Fudgeballs And Other Sweets Read online

  He ambled to a table piled with taffy. “Looks to me like you need a couple thousand more feet.”

  She avoided his eyes. “Boy, do I.”

  When he laughed, she realized it was a wonderful sound. Not loud, not soft, very masculine. Dang it. Stop it. Next we’ll be inviting each other over for coffee.

  He stood back, his gaze casually spanning the room. “Ever thought about getting a bigger place?”

  She kept her head down, wrapping pieces of fudge. “I’ve sort of had it in the back of my mind lately.” Sort of? That’s all she’d thought about. She couldn’t believe he was making it easy for her.

  “I’ve been thinking about expanding the kite shop.” He left the table of taffy to peruse the trays of fudge in the display counter.

  “Really?” Her pulse jumped. Then he would be comfortable with his forced relocation. Mr. Linstrom hadn’t conveyed Kasada’s feelings on the matter, and it really was none of her business how he felt. She had to do what was best for Fudgeballs.

  “That’s great. I guess the kites are going so well you’ll need a bigger place?” She recalled the various sizes and designs she’d seen in the window. Paper kites, plastic, shiny foil—in all shapes and forms.

  He nodded. “You can’t imagine how much space I need.”

  She smiled broadly. “Oh, but I can. You have so many sizes.” She tried not to sound overly encouraging, but it was hard to hold back her enthusiasm.

  “You ever been inside the shop?”

  She shook her head.

  “Got a spare minute?”

  She didn’t have a spare second, but she found herself wiping her hands on her apron and trailing him next door. She studied the way his slacks fit his tight little behind, and thoughts of Kevin Costner in Tin Cup blinded her. Nice. Very nice.

  Inside the kite shop, she looked around and felt like a kid in Disney World. Colorful designs filled the store, hanging from the ceiling and walls, creating a fantasy world.

  “You like kites?”

  “Sure, who doesn’t?” She inspected a vivid blue one and imagined it soaring into the sky, dancing among fluffy white clouds. “This one looks like fun.”

  He came over to stand behind her. She was surprised at her reaction to his masculinity. The smell of Polo floated lightly between them.

  “That’s the simplest design—flat diamond shape formed by two sticks tied into a cross. Then there’s the box kite, open frame, rectangular.”

  “What are those that have no frame at all?”

  “Parafoil.”

  “How do they fly?”

  “The wind shapes them. See the triangular fins on the tail? They act as stabilizers.”

  Jenny picked up a vivid yellow hexagonal kite which, according to the tag, was called a three-sticker Malay. “I’m surprised to see there’s such a demand for kites.”

  He smiled, and her pulse thumped like a schoolgirl’s. He was in his world now. She marveled that his manly features held a boy’s excitement. But he was no boy, and that’s what bothered her.

  “Fortunately, it’s getting more and more popular as a sport—really big in Thailand.”

  “You’re kidding.” She knew that remark sounded silly, but she suddenly felt tongue-tied as he stepped closer.

  “No, I’m serious. The all-Thailand championships are held in Bangkok every spring.”

  “You ship kites all the way to Thailand?”

  “Ship them, buy from them—sort of a trade-off.” He reached for the blue kite she favored. “This particular design comes from India. In India the kite string is coated with ground glass. The object is to cut the opponent’s string.”

  She winced. “Sounds dangerous.”

  “In South America, the kite frames are armed with razor blades. Our competitions are tame in comparison.”

  “I can’t imagine kite flying as a combat sport.” Jenny smiled. “It was always just a pleasurable way to spend an afternoon when I was a kid—except when the kite got caught in a tree.”

  He smiled again and their gazes caught. “That happens a lot.”

  His voice dropped to a low pitch. There was something… sensual about it. Straightening, she realized she’d stayed too long. She suddenly wanted to take the day off. Go on a picnic, eat ice cream, fly a kite.

  “Definitely sounds like you need a place twice the size of this,” she conceded.

  “I’m glad you understand,” he returned quietly.

  What’s to understand? He needs more space, I need more space—when he moves we’ll both have what we want.

  “I need to get back to my fudge kettle.” She set a kite aside. “The next set of tourists will invade us any moment.”

  “Sorry to have bent your ear so long. I’m afraid I get carried away about my kites.”

  And she’d gotten carried away with him. He’d spurred thoughts she shouldn’t have. When he visited her shop, she felt secure, but in his shop it seemed too…too personal. “There’s something to say about loving your work.”

  “I’ve monopolized the conversation,” he apologized. He walked her to the door. “Sometime I’d love to hear about—fudgeballs.” He handed her the blue kite. “For when you get a little spare time.”

  “Thank you.” She was touched by the gesture.

  He opened the door. “How do you keep that trim figure with all that candy around?”

  The compliment nearly bowled her over. How long had it been since a man noticed her figure? Too long—way too long. “The secret is to eat all you want—just don’t swallow.”

  Her cheeks burned as she walked to her shop, knowing he watched her every step. She hoped he hadn’t seen her blush.

  “BROTHER! You see that, lap rat?” Jake strutted to Princess’s side of the tree.

  “Pardon moi, monsieur. Are you speaking to me?”

  “Okay, okay. Did you see that, Princess?”

  Princess sprang to her feet. “You mean how moony-eyed your human looked at my human?”

  Jake snorted. “I mean the way your human looked at my human.”

  Princess wiggled closer and batted her lashes. “You mean like this?” She nuzzled her nose against his ear.

  Jake felt the fur rise on his back. “Now cut that out! I don’t need the hose thing again.”

  Shoot, she even smells good.

  “You are so big and strong.” She laid her head against his.

  He swelled with pride and smacked his tongue over his nose. “Stick with me, baby, and we’ll go places.”

  Princess yawned and curled up against his belly. Her eyes closed, then flew open. “How am I supposed to sleep with you so close?”

  “Who said we were going to sleep?”

  “ROB? I need more walnuts!” Jenny reached for a measuring cup. Rob didn’t answer, and she called again. “Rob?”

  Where was he? The vanilla was running low, and the front case had less than a dozen fudgeballs left. He should be starting new batches of both.

  She walked to the back room, opened the pantry and stood with her hands on her hips, trying to decide how she was going to haul a hundred-pound bag of sugar to the front of the store.

  Somebody sighed loudly, and she whirled to see Rob sitting on a crate of corn syrup, playing an electronic hand-held game of gin rummy. Baby Dory was next to him in her carrier, gurgling, her tiny hands happily flailing the air.

  “Rob?” She hoped she sounded as exasperated as she felt. Teensy knew better than to ask Rob to take care of the baby on such a busy day. “What are you doing sitting back here playing gin rummy?”

  Rob sighed. “It’s heavy, boss lady.”

  His jaw quivered, his eyes red behind the wirerimmed glasses. “What’s heavy?” she asked, afraid of his answer.

  “The mood scene. I need to chill a few minutes.”

  “Can you chill over the copper kettle? There’s a tour group two blocks down the street. They’ll be coming into the store any minute.” Jenny leaned over and tickled Dory’s stomach, producing a bi
g, toothless grin. “Hi, sweetie.”

  Rob glumly hit the play button and watched the cards spin. “Teensy’s split.”

  Jenny frowned. “Split what?”

  He shrugged. “Left. Didn’t say where, just dropped Dory off and said I had to watch her until she got back.”

  “When’s she coming back?”

  Rob shrugged again. “She didn’t know. Maybe never.” He looked as if he’d been kicked by a Clydesdale.

  The announcement didn’t surprise her. Teensy had been edgy and restless lately, but Jenny would never have dreamed the girl would run off and leave Dory behind.

  “Why now? Was she that unhappy?”

  “I don’t know. She said she wants to travel, have fun like we used to. She wants to hang out and not work.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Kneeling beside the crate, Jenny patted his arm wishing she felt more sympathetic, but she had a business to run. One more crisis to deal with. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  Rob shook his head.

  “I’ll take Dory up front with me.”

  The indifferent rise and fall of shoulders said, “Whatever.” He obviously needed time alone as badly as she needed vanilla and chocolate fudge, but she wasn’t insensitive to his pain. Teensy was his anchor. Without her he was lost.

  Jenny scooped up the baby carrier and took Dory to the front as the door of the shop opened. A group of Japanese tourists poured into the room.

  “A pound of vanilla, please!”

  “Two slices of maple nut!”

  “Two dozens fudgeballs. Ma’am! Do you ship?”

  Jenny rushed to fill orders, sneaking frantic glances toward the back room. She could hear the electronic beep as the gin rummy wheels spun. Dory, confused by the noise and activity, started to fuss.

  As Jenny moved between the register and the glass cases, she poked a pacifier into the baby’s mouth. Her gaze strayed to the empty kettles, and the headache creeping up the back of her neck tightened. How long did it take to chill out? The candy supply would only last another few minutes.

  The bell over the door tinkled, and a group of retired librarians crowded into the shop. A spindly matron started stuffing saltwater taffy into a bag as if it was going out of style.

  Dory let out a wail, her fists punching the air to emphasize it was a half hour past lunchtime.

  Making change for a twenty, Jenny strained to hear a customer’s remarks above the baby’s squalling, then leaned over and thrust the pacifier into Dory’s mouth.

  The phone shrilled.

  She grabbed it up. “Fudgeballs.” She listened, her heart sinking. “Of course, six dozen isn’t out of the question—I only wish you’d called earlier—no, I can have them. Yes, I’ll be there no later than four.” She hung up. The special order she’d told Dave about now included an additional six dozen fudgeballs—six dozen she didn’t have.

  Rob appeared in the doorway, the gin rummy game dangling loosely in his right hand. He looked as if he’d walked through a mine field. “Like, need some help?”

  Like, does a victim of the Sahara Desert need a fan? Jenny nodded, her eyes gesturing to the dwindling fudge supply. “Can you start a batch of chocolate?”

  Rob moseyed to the copper kettle and began dumping in ingredients. Jenny prayed his mind was on work and not on his stormy love life.

  It was two o’clock before the rush eased off. “Dory is starving—and soaking wet.” Jenny stripped off her apron. “You want to take her in the back and change her?”

  Pouring chocolate fudge onto the marble table, Rob didn’t answer. Apparently, he was still chilling, but at least he was working during the process.

  “Better yet, why don’t I take her in the back and change her,” Jenny said to herself. The wedding party wouldn’t mind if their fudgeballs arrived after the reception was over.

  By the time she had the baby changed and the jars of mixed vegetables and fruit dessert warmed, Dory was screaming at the top of her lungs. Sweat formed on Jenny’s upper lip as she spooned pureed vegetables into the baby’s mouth, realizing if Rob didn’t pull out of his funk soon, she would have full responsibility of the child. Taking care of an angel like Dory would be fun on most days, but not today.

  Teensy’s timing couldn’t be worse. The financial report lay on Jenny’s desk, untouched. She was due at the Grand Hotel in less than two hours to set up for the wedding. Rob had to watch the shop or she’d have to close—unthinkable this time of the year.

  She spooned the last of the fruit dessert into Dory’s mouth and wiped the baby’s face, then removed her bib and carried her to the front. Rob was working on the six dozen fudgeballs for the reception.

  “Are we going to make it?” Jenny sat the baby on the counter.

  Nodding, Rob sighed and fashioned another chocolaty sphere.

  “Yum.” Jenny made a playful face at Dory. “Warm chocotate—want a bite?” She pinched a tiny corner off and tasted it, frowning as she spat it out in a napkin.

  Rob glanced up questioningly.

  “You put salt in the candy instead of sugar!”

  His face fell. “Bummer.”

  “Bummer” was putting it mildly. They had less than two hours to produce the candy for the wedding. In Rob’s present state, it was impossible. She handed the baby to him, then moved him aside.

  Barking orders, she reached for the measuring cups. “Wait on customers while I make the candy. If it gets too busy, step next door and ask Dave if he’d mind helping out.” He’d been so understanding this morning, she felt she could take such liberties. She’d do the same for him.

  Space wasn’t the main problem here now—it was Rob, and if she didn’t get some help she was going to pull her hair out.

  AT EXACTLY THREE FIFTY-NINE, Jenny pedaled past the front of the Grand Hotel, which glimmered like a diamond on an island of brilliant green. Tourists who had indulged in midafternoon high tea were leaving, some taking the horse-drawn carriages lining the drive. She wished she had time for a romantic carriage ride herself, but romance didn’t go very far when you were alone.

  Jenny stopped her bicycle by the side entrance, set the kickstand, then picked up the two boxes that held her neatly stacked fudgeballs, all tied in pretty white and gold ribbons, from the cart behind the back wheel. She’d only taken a few steps when a shot of water from an in-ground sprinkler caught her foot and soaked it.

  She opened the metal door and started down the plush carpeted hall of the hotel toward the banquet room. The sucking sound of her wet sneakered foot resounded like a belch in church. When an elderly couple passed her, they stared and shook their heads as she squeaked and squished past them.

  Was it the obnoxious sound of her shoe or her lack of proper attire? She wasn’t dressed for high tea or a wedding. She should have changed from shorts to a dress. She adjusted the boxes in her arms to pull the brass handle on the door. The moment she stepped inside, her breath caught in her throat.

  The fragrance of gardenias and sweet peas permeated the air around her. Beautiful bouquets graced each round table, set with fine china and crystal glassware. The bride had given thought to every detail of the reception, just as Jenny would if it was her wedding.

  She took a few more soggy steps before the hotel attendants stopped arranging an elaborate display of fruit and cheeses to stare at her. “I’m here to deliver the fudgeballs the bride requested. I’ll stay out of your way,” she said, trying to make herself inconspicuous as she approached the elaborately decorated podium where the wedding party was to be seated.

  After distributing the first two boxes of fudgeballs, one neatly tied pack set to the left of each place card, she returned to her cart outside for the next load. As she walked into the hotel, thoughts of her own wedding filled her mind.

  She had fantasized about a reception similar to this one, but Brian had never gotten around to popping the all-important question. Instead, he’d hint about getting married, leading her to false hopes and dreams. With ea
ch fudgeball she placed on the wedding tables, thoughts of what could have been ran through her mind.

  The set-up took longer than she expected, and it was past five-thirty. She pushed open the door with her free hand and walked toward the cart at the back of her bike. She paused to look at the water and sighed. Sore muscles reminded her she hadn’t worked out lately, and the pit of her stomach confirmed she’d skipped lunch. Her legs felt weak, and her head relayed a light, dizzy feeling.

  “Need a hand?”

  She glanced up to see Dave peddling toward her. He parked his bike, then stepped toward her and took the empty boxes from her hand, his skin brushing hers. The scent of his cologne tickled her senses more than the flowers in the reception hall.

  “Thanks,” was all she could mumble as she watched him stack the empty boxes in the cart. He presented the nicest view from behind…. She mentally shook herself. She must be more light-headed than she thought. Mr. Kite Man was off-limits, no matter how he filled out his Dockers. “What brings you to this side of the island?”

  “I had to mail my daughter’s birthday present. She’ll be seven on Thursday.”

  She laughed. “Taking the long way home?” The post office was closer to their shops than to the hotel.

  “I need the exercise. I’ve stood behind the counter most of the day.”

  “What about your helper?”

  “He didn’t show up today.”

  “Odd,” she said, laughing. “We’re both having trouble keeping help.”

  “Oh?”

  “Teensy’s flown the coop. Rob’s devastated. Not much help.”

  “Left the island? I thought I heard the baby crying earlier.”

  “You did. Rob’s trying to work and take care of Dory, in addition to pining over Teensy.”

  They climbed on their bikes and pedaled off side by side. Jenny glanced at him. “You have a daughter? I didn’t realize you’re married.”

  “Was,” he corrected.

  The bitterness in his voice shocked her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Not having my daughter with me is my only regret about my divorce.”

  They pedaled along the shoreline drive where the water lay like a blue jewel in the hot sun.