air of the false tropical jungle. He moved silently away from her, into the opulently lit space.

    Margot turned and tried to survey the greenhouse as it would appear to the guests, the earliest of which were already filtering into the garden, oohing and aahing. Calling it a greenhouse seemed like an understatement. The glass-paneled dome reached four stories into the sky, allowing the tropical plant specimens inside plenty of space to stretch. Carefully plotted stone paths wound through the flower beds, giving the visitor the impression of wandering through paradise. But knowing how much Chicago’s riche-est of the riche enjoyed a nice soiree, the conservators had been smart enough to add a nice open space in the middle of the greenhouse to allow for a dance floor. She’d arranged elbow-high tables around the perimeter, covered in jewel-tone silk cloths. Gold LED lights cast a hazy sunset glow over the room, occasionally projecting animated fireflies against the foliage. And since society’s ladies would never do something so inelegant as visit a buffet, the waiters had been informed to constantly circulate with their trays of canapés in a nonobvious, serpentine pattern around the enormous shrimp tower in the middle of—

    Wait.

    “No,” Margot murmured, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

    She snagged the next waiter to walk through the entrance and took his tray. The sweet-faced college kid seemed startled and alarmed to have the chief planner for this event grabbing him by the arm. “You, get two of your coworkers and very quickly, very quietly, very discreetly get that shrimp tower out of here. If anyone asks, just tell them that you’re taking it back to the kitchen to be refilled.”

    The poor boy blanched at the brisk clip to her tone and said, “But—but Chef Jean was very specific about—”

    “I don’t care what Chef Jean was specific about,” she said. “Get it out of here now.”

    The waiter nodded and pulled away from her into the gathering crowd.

    Margot stepped forward into the fragrant warmth of the greenhouse, careful to keep her expression and body language relaxed. She was aware that, while professionally dressed in her black power suit, she was not nearly as festive as the guests in their tuxedos and haute couture gowns, but she was perfectly comfortable. She’d attended hundreds of events like this growing up. She would not be intimidated by some plants and a pretentious wannabe Frenchman. She pressed the button of her earbud-size Bluetooth and whispered, “This is Margot. I need to speak to Jean.”

    She could tell by the way her words were echoing in her own ear that the head chef of Fete Portable had taken his earpiece out—despite Margot’s repeated requests to keep a line of communication open with her—and set it on the stainless steel counter in the makeshift kitchen. She blew out a frustrated breath. Jean LeDille was not her preferred caterer for high-profile events, but the de facto hostess of tonight’s opening—Melissa Sutter, first lady of Chicago and head of the botanical garden conservators’ board—had insisted on using him. So far he’d been temperamental, resistant to the most basic instruction, and a pain in Margot’s Calvin Klein–clad ass. And when she was done with this event and had secured her partnership at Elite Elegance, she would have Jean blacklisted from every Chicago party planner’s contact list. Theirs was a close-knit and gossip-driven circle.

    Someone in the kitchen picked up the earbud and said, “Ms. Cary, he says to tell you he’s unavailable.”

    Margot gritted her perfect white teeth but managed a polite smile to the head of the opera board and his wife as they passed. Jean wouldn’t be able to get a job making a clown-shaped birthday cake by the time she was done with him.

    “So I guess I’ll just have to make myself available to him, then.”

    Margot’s assistant, Mandy, a sleek brunette who reminded Margot of a Russian wolfhound in four-inch heels, fell in step behind her. “Make sure that tower is gone. You have two minutes.”

    “On it,” Mandy snapped, and peeled off after the hapless waiters.

    Margot pushed through the heavy plastic curtain that separated the greenhouse from the kitchen tent. Far from the muted music and golden-green light of the greenhouse, the tent was ruthlessly lit with fluorescents and heating lamps. Jean’s shouts filled the air, demanding that the canapé trays be restocked tout de suite.

    Jean was a stocky, balding man with thick, dark eyebrows and an unfortunate mustache. His chef whites were splattered with various sauces and he sneered—actually sneered—at Margot as she walked into his kitchen.

    “What are you doing in ma’ kitchen?” he demanded in an exaggerated French accent. “I tell you before. No outside staff when I am creating.”

    “Jean, would you explain to me why there is a shrimp tower in the middle of my venue?”

    “I was overcome by the muse this morning. I decide to build you a shrimp tower. Only four hundred dollars extra. I do you favor, eh?”

    “Wait. Is that shrimp salad on the crostini?” Margot asked, stopping a waiter before he left with his tray of appetizers. “Because we agreed on poached quail eggs. Mrs. Sutter, the hostess of tonight’s event, whom you’ve cooked for on several occasions, is allergic to shrimp. As in, she can’t even be around people who are eating shrimp because she might come into contact with the proteins. I wrote it on everything. Everything.”

    Margot motioned to the field refrigeration unit where she had taped a neon-green sign that read PLEASE REMEMBER THAT MRS. SUTTER IS HIGHLY ALLERGIC TO SHRIMP.

    Jean waved her off. “I do not read the cards. My sous chef reads the cards.”

    “Jean. Drop the French accent that we both know is about as real as that ridiculous hairpiece and tell me what you are feeding the mayor’s wife.”

    The chef, whose real name was John Dill, shrugged and in his natural, Midwestern voice said, “The market didn’t have enough quail eggs, so I took the shrimp. It’s not a big deal. If she’s allergic, she’ll know not to touch it. People make too much of their food allergies anyway.”

    “It’s just lovely to know that someone with that attitude is making food for innocent bystanders,” Margot snapped. She called out loud enough for the entire kitchen staff to hear, “Eighty-six the shrimp crostini. Throw them out and take the bags out of the tent. All of you wash your hands—twice—and any utensils that have touched the shrimp—also twice. I need one uncontaminated staff member to make a special shrimp-free plate of food for Mrs. Sutter so we can feed her tonight without poisoning her. Get it done, now.”

    Jean was seething, but Margot didn’t give a single damn. Mandy popped through the plastic curtain, a stricken expression on her angular face.

    “There’s a problem with the tower,” she said. “It’s too heavy to move. But they’re working on disassembling the shrimp trays to bring them back in before people notice.”

    “I don’t care if it’s made of concrete. I need it—” Margot’s response was cut short by a strange honking ruckus from the greenhouse, followed by screams and crashing . . . and running?

    One of Margot’s golden eyebrows rose. “What is that?”

    Mandy grimaced. “Don’t flamingos eat shrimp?”

    Margot dropped her clipboard and her headset to the ground and scrambled through the plastic curtain. “Oh, no.”

    The flamingos were making a run at the shrimp tower, pink wings flapping, pecking at the waiters who were attempting to remove the shellfish. The guests were falling all over one another trying to get away from the shrimp-frenzied birds and in the process had knocked over several cocktail tables and the votive candles on top. Those candles had set fire to the tablecloths, which set off the greenhouse’s sprinklers and alarms. The parrots did not appreciate the clanging alarms or the sudden scramble of people. They broke free from their perches and were flying around the greenhouse, leaving “deposits” on the guests in protest. Oh, and Mrs. Sutter was purple and covered in hives.

    Margot gave herself ten seconds to surrender to the panic. She let her stomach churn. She let her ice-cold hands shake. She allowed herself to hear everything and nothing all at once. In her head, she saw her career going up in flames with the tablecloths. The promotion and partnership she’d worked for were disappearing before her eyes in puffs of smoke. Everything she’d planned, everything she wanted in life, was slipping out of her fingers because of some misplaced shellfish.

    And then Margot put a lid on her anxiety and did what she did best. She put out fires metaphorical and literal. She called an ambulance and the fire department, grabbed the EpiPen from Mrs. Sutter’s purse, and jabbed her in the thigh. Hell, she even took off her pumps and wrangled the shrimp-seeking flamingos back into the lagoon.

    But the damage was done. The news photographers who’d prepared themselves for a boring evening shooting glamour poses gleefully snapped photos of society matrons in soaked designer gowns and runny makeup dashing for shelter from the sprinklers. A guest who happened to be a member of PETA started screaming at Margot for mistreating the flamingos while trying to herd them away from (attacking) the guests. And a conservators’ board member handed her an invoice for the thousands of dollars in rare orchid species that had been trampled in the melee.

    The next morning, an exhausted Margot sat slumped in the offices of Elite Elegance as her boss, Carrington Carter-Shaw, slapped newspapers with headlines like FLORAL FIASCO and REAL-LIFE ANGRY BIRDS! on her desk. One particularly cheeky tabloid had printed a picture of Margot beating the smoldering remains of a matron’s hairpiece with a wet napkin under the headline FLOWER POWER F***-UP!

    “How could you let this happen?” Carrington cried, her carefully blown-out dark hair dancing around her heart-shaped face. “We’re the laughingstock of the Chicago social scene. Guests from last night are trying to stick us with dry-cleaning bills, medical bills—Michelle Biederman claims a parrot flew off with her two-karat diamond earring! The mayor’s office has contacted us—twice—to call our business license into question. I had to move three guys from the mail room just to handle the incoming phone calls. Margot, you’re my star! My rock! You can make a backyard potluck birthday party look like a black-tie gala. You’re the planner I call when it’s clear in the first meeting that the client is absolutely batshit insane. What happened?”

    Margot wanted to blame the untested Chef Jean and his “inspired” impromptu shrimp, but ultimately the fault rested with her. She’d lost control of the party. She’d lost control of the food. She’d lost control of two dozen species of birds.

    “I don’t know,” Margot mumbled, shaking her head. She took a prepackaged stain wipe out of her Prada clutch and dabbed at a questionable blotch on her lapel. “It all happened so quickly. I—I know, at this point, the partnership is off the table—”

    “Partnership?” Carrington scoffed. “Honey, I can’t even keep you on staff. You’re professional poison. I’m going to have to fire you and do it in a very public manner—I mean, picture the polite urban equivalent of putting you in stocks in the town square and pelting you with rotten fruit—so people know that our company is safe to use again.”

    Margot let loose a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She nodded. In some way, she’d been expecting this. She knew it would be rough for a while and she would have to put off some bullet points in her five-year plan, but she could handle this. She had contingency funds and a secret contact list of important people who owed her favors.

    Margot cleared her throat and tried to straighten her rumpled suit jacket. “And what, you’ll shuffle me out to one of the branch offices in the suburbs and I’ll organize bar mitzvahs until this all blows over?”

    Carrington frowned. “No, Margot. Fired. As in employment permanently terminated. The partners are willing to give you a three-week severance in recognition of the work you’ve done for us. And I’ll write you a positive recommendation letter. But that’s it.”

    “But I’ve worked here for almost ten years. I’ve put in eighty-hour weeks. Ninety during the holiday party season. I don’t have a social life because I’m always here. I haven’t been on a date in more than eight months.”

    “Yes, I know. That’s why you get the third week of severance pay. Really, Margot, I think we’re being more than generous here, considering the fallout from this fiasco.”

    As Margot walked out of Elite Elegance’s plush offices with a banker’s box full of her belongings and a severance check in hand, she told herself that it would be okay, that this was what backup plans were for, that this situation couldn’t possibly get worse.

    It got worse.

    Stage one of Margot’s plan had been to retreat to her apartment to regroup, polish up her résumé, and compose a list of companies she could apply to, but her unit’s new tenants kept stopping by to measure for new flooring and curtains. Just a week before the “Floral Fiasco,” she’d given up her lease in preparation to move to a newly purchased condo in Wicker Park. Between the down payment she’d saved and the raise she was supposed to get with her promotion, she would have been able to afford it. But the day after she was fired, she’d gotten a call from the mortgage officer handling her condo loan. Mrs. Meade had seen the news about the greenhouse incident and her firing, and informed Margot that without a job, the mortgage company could not guarantee her loan. The only good news was that the mortgage company was willing to return 70 percent of her down payment. So now, with her lease running out and her condo being sold to someone else, Margot was effectively homeless.

    And still, it got worse.

    Without a job, she couldn’t get an apartment in a decent building. And the buildings where she could get an apartment were not places where she wanted to live. And she could not find a job. Anywhere. Receptionists laughed and hung up when she called the best event-planning companies in Chicago. Receptionists from second- and third-tier event-planning companies in Chicago also laughed at her. She couldn’t get the companies in New York or Los Angeles to call back. Hell, she couldn’t get companies in St. Louis to return her calls. She still had her savings, but thanks to Mastercard and her monthly expenses, they were dwindling quickly.

    Her friends weren’t returning her calls or messages, either. And she couldn’t turn to her adoptive father for help. Gerald hadn’t spoken to her since her mother’s funeral three years before. And she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t take a dime after her parents made their last tuition payment. She still had the shreds of her pride.

    The shreds were costing her. She was three days away from living in the storage unit where she’d moved her stuff, sitting at her breakfast bar—because it was the only table space she had left—actually filling in a JobLink profile, when a Skype notification popped up on her laptop. The message said it was from “hotsy-totsy45.”

    Margot frowned. She used this account for after-hours and long-distance consultations with clients. She definitely would have remembered a client nicknamed hotsy-totsy45. Leaning back from the screen, she clicked decline.

    Blowing a long breath out through her nose, Margot continued to fill out the JobLink form. Another notification from hotsy-totsy popped up.

    “Still a ‘no,’ creep,” she muttered, clicking decline again.

    But hotsy-totsy would not be denied. And given the amount of chardonnay Margot had consumed just for the sake of not having to move it out of her apartment, it wasn’t surprising that her hand slipped a bit and she clicked accept.

    “Damn it!” she grunted, trying to close the chat window before it opened. She did not want to witness the latest in creative junk shots currently being embraced by the Internet’s weirdos. But instead of the expected random nudity, Margot’s screen was filled with the face of an adorable little granny lady with a cloud of snow-white hair and Dalmatian-print reading glasses balanced on the tip of her nose.

    “Hello?”

    A brilliant smile lit up the granny lady’s face, showing teeth too white and too even to be original parts. “Well, hello there! It took me a little while to track you down, but here you are!” the lady crowed in a Southern drawl so pronounced that Margot had trouble processing what she was saying at first. “You look just like I thought you would. A lot like your mama, mind, but you got a bit of your daddy in there, too. Of course, I thought you’d be a little more polished up, but I’m guessing you haven’t left your house in a while.”

    Margot caught sight of her appearance in the little preview window in the corner of the screen and winced. She looked like someone who was unemployed. She was wearing a grubby Northwestern sweatshirt. Her carefully highlighted blond hair was piled into a haphazard topknot. She was wearing her thick-rimmed black glasses, making her hazel eyes look owlish and too big for her face. She hadn’t worn makeup in days, so her skin had taken on a cheesy appearance in the blue light of the computer screen.

    “I’m sorry, do you know my parents?” she asked. As friendly as this lady might be, she didn’t exactly look to be Linda and Gerald’s speed. Linda McCready, a nobody from nowhere with traces of a Low Country accent and a toddler daughter in tow, had managed to snag Gerald Cary, MD, while she was working as the records clerk in the hospital where the handsome British expat practiced surgery. She had spent considerable time and energy clawing her way into the upper middle circles of Chicago society. Linda Cary would have gone blind before she wore Dalmatian reading glasses.

    “Well, your mama and I were never close, but your daddy is my nephew, so I guess you could say I know that sad-sack face of his pretty well,” the woman said with a chuckle.

    Margot’s jaw dropped. Her stepfather had adopted her when she was four years old. But considering that he was from just outside London, it was unlikely he had relatives in Georgia. “You know Gerald?”

    “No, honey, your daddy. What do you young people call it—your ‘biological father.’ Stan McCready. I’m your great-aunt Tootie.”

    “Beg pardon?” Even Margot couldn’t be sure which part she was questioning—the “biological” bit or the ridiculous nickname. Even in the South, people knew better than to name their children Tootie, right?

    “I’m Stanley McCready’s aunt, honey.”

    Stanley McCready. Margot slumped on her bar stool. She’d never met her father’s family. Linda had made no secret of her “unfortunate” first marriage to a man named McCready, but she’d referred to it as a youthful mistake she’d corrected when Margot was barely three years old. Stanley was a heavy drinker, Linda had insisted, a train wreck of a man who couldn’t provide for them. After Linda left, he’d almost immediately given up his rights to his daughter without so much as a court motion.

    Margot didn’t know where he lived. She couldn’t remember what he looked like. Her mother had never even shown her a picture, insisting that it would be disloyal to Gerald. Neither Mr. McCready nor his family tried to contact her in thirty years, which was fine with Margot. She didn’t have room in her life for an irresponsible drunk who couldn’t be bothered to send so much as a birthday card. And frankly, she resented the idea that her father’s family only reached out now, when she was at her lowest.

    And it wasn’t even her father, just some wacky great-aunt with a ridiculous name.

    “You know, I thought you’d have that nasal-sounding Chicago accent, but you sound like you should be having tea with the queen. So proper and prim. I suppose that’s your mama in ya. Did she make you take those diction lessons?”

    “No, I just like using all the letter sounds.”

    The woman snorted a bit and said, “My point is, honey, I’ve been looking for you for weeks now, after I saw the video of your party on YouTube. I spotted you and knew you had to be Linda’s daughter.”

    “YouTube?” Margot winced. “How many hits did it get?”

    “Hundreds of thousands! Honey, you’re your own meme!” Tootie exclaimed. Suddenly, a window popped up in the corner of Margot’s screen, showing one of the press photos of Margot herding the flamingos away from the shrimp tower with giant print reading NO CAN HAZ SHRIMP, FLAMINGOZ! NO CAN HAZ!

    Margot buried her face in her hands. She’d spent most of her twenties carefully policing her own social media posts so as not to damage her professional reputation. And now this. Also, her great-aunt seemed to be awfully tech savvy for a woman who looked to be in her eighties.

    “Well, thanks for contacting me and mocking me with age-appropriate Internet humor . . . and dredging up a bunch of unresolved emotional issues,” Margot muttered. “But I’m going to have to sign off now.”

    “Oh, sure, honey, I’m sure you’re busy with your job search. How’s that going?”

    “I’ve submitted quite a lot of résumés,” Margot said, trying to sound casual.

    “Any interviews yet?” Tootie pressed.

    Margot floundered a bit while searching for an answer. “It’s still early. You don’t want people to think you’re too eager.”

    “Not one callback, huh?”

    Margot pursed her lips. “Not one.”

    “Well, that’s just fine, because I have a proposition for you.”

    Margot’s instinct to say no right that second was quelled when the bank paperwork that showed her checking account balance caught her eye. “What sort of proposition?”

    “We need an event planner here at the family business. We’d be willing to provide room, board, and a generous salary.”

    “How generous?”

    “Well, now, you’ve got to remember that the cost of living is much lower here as opposed to the big city,” Tootie cautioned.

    “How generous?” Margot asked again, and Tootie’s blue eyes sparkled behind those reading glasses.

    “Here, I’ll send you the compensation package the family put together.”

    Another box popped up on Margot’s screen. She clicked on the file and grimaced at the salary, which was about one-quarter of what she’d made at Elite Elegance. “How much lower is the cost of living there? Also, where is ‘there’?”

    “Did you notice that the package includes health insurance?” Tootie asked. “When does your coverage run out?”

    “Soon,” Margot grumbled. “Also, I noticed you didn’t answer the question about location.”

    “And I’m guessin’ from the packing boxes in the background that your lease runs out pretty soon, too. So really, I could see why you would want to stay where you would be homeless and at risk of huge medical bills, in a city where you could be mugged or run down by a taxi or have a windowpane fall on you from twenty stories up. That’s far preferable to coming down to Georgia, to a town where the crime rate is next to zero.”

    Margot had never passed the Mason-Dixon Line, not even to Florida. Her mother had always insisted on family vacations to Lake Geneva, to New York, to France. Anyone could go to Disney World, she’d told Margot; Linda was trying to give Margot the world. Margot didn’t know how well she would function in a rural environment, much less a place where she would constantly hear the banjo music from Deliverance in the back of her head.

    “But my life is here. My friends are here. I need to stay where the jobs are. And right now, that’s in Chicago.”

    “So you lay low for a few months in God’s country, get to know your kinfolk, get that city air out of your lungs, and then relaunch yourself at people who will have forgotten your foul-up once someone else messes up worse. It will be good for you,” Tootie told her.

    Margot stared at the offer. Tootie had thought of everything: financial compensation, meals covered, a clothing allowance, and health insurance. She’d even attached a picture of a small cabin on the edge of a lake, labeled housing. And another photo of a huge family posed in front of a lakeside dock. Tootie stood with an older man, holding his hand. Two couples in their fifties stood behind them next to a man with deep frown furrows barely touched by his lopsided smirk. His arm was thrown around a twentyish girl with purple-streaked hair in pigtails wearing a black T-shirt with a pink radiation symbol on it. Another couple stood on the far left, a man in his thirties with curly reddish-blond hair hugging a laughing blonde. The sun was setting behind the family and they looked so happy together, so at ease with one another. And it felt like a punch to the chest. These people didn’t miss her at all. They didn’t feel a Margot-shaped hole in their family, they’d just moved on without her. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. She’d spent a lot of time on visualization exercises so it wouldn’t hurt. And yet . . .

    She cleared her throat. “The whole family put this together? Even my . . . even Stan?”

    “Everybody,” Tootie said emphatically.

    Margot skimmed the top of the document and caught sight of the letterhead, which read McCready Family Funeral Home and Bait Shop.

    “Funeral home? Wait, you run a funeral home? And a bait shop?”

    “Well, it’s more of a full-service marina, but yes! For four generations now! You’re part of a Lake Sackett institution, hon.”

    “Why would a funeral home–slash–bait shop need an event planner?”

    “Well, the baby boomer generation is dropping like flies around here, so we’ve got more business than we can handle. We’ve needed to add another planning consultant for a while now, and when I saw your video and looked up your background, I knew you’d be perfect.”

    “I’m an event planner. For major society parties, galas, charity balls, that sort of thing.”

    “Well, a funeral is a kind of event. And some of the considerations are the same—timing, speeches, music, food, and such.”

    “Oh, I just don’t think I could—”

    Suddenly, the lights flickered out and her refrigerator died with a whine. Because she’d shut off utilities in preparation for the move to the condo that was supposed to have taken place the week before. But she had nowhere to go. And no health insurance.

    She pursed her lips. “When can I start?”

    AUNT TOOTIE—MARGOT was still refusing to call her that out loud, on principle—had been very helpful in organizing her immediate move to Lake Sackett. Using her above-generational-average tech skills, Tootie arranged for a local company to ship the few belongings Margot was bringing to Georgia. Tootie booked a flight from Chicago to Atlanta and then assured her that she’d have a car pick her up at the airport and drive her the two and a half hours to the lake country.

    Tootie was just so efficient.

    Three days later, Margot’s flight was taxiing down the runway at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport and she was clutching her cell phone to her chest. Margot had no idea what she’d face when she deplaned. She’d intentionally avoided reading up on the funeral home or her new base of operations because she was afraid that additional information would convince her to cancel the whole agreement.

    Margot managed to find her bags without problems, but she couldn’t find the car service at the arrivals terminal. She scanned the little signs held by the handful of drivers near the exit. Not one of them said Cary. Maybe Tootie hadn’t sent anyone, she thought. Maybe she could take the airport transit system to the departures terminal and book a flight back to Chicago. She didn’t believe in signs, but maybe this was an omen. Maybe she wasn’t meant to meet her father’s family. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to live in Georgia. Maybe she should step back on the sidewalk before that enormous green truck barreling through the pickup area squashed her flat.

    The battered early-model truck skidded to a stop in front of her. The side door was marked MCCREADY FAMILY FUNERAL HOME AND BAIT SHOP—LAKE SACKETT, GA in bold gold print.

    Margot murmured, “Oh . . . no.”

    Tootie hadn’t arranged for a car service. She’d sent a family member to pick Margot up. A stranger in a pickup truck. Everything inside of Margot seemed to tense at once. She’d thought she’d have at least a few more hours to pep-talk herself into the right frame of mind to meet any of her extended family—not to mention the little bottle of vodka she’d purchased on the plane to help prepare her to meet her father. But here it was, spewing exhaust at her, while the driver’s-side door opened. The windows were tinted too darkly to allow her to see the driver. Would it be Stan McCready? Was she ready for that? Was it too late to run back into the airport and hide behind the baggage carousel?

    A man in his thirties—the man with curly reddish-blond hair from the family photo she’d studied relentlessly for the last three days—popped his head over the truck frame and grinned at her. His eyes, the same ocean blue as Tootie’s, glowed with amusement as he held up a poster-board sign that read WELCOME HOME, COUSIN MARGOT! in bright red glitter letters. The sign had been decorated with balloons and glittery star stickers. He waved it madly and yelled, “Hey!”

    Definitely not her father, then. Margot stepped back, eyes wide, and in a move natural to someone who spent most of her life in a major city, pulled her purse closer to her body.

    The bearded man scampered around the front of the truck and threw his arms around her. “Hey, cuz!”

    “Who . . . are you?” Margot whispered as he squeezed her tight. His T-shirt smelled of citronella and sunscreen, a pleasant combination, but she generally liked her personal space bubble to be a little more . . . bubbly.

    “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m Duffy McCready, your cousin. Well, my grandpa is your grandpa’s cousin, which always muddies the waters with third cousin and once-removed and all that. So we’ll just keep it simple and say ‘cousin.’?”

    “And Tootie McCready sent you?” she asked, just in case there was some other half-wild McCready picking up his long-lost cousin at the domestic arrivals terminal.

    “We’re so excited that you’re here,” he drawled in his heavy Georgian accent. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had this nightmare customer, refused to give up the search for Billy the Mythic Largemouth Bass. And then Atlanta traffic is always awful.”

    “You’re still hugging me,” she noted.

    “Sorry,” he said, detaching himself from her. He was a pleasant-enough-looking guy, thin but nicely muscled, with a cheerful face. He was dressed in well-worn jeans, work boots, and a plaid shirt over a forest-green T-shirt that read MCCREADY FAMILY FUNERAL HOME AND BAIT SHOP.

    He attempted to take her Vuitton suitcase from her and she held firm to the handle, shaking her head. “I’ve got it.”

    After he realized that she was not, in fact, going to let go of her luggage, he raised his hands in surrender. “Suit yourself. I just can’t believe I’m finally getting to meet you,” Duffy said, opening the passenger door for her. “Everybody’s excited that you’re comin’ back home.”

    “Everybody?” Margot whimpered.

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    Sweet Tea and Sympathy 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 13 reviews.
    Anonymous More than 1 year ago
    Great story, characters that leap off the page, and a mature, but still modern and fun romance. Really loved it.
    gaele More than 1 year ago
    If I had to describe this story (and the fun) for fans of Molly Harper – it would be exactly the story you’d expect Jane Jameson to tell (with some input from Andrea on the wardrobe advisory end). Those who don’t know Jane and Andrea – bear with me – if you like ‘fish out of water’ stories set in a small southern town full of characters, drama manufactured and not and a touch of romantic spark – this may be just what you want. Focusing on Margot – a high end event planner in Chicago, until an event went pear shaped when flamingoes provided for ‘color and atmosphere’ went rogue all over a shrimp tower that was not on the brief. Now jobless, near homeless and embarrassed, Margot has to find a way to survive the professional humiliation until she can find another event planning company willing to take her on. Hoping against hope that her last big event wouldn’t be her last splashy event in a big city, hopes are soon dashed when social media turns her moment into a meme. At the point of no return, she is contacted by Tootie, a woman claiming to be an aunt, offering her a job, housing and the chance to get to know her family – family she didn’t remember as her mother spirited her from the small Georgia town when she was little. With no options and the attitude that a temporary job will be better than nothing as she waits for the fallout from her last event to die down, she flies to Lake Sackett Georgia, ready to take her place at the family business: the McCready Family Funeral Home and Bait Shop. Margot’s arrival in Georgia can be expressed in 3 words: overwhelming culture shock. From the remote location to the masses of heretofore unknown relations, the noise, humidity and EVERYONE referring to her as “Stan’s Girl”, she’s uncertain and unsure – far from her competent and in charge persona in her professional capacity. Then, she finds herself inundated with Aunt Tootie’s dogs, cousins, everything fried, coffee that would remove paint and a closetful of inappropriate shoes (heels) and designer suits. Completely out of her element, she’s determined to bide her time and send out resumes, hoping to find another event planning position in an area with more than one grocery store, a mall and the relative anonymity she’s used to. With plenty of new experiences and stories that often contradict her mother’s version of her father, his family and her future had they stayed in Georgia, Margot is continually fighting what she thinks she knows with what she sees. When her cousin pushes her to step in and take charge of the annual Founder’s Day festival – the town’s one chance to shore up the flagging economy and bring more tourists back to town – Margot starts to feel a bit more comfortable, until Stella. Those familiar with Harper’s Half Moon Hollow series will know Ophelia – Stella is Ophelia without the fangs, or the abject knee-shaking allegiances. Stella is a home town girl – staged a coup to take over the PTA, and is “in charge” of the planning committee - and is instantly suspicious and hostile to Margot. And then we have Kyle – principal of the elementary school, widower with two young children and the man that Margot “met” on her first night in town after a moonshine moment. Kyle’s got his own set of issues with Stella and her dominating ways, the former principal undermining (in that passive aggressive, if not outright aggressive) his decisions and changes, and his own grief about the loss of his wife and struggles with being
    Anonymous More than 1 year ago
    I'll keep this short and sweet. Warm, funny, sassy at times, well developed characters and plot. Doesn't get much better than Molly Harper. Read and enjoy!
    Crazybooknerd More than 1 year ago
    Sweet Tea and Sympathy by Molly Harper (Audiobook) Narrated by: Amanda Ronconi Series: Southern Eclectic #1 3.5 Stars - This book is light and fun. I wish there was a bit more romance in it, but as I have never read Ms. Harper before, perhaps this is just what she writes. I laughed more than a few times, the family dynamics were interesting, the small town feel worked and I loved the quirky characters. I look forward to the other books in the series. Amanda Ronconi did a good job narrating, Her southern accents I thought were fun to listen too and well done, however I am not from Georgia, so I have really no comparison. The sound quality for me was a bit “tin can" like. It’s not something that would make or break listening to the book for me, as I did get used to it, but when you first start listening it kinda stands out. ~Paragraphs and Petticoats~
    beckymmoe More than 1 year ago
    You can't go wrong with a new Molly Harper book and series--Sweet Tea and Sympathy was a fun read. I liked Margot and Kyle, and loved Kyle's girls (and Margot's rescue dog Arlo-- those three are real scene stealers). Watching Margot go from fairly frosty northern girl to don't-mess-with-my-people reclaimed southern girl was a riot--the big showdown before the Founder's Day celebration was classic Molly Harper smart-girl-kicks-butt-and-takes-names fun. I can't wait to revisit the whole gang in future series books! The audio is wonderfully read by Ms. Ronconi, as always! Rating: 4 stars / A-
    caroldh4 More than 1 year ago
    Sweet Tea and Sympathy is book one in the Southern Eclectic series by Molly Harper. I love the cover of this book and was so excited to win it in a Goodreads Give-a-way. Margot Cary was raised by her mother and step-father in a very un-emotional way in Chicago, Illinois. After her mother passed away and her step-father moved away, Margot remained in Chicago and became an event planner for a prestigious company. It’s one of Margot’s biggest parties and if she can pull this one off, she is sure to get the partnership she has been hoping for. Things were all going so perfectly, until the chef brought out those shrimp. Who knew flamingos loved shrimp that much. The whole thing went down in history as the flamingo debacle. And just like that, her career in Chicago was over. No one could come anywhere near her. Out of the blue, a woman popped up claiming to be her Aunt Tootie. Margot discovers she has a whole town full of relatives from her biological father she knew nothing about. And they want to hire her. She’s about to be homeless, can’t find a job anywhere, so she takes the offer. It will just be temporary, only until she can find something better. Should she remember Lake Sackett, Georgia? She was so little when her mother took her away from here for a life in the big city. Her family owns the McCready Family Funeral Home and Bait Shop. They are offering her a job, a place to live. But more than that, they are offering her the opportunity to get acquainted with a family she never knew. Getting to know a father she never knew. At the same time, maybe this time away will help to build her confidence back up. But as soon as one of the resumes she has sent out comes through with a job, she’s outta here! Kyle Archer is a widower with two little girls. The first time Margot saw him, she saw such sadness in his eyes. She can’t seem to look away from him, wondering what he’s so sad about. When she realizes what he does for a living, though, and that he’s a daddy, it makes her worry. She does not do kids. She has no experience with kids. And she’s only in Lake Sackett temporarily, until she can find a job in a bigger city. This book was such a fun ride. This is a quirky town and the residents are equally quirky. The longer she is there, though, the more she calms down. The more she connects with her cousins. She never really had friends before so this feels so wonderful. And then there is Kyle and his daughters. She can’t seem to keep her distance from Kyle. Her head says keep the walls up but her heart says something else. The whole experience in Lake Sackett turns out to be a bit of a journey of self discovery for Margot. Actually a bit of one for Kyle as well as he sorts out his feelings. His daughters were adorable as well. I really enjoyed this book. I loved the sarcastic banter and I loved the McCready’s. Book #1.5 in this series is Peachy Flippin Keen and book #2 is Ain’t She A Peach. I look forward to reading both of these soon.
    Anonymous More than 1 year ago
    Fun, sweet story that I didn't want to end.
    Deb-Krenzer More than 1 year ago
    I really enjoyed reading this book. It was a very nice change of pace for me. I read so many mystery & suspense stories that I feel I need to read some women's fiction just to keep me human. This one certainly fit the bill. There was some humor regarding a huge shrimp tower and flamingoes or peacocks. (I read this two weeks ago! Ha!!) There were also several other moments I found humorous. The idea of a funeral home and a bait shop put together made for even more humorous moments. If your into light romance, no sex scenes and a really cute (not in a bad way) read. My first book by this author and not my last. Thanks to Gallery, Threshold, Pocket Books for providing me with a free e-galley in exchange for an honest, unbiased review.
    BooksnKisses More than 1 year ago
    REVIEW PROVIDED BY: Kelly NUMBER OF HEARTS: 5 Sweet Tea & Sympathy is the first book in Molly Harper’s new Southern Eclectic series (check out Save a Truck, Ride a Redneck prequel novella). In Sweet Tea & Sympathy we get to meet the long lost McCready family member after an unfortunate event involving some flamingos, shrimps and they death of Margot’s career. Just when Margot thinks she is at her lowest point Aunt Tootie finds her and convinces her to move to Lake Sackett and work for the family. Another wonderful story from Molly Harper. The amazing Amanda Ronconi lent her talent and voice to another of Mrs. Harper’s novels. Amanda does a great job of bringing the McCready family alive. I always love having Amanda read me one of Molly’s stories! I am already looking forward to the next installment in this series. Disclaimer: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Netgalley & Gallery, Threshold, Pocket Books in exchange for an honest review. This review is my own opinion and not a paid review.
    KrisAnderson_TAR More than 1 year ago
    Sweet Tea and Sympathy by Molly Harper is the first book in Southern Eclectic series. Margot Cary is an event planner with Elite Elegance in Chicago until her latest soiree is sabotaged by the chef (he put out a shrimp tower). Margot loses her job and is unable to find another one after the party fiasco is posted on You-tube. She is shocked when she receives a call from Tootie, her great aunt, in Lake Sackett, Georgia. Tootie is offering Margot a job at the McCready Family Funeral Home and Bait Shop (you can bury your loved one and then pick up bait for fishing). Margot accepts the position, but she insists it is just temporary. Margot soon discovers that life in Lake Sackett is very different from Chicago. Everyone knows your name, your family and your personal business. Margot delves into her new position and finds romance with elementary school principal, Kyle Archer. But what happens when Margot gets offered a position out-of-state? Sweet Tea and Sympathy is a quirky, zany over-the-top story. The author shoved too many characters into the story. There are numerous relatives and townspeople. I found it impossible to keep them all straight (I gave up after a while). The pace of the novel is slower than it needs to be (thanks to the numerous characters). It needed a snappier pace. I was not a fan of the humor. Instead of being funny, I just found it unbelievable (lots of eye rolling). The petty squabbling and backbiting got on my nerves. I did not like the main character. She thought she was better than her relatives (I found her annoying) and had the maturity level of a teenager (most of the time). Margot’s constant complaints about the town’s coffee got on my nerves (and wondering why she did go out and buy a coffee maker). Frankie, the mortician, was my favorite character. She is unique and embraces it (she also loves her job). The ending is expected and quickly wrapped up (with a nice big bow). It seemed like the author took every Southern stereotype and shoved them into this story. Moonshine, thick Southern accents, deep fried everything, and so on. I did not laugh once while reading the book (my mother thought it was hilarious and claims I have no sense of humor). Sweet Tea and Sympathy is a predictable Southern romance novel with the wacky factor ramped up. I will stick with Molly Harper’s vampire novels which I just love.
    RomanticReadsandSuch More than 1 year ago
    This is one of those books that is more women’s fiction than romance. While Margot does end up with a HEA moment, a good portion of it is as much about finding a place to call home as it is a guy to share it with. I love the fish out of water moments as Margot transitions from her life in upscale Chicago to small town living down South. It’s definitely a different way of living but if she gives it a chance she might find her happy again. With grit and spunk she shows those who don’t want to accept her that she might have tripped but she’s not going to go down without a fight. It’s fun and entertaining and touching and did I say fun! How can it not be with a combination bait shop and funeral home for the family business? *** I voluntarily read a Review Copy of this book. All opinions stated are solely my own and no one else’s. ***
    In_My_Humble_OpinionDA More than 1 year ago
    Sweet Tea and Sympathy is Molly Harper’s new laugh out loud sweet southern romance. Take a big city girl and place her in her estranged families compound in Lake Sackett Georgia, introduce her to family and the locals including the elementary school principal and it is like watching an alien come to earth. There is culture shock but there is also love and fraternity. Margot is finding out what is important to her and is discovering that small town life has its perks even if they don’t have Starbucks. As a big city girl who now lives in Georgia I could so relate to this story. I laughed so hard I interrupted the guys watching the game. I look forward to future visits to the McCready Family Funeral Home and Bait Shop.
    bookfanatic220 More than 1 year ago
    Molly Harper did it again! As someone who has read almost all of her books, I really enjoyed Sweet Tea and Sympathy. To those who have never read any of her titles - this is a great starting point!!!