Sweet Dreams on Center Street (24 page)

“I'll make it up to you,” Mom whispered.

“Mom, there's nothing to make up.” Not now. She was the one who
had the making up to do, for her bad attitude, her lack of understanding, her
resentment of a man she had genuinely cared for once.

Her mother gave her a watery smile and anchored a lock of stray
hair behind Samantha's ear. “If anyone can pull us out of this, you can.
Remember your favorite story when you were little?”

“The Little Engine That Could.”
Mom
still had the book tucked away somewhere, saving it for future
grandchildren.

“You've always had such confidence,” Mom said, “and I'm
confident it will stand us in good stead now. We have sweet things to deliver
and you're the engine that will take us where we need to go. You have the drive
and determination to do it.”

Samantha hoped so. With the highway open again and all the
great free publicity maybe, just maybe, she had a chance.

Chapter Twenty

You can, indeed, mix love and business, and wind up with
something wonderful.

—Muriel Sterling,
Mixing Business with
Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love

“P
at, I can't thank you enough for helping
me,” Muriel said as they worked their way through the piles of paperwork, bills
and bank statements on Waldo's desk.

It had all felt so overwhelming, like the money book she'd
gotten from Pat. Tax deductions, refinancing, mortgage rates, compound interest
(she was supposed to understand that chart? Really?)—it made her eyes glaze
over. She didn't speak this language. This was…math! The book had served a
purpose, though. Only a couple of pages of reading was all it took to put her to
sleep at night. Better than a sleeping pill.

But that wasn't exactly helping get her financial house in
order. An SOS call had brought Pat over, armed with her calculator, and now the
two women were about to do battle with the bills.

“I have no idea how I'm going to make what I have stretch,”
Muriel confessed. “All these bills.” She shook her head. “This is humiliating.
I'm an idiot savant. The only thing I can do is write.”

Why, oh, why hadn't she persisted in taking a more active role
in the money-managing process when Stephen was alive? Or even Waldo. After
Stephen's death she should have dug in and handled everything.

But there'd been so much to handle—mountains of paperwork to
fill out, bills to sort through. She'd bounced checks right and left. Arnie had
come over many a night to go over her bank account and straighten out the latest
mess, trying to explain where she'd gone wrong.
Here,
Muriel. Just make out this check to P.U.D. 1 for ninety-two
dollars.

She was still bouncing checks when she met Waldo and had been
happy to let him take over.
Don't you worry, honey. I'll
take care of the bills. You just write.
Looking back now, she
realized she'd been like a person who couldn't read, never mastering the skill
she needed but instead always finding ways to work around her deficiency.

“You'll get the hang of this,” Pat assured her. “For now let's
work with what you've got and see how we're going to divvy it up.”

Two hours later they had Muriel's expenses listed on a
spreadsheet. What was going out was definitely more than what was coming in.
Even Muriel could see that. She'd have to sell Waldo's Beemer before it got
repossessed, and the house would have to go on the market immediately. No
surprise there. Still, she'd hoped for a little more time to get her feet under
her.

“You probably won't come out with much,” Pat said, “but you
should wind up with enough to tide you over until you can finish your next
book.”

Would there ever be another book?

Putting the house on the market was a big enough emotional
hurdle for the moment. One step at a time, she told herself as she called
Mountain Meadows Real Estate to set up an appointment with a Realtor.

The conversation was encouraging and after she hung up she felt
she was moving in the right direction. Now she had a plan and a spreadsheet, and
that was encouraging. She felt as if she could master anything.
Ah, Stephen, you never thought I could do this, but it looks
like I can.

And if she could cope with the unpleasant chore of money
management she could certainly cope with helping to put on a chocolate festival.
Bring it on.

* * *

Bailey arrived at Sea-Tac Airport the Wednesday morning
before festival weekend, lugging two suitcases and her carry-on. “I'm here, let
the games begin!” she declared, falling into Samantha's arms. Literally. Not
watching where she was going, she tripped over a fellow passenger's
carry-on.

“And so is half your house,” Samantha observed, righting
her.

“It's all stuff for the dinner and the tea, Sammy,” she said,
pushing her chestnut curls out of her face. “I found all kinds of decorations at
the dollar store. I know we haven't been able to draw from the business, but can
you maybe reimburse me? I'm a little short on cash till my next catering
job.”

Bailey had been “a little short on cash” since she was twelve.
Like Mom, she was math-challenged. Samantha was already dreading the bill. Even
at the dollar store she suspected her sister could rack up the dollars.

“Give me the receipt and we'll reimburse you,” Samantha said as
she took a bag. Somehow. With everything they'd had to buy for the various
events, expenses were mounting and at this rate she'd be paying Bailey in
foil-wrapped chocolate coins.

“I can hardly wait to see,” Cecily said, taking the other
bag.

That left Bailey with just her carry-on and free to link an arm
through her big sister's. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Fun,
that was the code by which
Bailey lived. Even starting her catering business had been more play than work,
with Dad generously bankrolling her. Samantha wasn't jealous, though. She
wouldn't trade her experiences at Sweet Dreams for anything. She'd worked her
way up from selling goodies in the shop to building the company, and that was
something to take pride in.

“It will be fun,” Cecily agreed, “now that the crisis is
averted,” she added, referring to the rockslide.

Well, one crisis, anyway. They still needed money. But thanks
to a new ad in the Seattle paper encouraging travelers to brave the pass and the
Northwest Now
TV segment, it looked like they
were going to override the earlier panic. Reservations were starting to come in
at the B and Bs once more and shop owners were feeling hopeful. The whole town
had worked hard to pull this together in record time and visitors were bound to
fall in love with Icicle Falls and, of course, Sweet Dreams Chocolates.

Still, Samantha wouldn't rest easy until the weekend was over.
She felt like a juggler, trying to keep a dozen flaming torches in the air, all
while doing an Irish jig on a high wire. In heels. She'd chewed her fingernails
down to the nubs and gained six pounds due to her chocolate consumption, but if
the festival was a success, it would be worth every moment of stress and every
extra pound.

“I've got the best dessert recipe for the chocolate dinner,”
Bailey bragged. “Chocolate truffle trifle, using our chocolates, of course.”

“That sounds decadent,” Cecily said. “It'll be a miracle if we
don't all die from a chocolate overdose this weekend.”

Samantha could identify with that. She was already halfway
there. Was there such a thing as Chocoholics Anonymous? If so, she was going to
have to join it.

“Oh, and I have more good news, the best news of all,” Bailey
continued.

“You found a millionaire who wants to give us money,” Samantha
cracked.
If only.

“Almost as good. I catered this baby shower on Sunday and
you'll never guess who I met.”

“Mimi LeGrande,” Samantha said, piling on the sarcasm. Cecily
had managed to get the name of Mimi's producer, but her emails had gone
unanswered.

“I met the cousin of her producer,” Bailey crowed. “I told her
I'd bring her some samples after the festival.”

Samantha stared at her baby sister, hardly able to believe her
ears.

“Oh, my gosh,” Cecily gushed. “Way to go, sis!”

“You can say that again,” Samantha said.

Going the friend-of-a-friend route was always a long shot, but
this was one well worth taking. The festival was a go and now they had a
possible in with Mimi LeGrande. Mom always said, “Every good thing comes to she
who waits.” It looked like Mom was right.

They drove away from the airport, Bailey still chattering
happily, Samantha watching the road and seeing a future filled with success.

* * *

It was nice to see their mother taking an interest in
life again, Cecily thought as she went to the office to check the goody boxes
for the Mr. Dreamy contest. She had left Mom and Bailey talking recipes; they'd
been so engrossed they barely noticed her departure. Yes, there was still
sadness in her mother's eyes and she often slipped away to bed early, but that
was understandable considering how fresh her grief was. In fact, considering
everything she'd gone through, it was amazing to Cecily that she could cope at
all.

What would it be like to have two men who were devoted to you
and lose both? Cecily couldn't imagine. She couldn't imagine having a good man,
period.

They were out there; she'd matched up a few in her brief career
as a matchmaker. But they sure seemed to be few and far between.

She got to Sweet Dreams just as Luke Goodman was approaching
from the other end of the street. Here was one of the good ones, a man
fortress.

“Hey, there, we've got your gift boxes ready,” he greeted her.
“Want to see?”

“That's why I'm here,” she replied, and followed him into the
warehouse. Walking behind Luke Goodman was like walking behind a wall. A woman
could feel safe with a man like him.

Did she know any woman who'd be a match?

You're not in the business anymore,
she reminded herself.

Still, old habits died hard. Maybe Bailey? Except, good as he'd
be for her, Cecily couldn't see her little sister with this man. Bailey was
still a kid herself and Luke already had one child to raise.

“I wish you'd come by about an hour earlier. I could have used
your help shopping,” he said.

“Oh? For what?”

“A dress,” he replied, deadpan.

“Probably hard to find one in your size.”

He grinned. “For Serena. I had to give my expert opinion. Mom
took her to Gilded Lily's to get one for the tea and they had it narrowed down
to two.”

Shopping, one of the fun aspects of having a little girl.
Little girls, babies—Cecily became suddenly aware of a
tick-tick-tick
at the back of her brain.

She quickly took a mental hammer to the culprit. A ticking
biological clock wasn't a good enough reason enough to jump into a relationship.
Not these days. Biology and culture didn't always mate well; the high divorce
rate was proof of that. It seemed people rarely got together with the idea of
staying together anymore.

Even Icicle Falls wasn't immune to the big D. She thought of
Cass Wilkes and Charlene Albach, both great women who should've been living in
Happily-Ever-After Land. And she'd heard rumors that her old pal Ella O'Brien,
who ran her mother's shop, Gilded Lily's, was having problems. She hoped the
rumors weren't true.

Ella and Jake had been high school sweethearts, her first
successful match, in fact. Ella hadn't said anything when they'd gone to lunch a
couple of weeks back. Still, they'd been out of touch for the past five years
and that probably wasn't information you blurted out the first time you saw an
old friend, especially the old friend who got you together with your
husband.

Cecily and Luke were in the warehouse now. She grinned at the
sight of all the inventory building up. This weekend the town would experience a
veritable avalanche of chocolate. Cecily shivered, as much from cold as
excitement, and rubbed her arms. He took off his leather jacket and draped it
over her shoulders—more perfect-man points for Luke Goodman—then led her to
where several cartons stood stacked in a corner.

He opened one and took out a little pink box wrapped in gold
ribbon and sealed with the gold medallion bearing the company logo, a slumbering
quarter moon with long, girlie eyelashes and a smile. The box was what they
called a four-seater, holding four different chocolates: salted caramel, a
white-chocolate-lemon-cream truffle, a dark chocolate truffle with chocolate
ganache filling and a mint chocolate—four of their most popular flavors.

He handed it over for her to inspect. “Perfect,” she said.

“I guess you're going to have a crowd at your pageant,” he
said, looking at the cartons.

“We're sold out,” she said proudly. Samantha had balked at the
idea, and now Cecily took secret delight in proving that her big sister didn't
know everything. Everyone she'd talked to was excited about the event. Actually,
everyone was excited about the whole festival and she was really enjoying the
anticipatory buzz that had taken over the town. Promoting chocolate was
considerably more fun than finding matches for unappreciative customers.

“These should be a hit,” he predicted as she returned the box
to the case. “Let me know how they go over.”

“You're not going to come and see for yourself?” she asked. “It
should be quite a show.”

“Not interested. My mom's trying to convince me to go to the
ball, though. Support the company.”

“You should, Prince Charming. You might find a princess
there.”

He leaned against the wall and looked at her speculatively.
“Think so?”

Oh, dear. Now she'd just led him on. “Well, you never know,”
she said lightly. “I might put on my matchmaker's hat one more time and see if I
can find her for you.”

“Is that how it worked for Prince Charming?” he countered.

“Well, in a way, if you count the fairy godmother.”

He shook his head. “She just provided the clothes and the ride.
The magic was up to them. Kind of like real life.”

Cecily pointed an accusing finger at him. “You're a
romantic.”

He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that. I believe in magic.”

She'd believed she had, too, but the magic never lasted.

“Anyway, you never know what can happen at a ball. If you keep
an open mind,” he added, giving her nose a playful tap.