Better Than Chocolate. Sheila Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ opened the door and was greeted with a rush of warm air carrying the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. From behind the glass counter gingerbread cookies in every imaginable shape beckoned. Cream puff swans swam inside a refrigerator display case, along with German-style kuchen loaded with whipped cream. A huge gingerbread castle perched atop the counter and the shelves behind it displayed other examples of Cass’s creativity.

      Today she was in the kitchen, covered in flour and rolling out cookie dough for sugar cookie pizzas, but when she saw Samantha standing at the counter talking to her oldest daughter, twenty-year-old Danielle, she washed her hands, slipped off her apron and decided to take a coffee break.

      Cass wasn’t a bad-looking woman in spite of the fact that she tried her best to look bad. She never bothered with makeup and when her dark hair wasn’t in a net it was pulled into a sloppy bun. She was thirty pounds overweight and proud of it, and she rarely dressed up beyond jeans and a sweatshirt or T-shirt. But it was probably more her attitude than her looks that kept her single. Where something about Muriel said, “Call me,” Cass sent out signals that said, “Don’t even think about it.”

      Now she regarded Samantha with that penetrating gaze of hers and said, “Okay, who do you want to kill today?”

      Samantha couldn’t help smiling at her perceptiveness. “Not my mother and not myself.”

      “That’s a step in the right direction,” Cass said as they settled at a corner table with some cake pops.

      “But maybe the new bank manager.”

      “I didn’t get to the open house but I was in making a deposit this morning and saw our hometown boy.” Cass shook her head and smiled. “I’ve gotta say, even though my ideal man is made of gingerbread, this one brought my hormones back to life for a minute there.”

      “I always knew you were a cougar,” Samantha teased.

      “So have you been in to talk to him about helping you sort out your Waldo mess?”

      Cass and Charley were the only ones who knew Samantha had been struggling with the business but she hadn’t told either of them just how desperate the struggle was. “He won’t be any help,” she said, and left it at that.

      Cass shook her head. “The man must have a heart of stone and gonads of dough.”

      “That about covers it. We’re going to try and find some other ways to fix the business. My mom and sisters and I were kicking around something last night and I want to get your impression.” Cass was an astute businesswoman. If she was in their corner, that would help sell other members of the Chamber of Commerce on the idea.

      She sat back and slung an elbow over the back of her chair. “Okay,” she said, her voice noncommittal.

      “We’re thinking of sponsoring a chocolate festival.”

      Cass nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds interesting. Tell me more.”

      And so Samantha did, and as she talked, Cass’s skeptical body language changed. She leaned forward, arms on the table, listening intently. “You know, this could be good,” she said at last.

      “Do you think it could work?”

      “Why not? We’re always trying to find new ways to bring visitors to town. When were you hoping to do it? You have to make sure you don’t eclipse anything that’s already in place.”

      “Next month.”

      Cass blinked and fell back against her chair. “Next month?”

      “I realize it’s kind of a rush job.” That was the understatement of the century.

      “Kind of?” Cass raised both eyebrows. “You know how long it takes to plan something like this?”

      Samantha slumped in her seat. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it? I knew it.” She’d been deluding herself—which was exactly what crazy people did.

      “I didn’t say that, but damn.”

      “We could start small,” Samantha ventured.

      “Why February?”

      “I need a ton of money by the end of next month. I’m out of options, Cass.” It was painful to have to say it out loud and Samantha found herself blinking back tears.

      “Not necessarily. You have friends in this town.”

      Samantha shook her head. “I don’t have enough friends for what I owe. Anyway, I wouldn’t do that to my friends. If the bank could have worked with me…” There was no sense completing that sentence.

      “Okay, so when next month?”

      “We’d like to have it the weekend before Valentine’s Day.”

      Cass nodded slowly. “A chocolate festival the weekend before Valentine’s Day. Perfect timing. You should be able to lure lots of couples up here for that. Good for the B and Bs, restaurants, wineries. Bakeries,” she added with a grin.

      “So, if we didn’t go too wild, could we pull it off?”

      Cass shrugged. “I say give it a shot. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

      Except her business, and she wasn’t letting go of that without a fight.

      Cass returned to work and Samantha hurried back to the office, a woman ready to wage war.

      Elena looked at her uneasily. “I was getting worried. Where’ve you been?”

      “Out getting inspired. I need you to look up festivals on the internet and print out everything you can find.”

      “Okay,” Elena said. “But—”

      “And call Luke and tell him to plan to triple production on our mint chocolate hearts.”

      “What in the world is going on?”

      “We are about to sponsor Icicle Falls first annual chocolate festival,” Samantha said, and then marched into her office, a general about to form her battle plan and conquer the world. Or at least the bank.

      Chapter Seven

      A positive attitude in you inspires a positive attitude in others.

      —Muriel Sterling, When Family Matters

      Wednesday morning found the members of the Icicle Falls Chamber of Commerce assembled in the banquet room of Dot Morrison’s Breakfast Haus.

      “Do you want me to bring up the idea of the festival?” Cass asked Samantha.

      “I appreciate the offer, but no.” It would be nice if someone would just take the reins and gallop them off into the sunset (or over the cliff) but Samantha knew she had to do this herself. Her glance sneaked to the far end of the table, where Blake Preston sat talking with Ed York, who owned D’Vine Wines. Would he weigh in and advise everyone present not to listen to a woman whose business was in ruins?

      Don’t СКАЧАТЬ