Sugar Rush (2 page)

They’d already used all of her mom’s best recipes in competitions past, so there wasn’t any point in entering anymore.

She tossed the invitation to the far side of the desk.

…

Nick rolled out of his king-size bed, remembering the days when he didn’t have trouble getting up. Of course, that was back before his father sent him to college, when the store was actually a fun place to be.

As a kid, he used to relish going in, tasting new flavors. But ever since his father had automated every process possible, providing gourmet treats at a fraction of the cost, it wasn’t the same.

The whole thing had sort of snuck up on Nick. Sure, he’d known things had begun to automate before he left for school—no way would his father have afforded Harvard if they hadn’t—but as a teen, Nick hadn’t paid much attention to the store. Everything else seemed so much more important: girls, sports, his band.

Staying away from anything that reminded him of his mom.

When he had gotten back, it had been a bit of a culture shock. He’d come home to visit his father now and then, sure, but never really thought to go check out the store. After so many years, he wasn’t sure why he’d thought it would still be the same old place—especially once his father told him how things were going so well because of the new automation and everything—but nothing could have prepared him for walking into How Sweet It Is that first day back.

What used to be a small, quaint storefront was now a gleaming metal and glass extravaganza of shelves lining every wall right up to the ceiling. And the candy…he couldn’t believe it. They used to put out a dozen or so of each product, lovingly wrapped in plastic and hand-tied with a bow, but now the candy was stacked by the hundreds, wrapped in plastics and foils meant more for longer storage than treats that would be enjoyed the same day.

But even that had not prepared Nick for what awaited him at the back of the building, which used to house several businesses run by other people. Each had apparently been bought out by his father to create a monumental food warehouse. Machines and conveyors and mechanical noises sat in place of the small kitchen his mother used to run, the cooks always happy and joking. There were still people here, but Nick had never seen such solemn faces. He supposed that was the difference between creating candy and simply ushering product from one machine to the next.

The only thing familiar about the whole operation was the way it smelled. If he ignored the noises and just concentrated on the chocolately vanilla sweetness of it all, it almost felt like the old days.

The changes certainly weren’t
all
bad, he thought, shaking off the memories as he strolled through his apartment with its gorgeous views of the entire town. And it wasn’t just any town. Upper-class tourists flocked to Port Leyton from all the major cities on the East Coast to spend their summers and holidays there, enjoying the more relaxed atmosphere of part-time life in such a serene setting.

Nick inserted a pod into his eight-hundred-dollar coffee machine and waited the thirty seconds for it to brew. As he took a long sip, he wondered how on earth people ever survived without automated coffee at their fingertips.

Maybe his father was on to something after all.

The coffee jolted his memory awake. The envelope he’d found yesterday. Finally, one thing Nick was looking forward to since he started work at his father’s store—one thing that could let out his creative side for once.

He rushed to get ready and was in the shop twenty minutes later, the whir of machines droning in the background.

The envelope still sat on his desk. The Assembly of Chocolatiers competition. His father had lost interest in it, but when Nick saw the invitation, it was the first time he felt excited in a long time.

He headed to his dad’s office.

“Hey,” Nick said, knocking on the door frame. His dad looked extra short behind the enormous desk and Nick couldn’t help but wonder if it was some sort of compensation. His moustache, too, for that matter, which was more than large enough to make up for the amount of hair he lacked on his head.

It amazed him that his father could leave the door open with so much noise all the time.

“I wanted to talk to you about this,” Nick said, waving the invitation.

His father squinted. “Oh, the Chocolatiers thing?” He waved his hand dismissively. “I was thinking we wouldn’t enter this year. It’s a lot of work.”

“I’d like to try.”

His father looked up from his desk. “Why?”

Nick thought about explaining how he needed a creative outlet; if there was one thing his mother had taught him, it was that creating was fuel for the soul. But his dad would never understand that. Nick also couldn’t just blurt out that he was terrified his father would hand over the reins of How Sweet It Is to Jack Miller, the guy who’d been his right-hand man for over ten years. Nick’s father was getting ready to retire soon and needed someone to take over—it was what Harvard had been all about, but his father had also made it known that Nick wouldn’t just be handed the position if he didn’t impress. And he had to impress. Taking over How Sweet It Is had been his primary goal for years, was the only thing he’d ever cared about working toward. It was a family business—
his
family’s business—he couldn’t just let it get handed over to some…outsider.

And Nick certainly had no interest in starting all over again on the bottom rung of someone else’s corporate ladder—or the much lower salary that would provide—and he knew this could be his only chance at a grand gesture to prove he was up to the task. He had to show some initiative, make his father believe he was the guy to move the company forward.

“It could be good exposure,” he said. “A new flavor could boost sales, get people interested again.”

His father made a face. “Have you seen the customers out there? I’d say there’s plenty of interest.”

“Sure, but we could always use more, right? A little boost to the bottom line?” Nick raised his eyebrows.

His father thought for a moment. Nick passed the invitation from hand to hand.

“I suppose it would give you something to do,” his father said.

Oh, sure, never mind that I’ve taken on most of the administrative work around here
, Nick thought, but he didn’t say anything.

“You’d better come up with something damned good,” his father said. “Food critics love to make a huge deal out of new flavors. I’m putting a lot of faith in you here. A couple years back, that awful store across town had a hell of an entry. Some dark chocolate covered watermelon jelly thing.” He laughed hard for a moment, breaking off into a cough. “It was the same year we won with the Raspberry Truffle, I think. Man, sales soared afterward, but I’m pretty sure the food people had a heyday with that watermelon disaster. Actually, I think the tourist association lowered their star rating due to the poor showing.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Whatever you do, just don’t embarrass me like that.”

“Of course,” Nick said, allowing himself to be excited only on the inside. “You won’t be sorry.”

His father sort of grunted, which Nick took as his cue to escape back to his office.

Chapter Two

“What’s this?” Lila asked the next afternoon, following Dulcie to the back office and picking up the stupid invitation.

Lila came to the store to see her on Saturdays, since Dulcie always worked weekends, but Lila never complained…she was already working on her fifth Cherry Cordial.

Dulcie sighed, wishing she’d tossed the damned thing. “It’s just this…contest.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Contest? I like contests.”

“It’s that candy one.”

“Well, if anyone knows candy, it’s you.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your everyday candy-making thing. It’s like…coming up with the next big flavor. The Chocolatier’s Taste of the Year competition.”

“Oh yeah, I remember when you guys used to do those. I used to get so jealous when you got to go in for those weekend trips to Boston. What I wouldn’t give to be a judge.”

Dulcie rolled her eyes. Good thing Lila was her best friend, because she would do anything for sugar. “Yeah, but…”

“But what?” Lila said, licking her fingers. “You’re as good as anyone else is.”

“Mom was. I’m not,” she said, shrugging, picking up the next bill.

“Yes, you are. I’ve seen you doodling recipes all over the place. It’s in your blood to create.”

Dulcie snorted. Sure, she dreamed of endless candies to try, but that did not make her a candy genius like her mom.

“Holy mother of all things sweet and sugary, you
have
to enter. Look at this prize money! If you won this, you could take a night or two off, even free up some time to go on a date.”

“I
am
going on a date, remember?”

Lila sighed. “The local jazz lounge with your best friend does not count as a date.” She shook her head like Dulcie was the saddest thing in the world.

Perhaps she was.

But she couldn’t justify using up a ton of time with someone only to find out he wasn’t the right person. What a ridiculous waste.

Dulcie shuffled through a few more bills and tried to push the contest out of her mind. Still, she found herself mentally making batches of chocolates, some safe like a strawberry fondant enrobed in 90 percent dark chocolate, and something crazy, like an orange sponge toffee wrapped in a fluffy cloud of chocolate cotton candy.

Melt in your mouth all the way through.

She bet the judges had never tried anything like that before.

She shook her head, realizing how ridiculous it was. There was no way she’d ever submit something she made up again…even if she did find the guts to enter. Mom’s and Grams’s recipes
were
Candy Land Confections
.
Not hers.

Dulcie’s had never gotten them anywhere but sent home.

She closed up the shop at eight, and by nine she and Lila were settled in at the jazz lounge.

“So, what about him?” Lila asked.

Dulcie flopped her elbows on the table, crossing her arms. “Are you kidding? Seriously, Lila, can you stop for one night? I need a break. Grams already gave me heart palpitations about my outfit before we came.”

Lila laughed, and Dulcie swore she and Grams were cut from the same cloth. “I assume she lost the battle?” Lila asked, giving Dulcie the once over.

“What’s wrong with this?” she asked.

Dulcie figured jeans and layered tank tops were safe. She even had makeup on and everything. Well, mascara and lip gloss, anyway.

“You look fine,” Lila said. “I’m just guessing Grams didn’t pick this.”

Dulcie rolled her eyes. “She wanted me to wear a bustier.”

Lila snorted. “Oh yeah, I imagine you’d be real comfortable in that.”

Dulcie raised her eyebrows in agreement as the music started. When the first notes played, the stress slowly oozed away. She could get lost in a moody blues song faster than anything. Sure, she got lost in making candy all the time, but that was still physical work. This…this just let her sit back and relax.

She and Lila were the youngest in the crowd by about ten years. Dulcie could only ever drag her friend to the jazz bar if afterward she promised to go to the diner next to the hottest club in town to scan for eye candy. Of course, that didn’t stop Lila from grooving the whole time they were listening to the jazz.

Dulcie leaned into her chair and closed her eyes, opening them again only after she got good and comfortable.

And when she did, it was so worth the preparation.

She’d never seen a guy close to her age in a blues band before.

It was magnificent.

He played his bass guitar without having to watch the chords, totally immersed in the music. Watching him sent shivers through Dulcie, electricity riding on the waves of the notes, flowing into her soul. He looked as good as he played, in jeans—the kind made to look worn but were probably designer—and a T-shirt, but his vintage Gatsby cap told her he liked a little individual style. His hair, the color of a perfectly roasted coffee bean, fell a bit longer than she normally liked on a guy, but somehow it worked, framing his deep, soulful chocolate eyes. His lips demanded most of her attention, though; full, with a hint of a smirk, but not in a smug way—more mischief behind it than ego.

“Oh my God,” Lila said, staring at her. “Am I out of my mind, or is Dulcie Carter actually into someone?”

Dulcie glared.

“Ooh,” she said. “You definitely are.”

“I am not.”

“Defensive, defensive,” she said, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Hard as Dulcie tried, she couldn’t peel her eyes off him.

Screw it.
Even if Lila tortured her forever, it wasn’t like she didn’t torment her all the time anyway. Oddly though, Lila just leaned back to enjoy the music, too.

His hands slid across the bass with ease, like he’d been performing his whole life. It was as if he felt the music, playing into it…
becoming
it, more than just following along.

Duclie breathed it in. Breathed him in.

Too soon, the set ended. An unjustified sadness swept through her, like she’d lost something and didn’t even know what it was. When he walked off stage with the rest of the band, her heart raced. What if she never saw him again?

“Good band tonight,” Lila said, breaking her out of her trance.

Dulcie stared at the place he’d walked off, disappearing out of her life. “Huh? Oh, yeah.”

Lila smirked. “I’m going to grab another martini.”

Dulcie sat alone, stirring her drink, watching the ice swirl in circles, first clockwise, then counter clockwise, dying to know who he was, and if she would ever get to see him play again.

…

Nick saw her from the stage. Of
course
he saw her. No doubt every guy in the room saw her. She sat inside herself, slightly hunched over, a little uncomfortable in her own skin. He was too far away to see the color of her eyes, but they were light, piercing in contrast with her dark lashes and hair. She had it pulled back but it was still a little messy, like she’d worked all day and hadn’t had much time to get ready.

Which made her even more perfect.

Her friend was the one who was really put together—fancy top that sparkled, plenty of makeup. But there was something about the other girl, in her plain top and faded jeans, that accentuated her curves and made Nick breathe just a little deeper.

He’d peeked out from behind the curtains ten times before they went onstage, just…watching her glance around, sort of anxious.

He felt a little anxious himself all of a sudden.

As they’d played, Nick took tiny glances, hoping she wouldn’t catch him, though almost as badly, kind of hoping she would. A few times she looked at him and he almost stumbled over a note or two.
Come on, man
, he thought.
Keep some semblance of cool
.

When the set finished, Nick stole another peek through the curtains. The friend had gotten up from the table.

He’d been told he was a catch, and he played the part and everything, but deep down, the remnants of his chubby days in middle school sometimes haunted him.

He sucked in a breath and stretched his neck from side to side, pulling his shoulders back and trying to put on that face most women found charming. He took a step toward the table.

“Hey,” he said. “Do you mind if I sit with you? You’re, like, the only ones under the age of forty here.”

Great, make up lame excuses to be near her. Stellar opening.

The girl startled, blinking.

He kept the smirk plastered on, trying to ignore the prickles along his arms.

Finally, she nodded. “Um, sure.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I can’t get enough of the music, but I hate that I’m like a toddler at these places.”

She smiled, and Nick suddenly couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Do you come here a lot?” he finally asked.
Oh, wow.
He cringed.
Conversational genius.

She shook her head, like she was coming out of a daze. “Sorry,” she said, though Nick wasn’t sure what she apologized for. “Uh, once in a while, yeah.” She cleared her throat. “You?”

He shrugged. “Been here once or twice. First time playing, though.”

“You were amazing,” she said shyly.

“Thanks. I’m Nick, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Dulcie,” she said, her handshake a little tentative.

Everyone said a handshake told a lot about a person, but Nick had no idea what hers meant. Worse, he forgot to try to figure out what he said with his own.

The tension became a living thing, pulling and tugging. She leaned in closer to him, which he took as a good sign. The sounds of the club faded away as he leaned in, too.

She smelled like cinnamon and coffee, with a hint of vanilla, and he wanted to close his eyes and just breathe. At least he still had enough sense to realize that might appear rather batshit to a girl he just met, so he sat there, a smiling goof. “So…blues, eh?” he said.

She nodded. “I love it. It just takes all the stress away, you know?”

His heart sped up just a little. “Me, too. It’s like you can just let it take you away.”

“Exactly. So much other music is like panicky or something, makes me anxious.”

“I know,” Nick agreed, wondering where this woman had been all his life. None of the girls he’d dated in college had been even remotely interested in jazz. “The popular music never seems to talk about anything having to do with real life. It’s all malls and parties and trolling for girls.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think my co-workers would appreciate it if I blared that all day at work.”

“I play jazz at work, too,” he said.

A moment of silence fell over the table while Nick’s mind churned, dying to find something witty to say.

“Us poor working stiffs,” he finally said, then screamed at himself for being such an idiot. Silently, of course.

“Does your job make use of your musical interests?” he asked.

Dulcie took a sip of her drink. “Unfortunately, no,” she said, “but it’s a family business, so we can pretty much play anything we want.”

He beamed; they had so much in common. “Mine, too.”

Her face lit up almost as much as his.

It was dumb, of course, to imagine a cosmic connection between them, especially since he’d never believed in that sort of thing, but this was the most head over heels he’d ever fallen in such a short time.

They sat for a few seconds, bathing in the tension, moving another inch closer, when he spotted something, his eyes flickering over her chair, then widening.

The logo on her jacket.

No
.

“Candy Land Confections?
That
’s your family business?” he asked, leaning back, his voice higher than he would have liked.

“Uh, yeah, sort of,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Why?”

No. It couldn’t be. The first time in forever he found someone he actually felt something for and her family was Candy Land?

He cleared his throat. “You guys have great caramel-filled macaroons.” He leaned as far back in his chair as possible…as far away from
her
as possible.

“Thanks,” she said, and smiled. Damn, she had a great smile.

He had no idea what to do, so of course he did the exact wrong thing. “Not as good as ours, mind you,” he said.

Her eyebrows crinkled in a maddeningly cute way as she struggled to understand, and then…it hit her. Only one other place in town even made similar caramel-filled macaroons.

Her mouth opened. “Oh my God,” she said, panic finding a home on her face, and she almost threw herself backward off her stool.

Nick was already putting his coat on.

“Seriously?” she said, sounding defensive. “You think your macaroons hold a candle to ours? You must be delusional.”