Читать книгу Once Upon A Chocolate Kiss - Cheryl Wolverton - Страница 10

“I really don’t want to put you out.”

Samantha smiled at the man. How could she not? He was gorgeous. He was polite. He was gentle. She could go on and on with the impression he’d made on her, but didn’t.

“You aren’t putting me out at all.”

She wondered what the man thought of her candy shop. She paused here at the front end of the store where they had entered. A tiny light on the counter illuminated the front of the shop at night, allowing Mr. Moore to see around him.

She tried to see The Candy Shoppe through a stranger’s eyes. A black and white picture of her grandparents, from the newspaper, when they opened the shop aeons ago, hung on the wall to her right. Various articles surrounded it. The announcement about adding lunchtime meals was beside those, a testament to her needing to add more to keep the store open and draw in more people.

On the other wall were professional pictures of candy and flowers hanging in a gilded frame. Wainscoting climbed halfway up the wall. Above it was a soft pastel wallpaper of blue, pink, yellow and green. Old-fashioned wrought-iron tables, in various pastel shades, dotted the sturdy wood floor. Of course, behind the counter the floor became cement.

Oh, the memories. Some of her best times had been in this shop with her grandmother—getting to help mix the candy, playing ballerina while Granny cleaned up at night.

Memories to fill the places that should have been made with parents who were absent most of her childhood. Especially her father.

“Nice,” the man murmured.

Jolted into action by the deep soft voice, Samantha moved to the end of the counter and lifted part of the Formica-covered countertop.

Richard hobbled through it.

Samantha waited until he was through before slipping her arm back around him.

He fit her perfectly, she thought, as she tried to help him limp through the public area and into the back communal living room.

“What happened!” Angela McCade, sitting on the sofa, book in her lap, jumped up from her seat.

“Meet Angela, one of my boarders,” Samantha said. “This is Richard Moore,” Samantha said to Angela, who came forward to help.

“Nice to meet you,” Richard said, and Samantha thought again what a wonderful voice he had.

She helped him get seated on her sofa. “Well,” she breathed out, tired from trying to help the huge man. “Welcome to my home.” It was nearly a question.

Richard put her instantly at ease. “It’s beautiful.”

Samantha felt herself blushing. He looked right at home in her living room, she thought. She couldn’t believe her reaction to him. He was too handsome and too charming.

She was in so much trouble.

She had better keep her mind on other things.

“What happened to your ankle?” Angela asked.

“I’ll be right back,” Samantha murmured to Mr. Moore, sitting on the overstuffed sofa, his shoe and sock lying next to him. “Angie, why don’t you help me?”

She turned and headed toward the back room, past the old elevator that led up to her grandmother’s extra rooms, where Samantha had lived for several years. She crossed the cement floor to the freezer located in a small storeroom near the back door. Angela was right on her heels, her long golden-brown hair flopping in a ponytail.

When they were out of earshot, Angela asked, “Where’d you get the knight in shining armor?” Her light blue eyes flashed with curiosity as she waited for Samantha to explain.

Samantha shook her head at her young friend. “I didn’t ‘get’ him anywhere. And though I will agree he certainly has knight qualities—” like being the most gorgeous man she’d ever met…she allowed her smile to fade “—I’m afraid he didn’t rescue me. Exactly.”

At the last word Angela groaned. “What did you do this time?”

“Hey, it’s not always my fault,” Samantha protested, hunting through the dim supply room’s shelves until she found the ice pack. Going to the huge steel freezer, she pulled it open and patiently filled the bag. Unfortunately, Angela knew her too well. When Angela simply stood there, her arms crossed, Samantha sighed. “Okay. Okay. I had forgotten my purse in the truck and was in a hurry to get it because I hadn’t locked the doors.”

“You did that to his foot?” Angela exclaimed. Angela had many sounds, good and bad. This one was definitely chastising in its own way, with a hint of I knew it added in for good measure.

Samantha simply nodded. At only twenty-two Angela had the ability to make the older Samantha feel like a little kid. “It was an accident.”

“You were worried about today, weren’t you?” Angela asked, referring to a meeting they’d had earlier to discuss the store’s condition.

Samantha sighed. “Maybe a bit distracted.”

Angela reached out and touched Samantha’s arm. “Don’t be. The business hasn’t failed yet. We still have Valentine’s Day to pull it out of the red.”

“But we didn’t at Christmastime,” she said quietly.

They’d been through so much together in the past five years. Angela had come to work for her when she was seventeen and had worked her way through college in this shop while pursuing her veterinarian degree. She was Sam’s assistant manager and definitely someone she confided in.

Since her grandmother’s first major stroke fifteen years ago, Samantha had been struggling to make a success of this store. Her mother hadn’t wanted anything to do with it—until her grandmother became an invalid. And then she only wanted it for the money she could milk out of it for her drinking habit. That had ended five years ago when her mother ran off with some trucker passing through town. Her mother died a month later in an accident. Unlike her mother, Samantha loved the store. She could remember the excitement of standing on a footstool so she could reach the cabinets to help stir the fudge, learning how to tell by smell and feel if the confections were just right. Fifteen years she’d worked to keep the store running. Everyone in the area knew and loved the candy she made. But new people were moving in, new stores, new competition that had the money to put into advertising and mass marketing of their goods. New malls were opening, like the one out on the edge of town. A tricounty area endeavor, this mall was going to revive all of the nearby towns and give people a place to go other than the bigger cities, which were located as close as a couple of hours from here.

“Maybe our Christmas sales weren’t the best, but I bet that store down the street isn’t going to be open by Valentine’s Day. They still have too much work to do. So that means we still have a chance to turn this place around.”

“You’ve been talking to my father,” Samantha said curtly. Her father wasn’t around much, but whenever he had a job in town, he made sure to stop by, or to pump Angela for information. And Angela always imparted the information that Samantha’s father passed on to her.

Angela shrugged. “I was at the Mexican restaurant and he happened to be there too, and I asked him about Dunnington’s.”

Her father had worked on many projects at the mall since it’d gone up this year. Samantha didn’t need her father’s ill-timed advice when she was struggling for her very livelihood.

“I’m only concerned about the store,” Angela said softly to her boss.

Lately Samantha simply wanted to give up and say God had forsaken her. Why had she struggled so hard with this store, only to see it sinking now? Putting her father to the back of her mind, she concentrated instead on what Angela had said about Valentine’s Day.

“I don’t know, Angie. I’m not sure I even have enough money to keep us afloat until February. I do know it’s going to take a miracle to keep this place open, though.”

“It’s all Dunnington’s fault,” Angela said now.

Ten years ago Dunnington’s Incorporated had decided to leave the shores of Ireland and the surrounding area and travel West. Landing in America like the pilgrims of so long ago, Dunnington’s had forged ahead to explore the new country and stake its claim. In a short time it had opened its first overseas store in New York City, and the previously unknown company had been an instant success. The ability to walk in and get whatever one wanted from whatever part of the world one wanted had intrigued the public as much as the way Dunnington’s advertised its store.

“They certainly haven’t helped, especially with their ad campaign,” Samantha admitted, thinking about how smart they’d been with their commercials, and how much money and time they devoted to advertising.

The commercial she most remembered was their first one, which had actually been one of the original commercials from Ireland. It opened with a young man dressed in a kilt, walking out, bagpipes in hand. He ambled across a grassy knoll with a loch in the background. A soft wind blew, whipping at the edge of his red, yellow and green kilt, causing the white shirt to ripple across his body as he walked. And he played a beautiful old love song—“Greensleeves.” Then others appeared in the background, in the slight fog that blew as they walked, and the young man let go of the pipe and began to sing in a gentle Irish brogue.

Dunnington’s had been smart, all right. Its commercial could sell anything.

“Still, you have to admit, though they had a great campaign, they didn’t have any stores here,” Samantha added. “So, that isn’t the root of our problems.”

Finally, Angela spoke. “I guess you don’t want Uncle Mitch to run them out of town?” she quipped.

Samantha laughed, though it was tinged with a bit of melancholy. “I don’t think that falls within the sheriff’s job, Angie,” she said wryly.

Angela shrugged. “Well, God can work bigger miracles than the luck of that Irishman can boast stores.”

Samantha nodded. “Anyway,” she said, dragging her friend back to the present, “I don’t want to rehash anything more about that nightmare down the street and how it’s going to affect our business.”

She took a deep calming breath.

“Here.” She shoved the ice pack at Angela. “Go put this on our guest’s foot while I make him up some hot chocolate. How’s Granny?” she asked as she closed the freezer and turned toward the kitchen. Angela blocked her way.

“Granny’s fine. She’s finally asleep. But I want to hear the rest of this before I go,” she protested, not moving aside to allow Samantha to pass.

At least she wasn’t rehashing their financial state, Samantha thought. So, she answered quickly, hoping to put it to rest. “I ran the man over. I hurt him and offered him a place to get some treatment since he wouldn’t go to the hospital and is new to town.”

“You ran him over? In the truck?”

Samantha frowned. “No, I ran into him and knocked him down.”

“He’s new to town?” Angela asked.

Samantha sighed. “Yes. He’s new here. Got in last night,” Samantha finally said, staring at Angela and waiting.

“You certainly learned a lot about him in a short time,” Angela said, lifting her eyebrows.

Uh-oh, Samantha thought. “I did not,” she protested. “I just, um…” She shrugged, unable to come up with an appropriate excuse in time.

“You find him interesting! I don’t believe it,” Angela exclaimed. “For ten years you haven’t seriously looked at a man. Then you run one down in a dash for your truck and you fall for him?”

Samantha scowled. “Very funny.”

“You actually brought him here, you talked with him….”

“For Pete’s sake, Angela. I nearly broke his leg!” Samantha looked toward the door, hoping her voice hadn’t carried.

Angela simply shook her head, grinning.

“I haven’t had time for a man,” Samantha interjected, thinking of her grandmother upstairs who, after two strokes, required a part-time nurse to sit with her. All of those expenses demanded that Samantha run a successful business.

“You should be married by now,” Angela said dreamily.

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Spare me your adolescent ideas of love. I haven’t had time for a man.”

“Hey, all of my uncles are married and my dad—”

Samantha sighed. “One day, maybe. It’s not that I don’t want to be married….” She thought again of her grandmother, the shape the store was in, and then shook her head.

“Our guest needs ice.”

Angela continued to grin. Twisting the cap on the ice bag she patted the bottom to make sure it was secure. “This conversation isn’t over,” Angela warned before leaving.

How well Samantha knew that. This conversation was far from over. Angela wouldn’t rest until she’d heard every detail. The woman had too much imagination and too much time—a dangerous combination.

Still, Angela was her dearest friend, closer than a sister, the only real family she had. She could forgive Angela anything. She would do anything for her, too.

Samantha quickly slipped into the main part of the kitchen and set to work fixing up a tray of treats and hot drinks. She could hear Angela talking to the man in the main room.

The deep timbre of his voice as he answered floated gently back into the kitchen, surrounding her with such peace. How long had it been since she’d been so at peace? His voice invited rest. The sure, soothing tones made her think he was a man well in control of himself at all times. How she wished she had a bit of that control. It’d be nice to have it in her business. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a good businessperson, though she dearly loved to create the recipes her grandmother had made. Instead, she was watching the business slide further and further toward bankruptcy, toward the end of an era, a way of carrying on her family’s tradition through her recipes. She’d been so used to working, trying to make this store a success, that she’d forgotten the joy of simply being in the company of a man—especially a man who radiated such gentleness. What would it be like to enjoy making the candy again without worrying about overhead and competition and falling sales?

Lifting the tray, she returned to the main room. The stranger had removed his coat and was relaxed in one of the cushioned chairs, his foot propped up on a stool.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate and dark bread.”

“Rye?”

She shook her head. “It’s a sweet bread.” Placing the tray down, she seated herself on the old-fashioned sofa. She couldn’t help but notice how well the charcoal-gray suit fit him. It looked tailor-made, curving over his shoulders, tapering in at the waist, buttoning over his flat stomach.

She realized she was still in her frumpy blue dress and wondered if he noticed how wrinkled it was. She hoped not.

“I was telling Mr. Moore that you’ve lived here most of your life.”

Angela’s voice reminded her that she should be serving the company, not staring at him. After cutting a piece of the fresh bread, she handed him a plate and a mug of cocoa.

“You know the town well, then?” he inquired politely.

Samantha nodded. “I suppose so, though I spent most of my time here with my grandmother instead of running around town.”

“You enjoy cooking?”

Samantha handed Angela a cup and then picked up her own mug. “I enjoyed being with my grandmother who enjoyed cooking and passed the skill on to me.”

“I like to cook as well,” he commented, and took a sip of the cocoa.

Surprised, Samantha paused, cocoa halfway to her lips. “Really?”

“Cinnamon and…” he paused, his gaze drifting. “Hazelnut? Freshly ground?”

“How’d you know that?” she asked, stunned.

His gaze refocused on her. “I apologize, Miss Hampton. As I said, I enjoy cooking and have spent years at it.”

“It’s Samantha. May I ask if you’re a chef?” Samantha found it hard to believe she’d found a man interested in cooking.

Richard Moore’s gaze turned to his cup. “No. I’m not really a chef. At one time, perhaps, but no more.” He swirled the contents before taking another sip. “Now I do a bit of everything, I suppose.”

“Is that why you’re here? To find a job?” Angela interjected, leaning forward, her golden hair slipping over her shoulder before she brushed it back. Angela was full of energy and curiosity this evening, Samantha thought, but didn’t try to quell her. She wanted to know the answer to that question, too.

“Actually, yes. I’m from out of town and just arrived to work at a new store in the mall that’s going up.”

“I love the mall going in. I’ve met so many new people—some with accents like yours. Do you know, the guy who runs the Mexican restaurant is from Zimbabwe! And then there is the woman who sounds French but is really from Louisiana and is Cajun, like a relative of mine—the Cajun works as a waitress there. And this guy who owns a shoe store has an accent just like yours, and then—”

“Angela,” Samantha said politely.

Angela looked a bit guilty for running on, but that didn’t stop her. “So, have you found a place to live yet?”

“Angela,” Samantha warned, beginning to feel embarrassed at Angela’s persistence in ferreting out all of Mr. Moore’s secrets. “He might not want to tell us everything.”

“It’s not a secret,” her guest said, but Samantha had just the opposite feeling.

The muted emotions in the man’s dark eyes made her wonder if he really didn’t enjoy talking about himself at all. Angela, however, didn’t seem to notice the sudden reserve in his demeanor as he continued.

“I’m living in a nearby hotel until I find an apartment to rent.”

“Which will take longer now that you can’t walk on your foot.”

Samantha turned three shades of red. “Angela!”

“What?” she asked, her eyes all wide and innocent—too innocent.

Samantha’s gaze narrowed.

“Your employer didn’t mean to run me over, Angela,” he chided gently. “It’s not her fault I can’t walk.”

Angela smiled. “Of course it is. She as much as admitted it to me in the supply room—which brings me to my suggestion. You should stay here in the upstairs apartment until you can go house hunting on your own.”

Samantha gaped.

Richard gaped as well. Obviously that was not the tack he had expected Angela to take. It hadn’t been Samantha’s guess either.

“It’s perfect,” Angela continued. “You need a place to stay and Sam has an empty apartment.”

“I—I—” Samantha started.

“Uh-hmm,” Richard cleared his throat.

She knew where her friend was headed. Angela had been after her for years to loosen up and date—and she’d just found the perfect candidate.

“I don’t want to intrude…” Richard began.

“It’s no imposition. Sam really needs to rent out that apartment. Money is tight right now. She could use the rent.”

Please, God, just open a hole in the floor and swallow me up, she thought dismally.

“Angela!”

Amazingly enough, the man, instead of being shocked, chuckled. “You are a true businesswoman, Angela.”

His gaze returned to Samantha. “I think your friend has sold me on the idea. However, since you own the apartment, I would think the final decision is up to you. How much do you charge a month?”

Samantha stared at her friend. Rent. Money. That would tide them over, she suddenly realized. At least until February. The firm “no” to renting to this man dissipated before it could be voiced.

Angela named a price.

Samantha started to protest, but Richard nodded. “More than fair for a one-bedroom, one bath.”

“Actually, it’s a two-bedroom,” Samantha interrupted, weakly feeling it best to point that out. This was payback, she thought. It had to be. If she had bowled this man over tonight, she was certainly getting bowled over now, as he and Angela made plans about the apartment before she could comment one way or another.

His warm gaze returned to her, making her forget that she’d even entertained such an idea as payback. That gentle look touched her with acceptance, no hint of her earlier actions in his expression. He really was serious about renting the apartment.

Money.

Maybe God had heard her prayers, after all!

“Even better,” Richard added. “Do I get to see it?”

Samantha hesitated. “The service elevator will take you upstairs, but maybe Angela could drive you to pick up your things first so I can do another cleaning before you move in.”

Samantha had been using the place for storage and wanted to move the boxes out. Why hadn’t she thought of renting the room before?

He started to protest. She saw the objection in his eyes. Then he nodded.

“However, I insist on taking a cab.”

“But…” Angela started.

He shook his head. “The ice has really helped. I can hobble back to the hotel and pack my things. What about picking up the keys tomorrow?”

Samantha thought that sounded superb. She nodded. “I— Wow.” She sighed.

Angela chuckled. “God answers prayers, Mr. Moore. Do you believe that?”

Richard smiled at Samantha, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I do—now.”

She had no idea what he meant by that. She did, however, know what her friend meant. With a short warning glare at Angela, she stood.

“Let me get you a cane to at least help you, Mr. Moore. Then we’ll see to your cab.” She paused. “I can’t apologize enough for what happened this evening.”

His gaze met hers firmly and he replied, so sure of himself that it sent chills down her spine.

“And I can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t run into me, I might not have met you. And that would have been the greater accident.”

She hesitated at that accent of his, thinking how absolutely appealing it was. Shaking her head, she smiled. “The apartment. Of course. Yes. You found an apartment.”

And before he could contradict her, Samantha fled back to the supply room to find her grandmother’s walking cane.

Just when things had looked dismal, God had answered her prayers.

The sound of firecrackers outside told her it must be midnight. A new year and a new day.