If she and George could find their way to each other after all these years of stubbornness and missed opportunities, then surely Lincoln and Imogen could do the same, she thought.
She and Vanessa were going to see to it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The last customer of the afternoon rush finally left Artisan Chocolates with a cheerful wave and a bag full of maple walnut fudge, and Imogen let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The shop felt almost eerily quiet after the constant chatter and bustle of the past three hours, and she was glad for it. She needed a minute to reset before the after-work rush started later, and a chance to clean up the store a bit.
She glanced at the vintage clock mounted above the register. It was just past noon, and she’d been on her feet since opening at nine without so much as a bathroom break. The display cases looked somewhat depleted after the morning’s sales, and the glass was smudged with tiny fingerprints. The wrapping station was a mess too. Imogen reached up to tidy her ponytail, rocking on her sore feet for a moment as she tried to decide what to tackle first while she had the time.
Or maybe she had time to grab a snack? Her morning had been an absolute rush with Katie over to Emma’s house for the day and then hurrying to the shop. She was just considering whether she had remembered to replenish her stash of protein bars in the back when the phone rang, the shrill sound makingher jump. It was particularly jarring at the moment, and for a split second, she considered letting it go to voicemail.
It could be an order though, or someone who needed information about the shop. She was a small business; she couldn’t afford to risk losing a customer because she needed a few minutes break. She quickly grabbed the phone, answering with a quick: “Hello, Artisan Chocolates?”
“Hi.” The feminine voice on the other side paused. “This is Pamela, fromSweet Confections.”
Imogen’s heart skipped. “Yes?” she managed, trying to sound calmer than she felt.
Did they realize that they picked the wrong store? Did they mean to send that letter to a different Artisan Chocolates? Did I miss some kind of paperwork and they’re retracting the feature?
A dozen different anxieties swirled through her head as she tried to stay calm and not panic. This was a dream come true, and even if she had no idea how she was going to juggle everything, she didn’t want to let it pass her by either.
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she leaned against the counter. She needed to sound professional, confident, like the kind of chocolatier who deserved to be featured in a nationally distributed publication.
“Of course,” she managed. “I’m so happy to hear from you. What can I do for you?” She was grateful Pamela couldn’t see her flushed cheeks or the way she was gripping the phone a little too tightly.
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?” Pamela’s voice was warm and professional, without a hint of nerves. The sound of it made the whole opportunity feel startlingly real.
“Not at all,” Imogen replied quickly—perhaps a bit too quickly—and she forced herself to slow down, to take a breath, to sound calm and collected. This was the opportunity she’dbeen dreaming of for years—she couldn’t afford to sound like a flustered small-town shop owner, even if that’s exactly what she was feeling like at the moment. “I’m so excited about the feature. Thank you again for choosing Artisan Chocolates.”
“We’re absolutely thrilled to showcase your work,” Pamela said warmly, and Imogen could hear the smile in her voice. “Your chocolates look absolutely divine from the photos you sent us. The creative flavors and the care you clearly put into making and showcasing them is exactly the kind of thing we want to feature in our magazine. But I wanted to discuss the logistics of the actual shoot with you.”
Imogen nodded, before remembering she was on the phone, and Pamela couldn’t see her. She grabbed a notepad and a pen from beside the register to write down anything she’d need to remember, trying to keep her hands from shaking. This was really happening. A major food magazine was going to photograph her chocolates, her shop… her life’s work.
“We’ll want to photograph your full range of chocolates, of course,” Pamela continued. “The truffles—I’m especially excited about those seasonal flavors you mentioned, the maple bourbon and the peppermint cream. And your fudge selection looked incredible in the photos. Your hot chocolate counter has a lovely retro feel to it as well that we definitely want to showcase. But I was also hoping we could discuss creating something special for the feature.”
Imogen’s stomach twisted with nerves, and she gulped. “Something special?”
“Yes. An exhibit piece for the feature. We want to really wow our readers, to show them that you’re an artist as well as a salesperson. That kind of ‘artist in a small town’ vibe is very much what we’re going for with this, a hidden gem. We want to show what you have to offer for the everyday, but also whatyou would do if you had no limits on your creativity,” Pamela continued enthusiastically.
Imogen found herself leaning forward, caught up in the vision as Pamela kept talking.
“Our most successful features always have that one show-stopping element that makes readers stop mid-scroll, you know? Something that demonstrates not just your skill with flavor, but your artistic talent. The kind of piece that makes people think ‘I need to visit this chocolatier immediately.’ Based on the care you take with your displays and how perfect your chocolates already look, I’m sure you have it in you.”
Imogen bit her lip, her nerves going wild. An exhibit piece. Something show-stopping. Something that would represent everything she’d worked so hard to build with Artisan Chocolates. The pressure felt enormous. She’d toyed around in her kitchen from time to time making tiny sculptures and things out of chocolate, but she didn’t do it often enough that she felt completely confident she could pull off a show-stopping piece for the magazine. But she also couldn’t sayno. She’d never have this opportunity again. Even if she was terrified of failing, she had to try… right?
“Of course!” she heard herself saying, and she was glad that she sounded more enthusiastic than scared. “I would love to create something special for the feature. I don’t get the opportunity to do that all that often, you know? I’m sure I can come up with something amazing. Something that really captures what Artisan Chocolates is all about.”
“Perfect! We’re hoping to schedule the shoot for next week, if that works with your schedule. I know it’s short notice, but we’re trying to get this into our holiday issue, and our deadline is approaching rather quickly.”
Next week.Seven days. Maybe less, depending on which day they meant. Imogen’s pulse quickened rapidly, but she somehowmanaged to keep her voice steady and professional. “That should be perfect. I’ll have everything ready—the full chocolate selection and a special exhibit piece that will be absolutely perfect for the feature.”
“Excellent! I’ll email you all the details about timing and what we’ll need from you. Our photographer is fantastic—she really knows how to make food look irresistible. This is going to be wonderful. I have such a good feeling about this feature.”
After a few more minutes of logistics and pleasant conversation, they hung up. Imogen stood frozen for a moment, phone still in her hand, as the full weight of what had just happened settled over her.
Sweet Confectionsmagazine. Next week. An exhibit piece.
Her legs suddenly felt unsteady, and she dropped heavily into the chair behind the counter, the phone clattering slightly as she set it down. The adrenaline that had carried her through the conversation was rapidly fading, leaving behind a mixture of elation and pure terror.
