“Fancy talk from a man in a hole.” Dot pokes her head out of the office and grins.
“I’m a man of many talents,” Jakob deadpans.
“Well, let’s see if one of those talents is nailing plywood,” Walt grouses. “I’m not paying you to lie around and eat sweeties all day.”
“You’re not paying me at all,” Jakob points out. He comes outof the hole and grabs his water bottle. He’s sweaty and grimy and still manages to look sexy. It’s not fair. It really isn’t.
I gape at Jakob. “Wait, what do you mean? You’re not getting paid?” I turn to Walt. “What’s he talking about? You said you were hiring someone to help you.”
Walt raises his hands. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “I offered to pay him like I usually do, but he won’t take a dime for this job.”
“You’re doing all this work and not getting paid? Why?” I cross my arms and turn to Jakob, demanding an answer. He’s been working at the bakery from the crack of dawn until late morning, then he comes over here and works until suppertime or later. I thought he was getting paid. This makes no sense.
Jakob looks like he’s been caught doing something naughty. “Uh…” He casts his eyes around the torn-up store as though he’ll find the answers there. “Just…wanted to help an old friend out.” He gulps some water and looks shifty.
I don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” I stammer. He looks uncomfortable.
“It’s nothing,” he says, waving away the words. But we both know it isn’t nothing. It’s a big something. He’s donating hours of his time every day for no pay. Why would he do that?
“I’d better get back to the kitchen.” I snap the lid back on the container, feeling confused and a little uncomfortable. “The filling on this batch was great, but I want to work on the swirls of color in the chocolate shell. I’m rusty on the technique.” As I head back to the kitchen, Dot leans out of the office and grabs my arm, pulling me inside. “You want to know the reason he’s doing all this for free?” she asks sotto voce. “Look in the mirror, darlin’.”
I recoil from her words. “We’re friends,” I insist in a whisper. “He feels bad for us. He’s just trying to help.”
Dot snorts. “No, honey. That sweet, good boy has been in love with you since you were teenagers. Looks like some things haven’t changed.” She raises her eyebrows and looks pointedly at Jakob, who is on his knees nailing new plywood over the gaping hole in our floor.
“That skinny, whip-smart kid has turned into a fine, fine man,” she says firmly. “And you could cut granite on that ass.” She admires the contours of his jean-clad backside.
“Dot!” Cheeks flaming, I beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. I try to concentrate on perfecting the swirls of burnt orange through the deep goldenrod-colored bonbon shells, but I am so distracted by Dot’s words that I don’t temper the cocoa butter correctly and have to start over. Frustrated, I try to forget about anything except the tools and ingredients before me, but it proves impossible. Over and over, I hear Dot’s voice in my head.
That sweet, goodboy has been in love with you since you were teenagers. Looks like some things haven’t changed.
Could Dot be right? Is Jakob still in love with me, even a little bit? It’s been years! And I broke his heart once before. The thought that he still might harbor feelings for me makes me squirm. Not because I find his feelings distasteful, and not because I findhimdistasteful either. Quite the opposite, actually. And that is the crux of the problem.
His presence in my life is not part of the plan. He’s bringing up inconvenient memories and old feelings, and he looks entirely too good in…well, everything, to be honest. I am supposed to be starting my love story with Henry, not letting myself get distracted by another man who is not part of my purpose in life. I need to put Jakob Kristensen out of my head and focus on my future, not the past. And for heaven’s sake, I need to stop ogling him in those jeans.
Resolutely, I turn my attention back to the tasks at hand—making competition-worthy chocolates and falling for Henry Summers. There is no room for anything else right now. I need to stick to the plan.
A few hours later Dot and Mom wander into the kitchen as I’m finishing up my second attempt at a strawberry champagne truffle dipped in white chocolate. Dani is sitting on a stool keeping me company, which basically means discussing reruns ofThe Golden Bachelorand sneaking strawberries and white chocolate melting wafers from my ingredients. Dot is carrying a long white envelope in her hand. Both she and Mom are wearing sober expressions. I know instantly what she is holding.
“Is that the letter from the county?” I wipe my hands on a towel. The air is sweet with the smell of ripe strawberries and melted white chocolate. There is strawberry juice everywhere.
Dot nods. “It’s not good news, darlin’,” she says with a frown.
“Way to harsh the vibe, Kitsap County,” Dani grouses, throwing a frown toward the envelope.
We gather around the marble slab fudge table and Dot hands me the letter. Mr. Butters sits at Mom’s side, watching us with interest.
“We have until January first to have all the upgrade work completed and inspected by the county.” Mom clasps her hands in front of her worriedly. Mr. Butters looks from one to the other and thumps his stumpy tail uncertainly.
“I got the same letter,” Dot says grimly. “Everyone in town did.”
I skim the letter, reading it aloud, taking in the long string of amended codes and the consequences—citations and fines—if the upgrades are not completed in a timely manner. I fold the letter and put it back into the envelope. I’m so tired of bad news. Why can’t a letter ever be good news? A single piece of paper tosay we won a house in Ireland or the lottery or even just a lifetime supply of Pop-Tarts or something?
“I’ll call some contractors tomorrow,” I tell Mom and Dot, setting the letter on the marble slab and rubbing my forehead where a stress headache is starting to bloom. “We need to get an idea of what this might cost. And I suppose we should talk with Sebastian and Hilda as soon as we can because we’re going to need to get estimates to upgrade the entire building, and they’re going to have to agree to whoever we decide to hire.” We each own our own parts of the building, four shops in total.
“That’s a good idea.” Dot nods approvingly. “I’ll check in with them and let you know what they say.” She glances over at the batch of truffles I just finished. They’re cooling on one end of the marble slab.
“Ooh, those look good. Can I try one?”
