Once Upon A Half-Time: A Secret Baby Romance (49 page)

A
ndrew Maddox is
the reason the small community of Saint Christie locks their doors at night. The tattooed bad boy lives on the wrong side of the tracks…when he isn’t behind bars.

I
t was
easy to fall for the sexy trouble-maker, and we once planned to start a new life and family together. But when a fire destroyed my family's candy shop, Maddox saved my life…only to be convicted for the arson.

H
e spent a year in prison
, and now he's out. Maddox wants me, and he's determined to make the baby I promised him.

B
ut the real
arsonist still threatens us. The only way we’ll survive is if I can prove Maddox’s innocence and bring the criminal to justice.

B
efore the man
I love loses his life to revenge.

M
aybe I was crazy
, but the vacant property still smelled an awful lot like burnt sugar.

I never liked the smell, especially since it was a sign something went super wrong in the kitchen. Those were the days I’d stay late, break out the chisels, and chip away chunks of blackened sugar. Life in a candy shop and bakery created one sticky disaster after another, but I had loved it, even when the chocolates seized or the soufflés deflated.

The fire didn’t leave me many candy-making opportunities. Those cookies crumbled a year ago, and I was still sweeping up the mess.

But I swore a smoky scent remained. It wasn’t caramel sweetness or the accidental drip of cake batter in the oven. This was acrid, tacky, and charred. It must have been in my head. Nothing remained of the ashes, fire, or ungodly amounts of sugar the flames consumed.

We had cleared the rubble a year ago, once the state fire marshal completed his report. Sweet Nibbles, my family’s historical bakery and candy shop, was gone. Completely. We had only memories now, though the night of the fire was still a hazy nightmare that trapped my thoughts in the smoke.

A weed poked through the hard-cracked dirt, right where my walk-in refrigerator used to sit. I plucked it, scaring the whiskers off a little mouse surveying my property too. At least he stayed outside permanently now—I lost enough bags of sugar to the greedy little furballs. I never had the heart to kill them, effectively enabling the first generation of diabetic mice in the small town of Saint Christie.

A discarded coffee cup from Anne’s Beans rolled over the grass, and I grabbed it before the mouse dove inside to get his fix. If the property was all I had anymore, I couldn’t let it look unsightly. My family was too proud for that.

At least…we were before.

“Heya, Josie!” Benjamin Ducacas’s voice bellowed over the street. “Good to see you in your old stomping grounds!”

I waved at Benjamin and subtly checked my phone. After five already? That meant Benjamin closed his hardware shop to become the unofficial town-crier. Soon enough, everyone within earshot would know I visited my property.

Benjamin shuffled closer to the lot as he walked—
showcased
—his prized standard poodle for the town to admire. Or avoid. Probably avoid. The puffed up prize-winner had a bite worse than his owner.

Benjamin was a bit too curious for his own good. “Breaking ground yet?”

I rattled the empty coffee cup. “Got some grounds at least.”

He wagged a finger at me, but I was lucky. He couldn’t delay his nightly walk with
Jean-Baptise
. Benjamin insisted on a brisk, full-hour of exercise to benefit the poodle’s waistline. The training regimen was strict to qualify the dog for the state championship show…though Jean-Baptise’s preferred path always seemed to lead Benjamin right to Tyler’s burger stand.

“You’ll be re-building again soon enough,” Benjamin said. “Mark my words, little lady. We won’t go another Christmas without your peppermint bark, will we
Jean
?”

The poodle, as always, feigned indifference to my peppermint bark…but maybe a peppermint howl would earn me a tail wag. I politely smiled. Once a week someone asked about my grand re-opening, but I had no real answer, nothing the townsfolk didn’t already know. We needed money to rebuild, and those were the sorts of secrets everyone had been gossiping for months.

Still, Saint Christie’s main street wasn’t the same without the shop—the quaint historical town grinned like a child missing a tooth. I wasn’t the same either. I missed the shop. I missed baking.

I missed
him
.

No stoves. No counters. No little ice cream corner with the paisley-striped wallpaper and red, old-fashioned booths. Nothing survived the fire.
We
had been lucky to make it out. Molten sugar was dangerous enough making homemade candies. I never wanted to be surrounded by it again. Or burning walls. Crushed glass. Collapsing stairs.

Odd how only one year had passed since my little slice of gum-drop heaven got flambéed. Felt longer. Lonelier.

Safer.

“Josie Davis!” A voice shouted over the lot. “You’re on my property!”

Bob Ragen screamed loud enough for Benjamin to hear at the corner of the block—that meant the
entire
town would hear every word that was exchanged.

I retreated three feet even though it was all my property according to the survey. It appeased the heavy-set grump locking up his sporting goods store.

“And
keep out
!” Bob pointed a fat finger at me. It wavered in the air. Must have been five o’clock somewhere long ago. “If I told you once, I told you a million times, check the goddamned survey—”

His words slurred, but the malice behind them came through perfectly clear.

“No problem, Bob. I’m leaving now.”

“Good. Stay out.” He grumbled under his breath, shoving his keys in his pocket. “Your family’s driving down the property values—you hear?”

I crossed my arms, my cinnamon fingers twisting in the sleeve of my shirt. “Property values are only low because the store burned down, right Bob?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

He sneered at me, staring only at the bobbing, ebony spiral curls cascading over my shoulders. The headband kept them at bay—for now.

Bob shuffled off the curb, tripping over what remained of his sobriety. “This town was better off fifty years ago…maybe you ought to remember that.”

I preferred to think fifty years ago my grandparents opened their very own business in the town—an instant success thanks in part to Nana’s secret fudge recipe.

She used maple-glazed walnuts.

Made
all
the difference.

My phone buzzed. The screen read Rayna Insurance, but I doubted the caller was giving me good news. One perk of having my best friend working in at the town’s insurance company—at least Delta could answer questions about settlements and police reports in a timelier manner than her boss.

“
Josie-Posie
!” Delta achieved a level of hyper I couldn’t fathom without coffee. I figured she was born without wings. Most of the town considered her a manic little pixy; the rest of us knew when to swat her away. “
How’s life in the newspaper business
?”

It wasn’t so great actually. I treaded a thin line between honesty and hedging, but after today, I fell headfirst into the thorny bushes.

“It’s…” I shrugged. “I don’t think Sean expected me to work there for a whole year—even part-time. He’s a saint for giving me the job, but…it doesn’t feel temporary anymore.”

Delta’s sunshine faded. “
Need some wine
?”

“I’d rather make some chocolate.” I kicked the patch of grass that was once my stainless steel counters. “Or one of my giant cinnamon rolls. Or…or that vanilla bean ice cream with the butter-rum topping…”

“
You’re giving me cavities over here
.”

“Dentists loved me.”

“
Believe me, no one is more upset about losing your candy store than Dr. Thomas
.”

Except me. Except Granddad. Except the rest of the town who ran out of charity only a week after the fire—once the borough peeked in the sewer and saw all re-hardened chocolate clogging the sanitary system. Then the only solace the town received was that justice had been served.

The fire was no accident, but the man they jailed for arson was completely and totally innocent.

A year had passed, and I was no closer to finding the truth. Unfortunately, the legal system didn’t overturn sentences on a
hunch
, even in Saint Christie. It wouldn’t be safe for any of us until the real criminal was behind bars.

Delta sighed. “
Twenty minutes before I can head out. Want to meet me for a drink
?”

“Not tonight.”

“
Got a hot date
?”

Hell no. My last flame was hot enough, and I still burned myself on the embers that remained.

“Not exactly. I have…I have a job. Kinda.”

“
Oh! Someone order a cake
?”

“Cookies.”

“
Yum. What’s the event
?”

I wasn’t proud of it, but money was money…even if it came from
him
.

“Nolan Rhys hired me to bake cookies for his campaign fundraiser.”

The connection crackled, and Delta must have slapped her hand against the console to take me off speakerphone. I held the phone away from my ear, anticipating her screech.

“
You’re
baking
for him
?”

“I refused him. Twice. But…then he offered double what the job was worth.”

“
Why would you
ever
work for him? Tell that asshole to send one of his assistants or trained monkeys to the store for some Oreos
.”

If only. I had almost been one of his assistants. It would have paid more than my part-time job piecing together ads and answering calls for the Saint Christie Reporter, but I swore a year ago I’d never entertain any offer from Nolan Rhys again.

But…that was before the insurance money dried up. Before Granddad got sick.

Beggars could be choosers only until they were responsible for someone else who required more help. A year ago, I would’ve baked ten dozen cookies into ash and delivered a sack of cinders just to spite Nolan. Unfortunately, a thousand bucks sounded good. We needed everything we could get, especially since Granddad wasn’t getting better, and the nurses at the assisted care facility warned he might never come off the oxygen.

“It’s a paycheck,” I said. “Besides, it’s still good publicity. Everybody will be at his damn rally, and they’ll all be hungry. It’s like…an advertisement for the graduation parties coming this spring. I can remind people that I freelance.”

“
Freelance bake
?”

“Sounds better than
I’m desperate and come with my own sprinkles.
”

“
But Nolan
?” Delta’s tone shifted to that motherly warning she gave me when she thought I was being naïve. “
He’s still trying to get in your pants
.”

Gross. “He won’t.”

“
He’s not bad looking
.”

“He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Delta snorted. “
Clothing he wants to strip
.”

“I won’t trust him, but I’ll take his money. Lord knows he has more where that came from.”

“
And then what
?”

Easy. “And then we hope the check clears before I prove he burned down my candy shop.”

She sighed, but she pulled the phone away like I wouldn’t hear it. Her voice softened.

“
Josie, Nolan didn’t set the fire. The police proved it, the fire marshal proved it—
”

“He didn’t do it
himself
.” I wasn’t a fool. “He has the money and the connections to hire someone to do it for him. Hell, you know who his family is, where they get their money—”

“
That was a long time ago. Times have changed. Nolan’s an egotistical asshole, but he’s running for state representative. His family bought the town fifty years ago, but they’re…legit now. Why would he risk his political career to destroy your store
?”

Delta had been my best friend since kindergarten, but some things I couldn’t share with her. “He punished me because I refused his offer last year. He wanted more than the property; he got off on the thought of a little
ebony
princess hanging on his arm.”

“…
He didn’t actually say that
.”

“During his
proposal
. He happens to like that I’m the most…unique woman in town.”

“You mean the darkest.”

“Yep.”

Delta grumbled a profanity. “Well…even if he’s a creeper, he didn’t burn down your store.”

“I know it was him,” I said.

“Josie—”

“I’ve got almost all the proof I need to come forward—”

“This isn’t about Nolan.” Delta interrupted me. “You have to get over Maddox.”

And it circled back. Like it always did.

The shop was only one part of my frustration. I missed the candy and the cookies, the dozens of shiny baking sheets, and the framed picture over the register—me as kid with Granddad, Nana, and an ice cream cone four scoops too big.

My throat tightened. I pretended it didn’t. I wasn’t talking about Maddox in the middle of the ruined lot, surrounded by the entire town of Saint Christie as they walked their dogs and greeted neighbors and spread rumors after a long day of gossiping at work.

According to the town, Maddox was a criminal—a walking, talking, tattooed curse. When he visited, all of Saint Christie locked their doors at night. Single women crossed to the other side of the street, and the police—as well as every old lady peeping through her blinds—kept a close eye on him.

To them, he was the reason my shop was gone.

To me, he was the only man I ever loved.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “I’m gonna get started on the cookies. Nolan wants them hand-delivered the day after tomorrow.”

“
You’re not going to his house
?”

I knew better than that. “He agreed to meet me for coffee.”

“
Do you need any help
?”

The last time Delta entered my kitchen she accidentally baked a knife into an apple pie, broke the handle of my best copper-bottomed pan, and melted the groom topper on the Miller’s wedding cake with a Crème brûlée torch I specifically hid from her. Delta swiped a Lego man from her kid brother to replace the plastic figure, but it just wasn’t as elegant.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I like baking on the weekends. I like baking any time.”

“
Freak
.”

“Party-Animal.”

Delta howled, which I’m sure her office loved, but it was a Friday and they were probably relieved she wasn’t pole dancing next to the Xerox machine. I promised to call her on Saturday and headed home.

Or…I went to my apartment.

I lost my home in the fire—the cute little rooms over the shop. But my new apartment was comfortable, if only because I packed every available space with fifty-pound bags of flour, tubs of sugar, a variety of nuts, cocoa powders, chips, and baking spices. Even my linen closet was filled with brown sugar and corn syrup and cookie sheets.