Candy Crush

CANDY CRUSH

TAMI LUND

Published by Tami Lund

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Tami Lund

The Village of Holly, Michigan, The Holly
Hotel, The Holly Chamber of Commerce and the Downtown Development
Authority are real entities, however all references within this
book are strictly fictitious and are not to be construed as real.
All other entities, locations, businesses, etc. in this book that
may imply a connection to Holly, Michigan are strictly figments of
the author’s overactive imagination and are not to be construed as
real.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite
ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
the hard work of this author.

Cover design: Christopher Lund

Like this book? Check out these other titles
by Tami Lund:

The Resort

The Resort – Artist’s Obsession

The Resort – Holiday in Dallas

The Resort – Valentine’s Day at The
Resort

The Bartender

Ashley, Chris and Sue – your interest caused
me to revive this manuscript after it lay dormant in my computer
for nearly a year.

Thank you all.

CHAPTER ONE

In broken, paint peeling letters, the sign
above the door proclaimed:
and S ore.

It was supposed to say:
Candy
Store
.

As she pressed her fingers to her temple,
Gabriella Hadley thought, a
nd I am sore, so I guess it
fits
.

The buildings were all attached, tall narrow
soldiers running the length of the block, and every one had a
quaint, freshly painted sign affixed over the door and attractive
displays in the windows. Every one, that is, except the address the
real estate company had given to Gabriella.

This particular storefront stood out from
the rest. The color of the remaining letters on the sign above the
door was supposed to be green, which she knew from the pictures
she’d seen on the Internet. From her current vantage point, sitting
in the driver’s seat of her car, parked at the curb in front of the
building, she couldn’t be certain of their current color. Muddy?
Dilapidated? Was that even a color? It should be. Maybe she should
go into business creating crayon colors, instead of trying to
re-open a worn out old candy store.

The door and two large plate glass windows
were haphazardly covered with brown butcher paper. Two planters
flanking the door were coated with cracked peeling paint that also
may have once been green but now simply looked dirty. Each had a
handful of weeds growing from the dried out soil and a lot of brown
stuff that had probably also been weeds that had given up the
fight.

With a sigh of resignation, Gabriella
resisted the urge to pull away from the curb and just keep driving.
At the moment, she was left with precious little choice, so she cut
the engine, flipped her long blond braid over her shoulder and
leaned toward the passenger seat, absently scratching the ear of
the yellow-blond cocker spaniel perched there, while she peered out
the window at the row of businesses that ran along the
sidewalk.

The candy store was nestled between a hobby
shop and a small specialty shop with a carved wooden sign that
proclaimed,
Everything Is Made In Michigan
. At least her new
business appeared to be in a good location, right on Main Street.
Main Street, according to what Gabriella read on the Internet, was
the main thoroughfare through a historic downtown district that was
located on the fringes of the suburbs of Detroit, and saw more than
its fair share of tourists throughout the year. If the store had
looked anything like what the real estate company promised,
Gabriella might have felt a tremor of excitement, instead of a
tremor of dread.

“What are we doing?” Gabriella asked the
dog.

The dog wagged her tail in response. The
fuzzy cocker spaniel had two emotions: happy and sleeping. It was
one of the dog’s endearing traits, and heaven knew Gabriella needed
some happiness in her life at the moment.

A desperate bid to find happiness was the
reason she sat in a car, parked in front of a ramshackle, closed
candy store, in a tiny town five states away from home. Eight days
ago, she had packed what little possessions she had into a tiny
U-Haul trailer, hooked it to the back of her car, and left Dallas,
driving northeast until she hit Little Rock. For the last six days,
she had been holed up in a hotel room in Little Rock, hunched over
her laptop, researching the Internet for a new life.

While scanning the Internet, she stumbled
upon the candy store for sale and thought,
I can do
that
.

The ad proclaimed the candy store was a gem
situated in the middle of a prestigious, historical village that
was an oasis outside of the city of Detroit. A village with
Midwestern values, the ad said, which Gabriella assumed was a good
thing.

A place you could be proud to raise your
family.

While Gabriella had no intention of raising
a family – generally speaking, that required a man in one’s life,
and Gabriella had recently sworn off the opposite sex – the idea of
living in such a place appealed to her. A village that touted
family values should be a safe place in which to relocate,
Gabriella thought at the time.

While she shrank away at the prospect of
winter – she had lived in Dallas her entire life– she figured it
would actually be a nice change from eighty-five degrees in the
middle of September. She would give herself six months, and if she
really hated it, she would start looking for real estate in
Florida. One thing was certain. She was never going back to
Dallas.

Not ever again.

“I wonder if I should have just stuck it
out?” she said out loud, and, as if she knew what Gabriella was
talking about, the dog flattened her ears against her head for a
brief moment before she resumed wagging her tail.

Gabriella sighed. “I suppose you’re right.
Even winter is better than what I left behind.”

She glanced at the storefront again and
continued talking to the dog. “This looks nothing like the pictures
on the website. This looks like it hasn’t been inhabited in
years.”

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
It was after seven p.m. She’d been on the road since seven a.m. and
lunch had been a long time ago.

It was Tuesday evening in mid-September. The
street was nearly deserted and most of the shops were closed.
Gabriella recalled from the website that when the candy store had
been open, the hours had been ten-to-six on Sunday through Thursday
and ten-to-eight on Fridays and Saturdays, except for Fridays
during football season, when the entire town shut down at six to go
watch the local high school football game. Gabriella, being from
Texas, could understand that mentality.

“Come on,” Gabriella said to the dog. “Let’s
go take a quick peek and then we’ll go find dinner.” She climbed
out of the car and walked around to the passenger side and opened
the door. The cocker spaniel leapt out and immediately rushed off
to sniff at the nearest tree.

“We have a leash law in this town, you
know.”

Gabriella jumped at the sound of a male
voice and turned to watch as a dark haired man with wide shoulders
and a narrow waist stepped onto the sidewalk and began ambling
towards her. His hair was slightly shaggy and he wore dark blue
slacks and a white pinstriped shirt with the sleeves rolled up to
his elbows. He wore a tie that matched the pinstripes in the shirt.
The tie had been loosened around his neck and the top button of his
shirt was undone. He should have looked rumpled. Instead, he looked
as if he were heading to a shoot for GQ Magazine.

Gabriella sucked in a harsh breath.
Miguel
.

But as the man drew closer, she realized she
was wrong. This wasn’t Miguel. Miguel had chocolate brown eyes.
This guy had bright, crystal blue eyes. Miguel had deeply tanned
skin, indicative of a great deal of time spent in the sun. This guy
had olive skin. He looked Italian or maybe Greek. The look in this
guy’s eye wasn’t at all calculated and devious, the way Miguel
looked almost all the time.

He isn’t Miguel
, Gabriella chanted to
herself as she held her ground instead of running, like her
instincts were begging her to do.
He isn’t Miguel
.

The man crouched and scratched the dog’s ear
before standing again and offering his hand to shake. “I’m Brandon
Sarantos. Head of the DDA.”

Fear lanced through Gabriella’s system and
must have shown on her face, because he quickly added, “Downtown
Development Authority.”

She blew out a breath. She really had been
afraid for a few heartbeats. Gabriella worked to pull her emotions
under control as she reluctantly shook his hand. “She isn’t going
to hurt anything,” she said defensively.

***

Her hand was dainty and smooth, and he
noticed she had perfectly manicured pale pink nails. She wore three
silver stackable rings on the ring finger of her right hand and her
left hand was devoid of jewelry.
No wedding ring
.

“Are you the new owner of the candy store?”
he asked.

“How did you know that?” she asked
suspiciously.

“By definition of my title, it’s my job to
know these sorts of things. You aren’t planning to sell drugs are
you?”

Gabriella gasped and looked genuinely
shocked and he decided the answer was no. Considering her reaction
to the acronym DDA, he felt inclined to ask.

“Just checking,” he said amiably. “So what’s
your name?”

Brandon stuck his hands in his pockets and
took his time appraising the new candy store owner, now that he was
up close. From across the street, by the pale blue glow from the
new state of the art yet antique in stature lamppost hanging above
her head, he determined she had long blond hair that was braided
down her back, an average sized chest, small waist and long
legs.

Up close, he could see that the hair was
professionally colored in a salon. All those shades of blond
couldn’t possibly be natural. The chest was still average, the
waist was tiny and the legs were indeed long. She wore a fitted
white scoop neck shirt under a thin jacket, slim brown pants and
tennis shoes. He bet she looked hot in four-inch heels. He wondered
how long she’d last in this town, and he decided he wanted to sleep
with her before she left.

“I’m Gabriella Hadley,” she said. Her soft
voice was as delicate as her hands and had a distinctly southern
drawl.

“Nice to meet you, Gabby,” Brandon said, and
she corrected him, “Gabriella.”

“How long do you plan to stay in town?”
Brandon asked, rocking on his heels and still watching her. He
could tell his scrutiny made her uncomfortable. He hoped it was
because she was attracted to him.

“Well, since I just bought the candy store,
I’d say it’s a bit of a permanent arrangement,” Gabriella pointed
out. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Sarantos?” she
said impatiently. He watched as a guilty look flittered across her
features. Did she feel guilty for acting impatient? He was pretty
sure he had never in his life met a woman who felt guilty about
something so trivial.

“It’s Brandon. I was still in the office and
I saw you pull up, so I figured I’d welcome you to town.”
And I
never miss an opportunity to meet a hot blond
. “Where are you
from?”

“Thank you for the welcome. Now, if you’ll
excuse me, I’d like to take a peek inside and then go find
something to eat. I haven’t eaten since noon.”

He noticed she ignored his question, but he
let it slide as he tried to come up with ways to keep her talking.
He didn’t usually like it when women talked too much, but he
decided that Gabriella could talk to him all day long, with that
thick southern drawl. It was sexy as hell.

“That place hasn’t been opened up in years.
Why don’t I hang around to make sure no raccoons come flying out at
you, and then I’ll show you the nearest pizza parlor?”

She looked appalled, although Brandon wasn’t
entirely sure if that was due to the prospect of a raccoon flying
out at her or having to endure his company for that much longer.
She demurely said thank you, and turned and bent at the waist to
retrieve her purse from the floor of the car. Brandon watched and
thoroughly enjoyed the way her cotton pants strained against the
roundness of her backside.