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The Magnolia Murders by Aimee Nicole Walker

Sawyer and Royce: Matrimony and Mayhem, Book 1

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“Oh my goodness,” Evangeline said when she stepped into Sawyer’s office a few hours later. “You both look awful.”

 

His mother looked like a million dollars in her dark-wash skinny jeans, a camel-colored sweater that matched her ankle boots, and a plum cashmere coat.

 

Sawyer kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.” He felt like someone had dragged him over a cheese grater, especially after the hostile press conference. Mendoza might’ve done all the talking, but Sawyer and Royce had become everyone’s favorite targets. The public was scared, the press was suspicious, and he couldn’t blame them.

 

“Death warmed over?” Royce asked her.

 

“Worse.” Evangeline hoisted an oversized picnic basket onto the desk with a thud. “But I can make it better.” She lifted the lid, and the aroma wafting out of the basket made Sawyer’s stomach rumble like thunder.

 

Royce tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. “Is that your famous fried chicken?”

 

“The very same,” she said proudly. “Extra crispy for my special boys.”

 

“What’s the secret?” Royce asked. “I can make decent fried chicken, but this is better than anything I’ve ever eaten.”

 

“A lady never tells,” Evangeline said coquettishly.

 

“She uses a double dredge system,” Sawyer said. “A light dusting of flour, egg wash, and buttermilk with a little hot sauce mixed in and a final dredge through seasoned flour. Each layer adds a new herb or spice to enhance the flavor.”

 

“Hush, Sawyer,” his mother said, swiping at him. He danced out of the way and circled his desk to peer inside the basket. She’d included containers of potato salad and baked beans and packed plates, napkins, and cutlery. “Have you boys been sleeping?” she asked.

 

“A little,” Royce lied, “but don’t try to distract me from my interrogation.”

 

Evangeline chuckled, threw her hands up, and walked over to Sawyer’s bookshelf to study the family photos he’d placed there.

 

Royce narrowed his eyes. “You know how to make this chicken but don’t?”

 

Sawyer shrugged. “I can’t show up my mother.”

 

Evangeline snorted. “As if.”

 

Royce heaved an exaggerated sigh. “This changes things between us.”

 

Seeing the spark of playfulness in Royce’s eyes for the first time in days made Sawyer forget they weren’t alone. He reached into the basket, picked up a drumstick, and bit into it, savoring the combination of flavors and textures. “So you no longer want me to love you for the rest of my life?” he asked after swallowing the bite.

 

Royce had just reached into the basket to pull out a piece of chicken but froze and looked up. “Don’t be ridiculous. But I’d like to insist on a new promise.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“You’re going to love me and make this chicken for the rest of your life,” Royce said.

 

“Yeah, okay. But I’m only making the chicken for special occasions.”

 

Royce smiled seductively as he snagged a thigh out of the basket. “Define special.”

 

Sawyer reached out, hooked his finger in Royce’s belt loop, and tugged him closer. He knew exactly what he wanted to feast on.

 

“Such as when I’m not here,” Evangeline suggested.

 

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