Second-Chance Sweet Shop

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Give her the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.

—Proverbs 31:31

Chapter One (#u3cd05829-6e89-5cc2-8519-4b3ea37ccf47)

The chilly February temperature and lightly falling rain did little to dispel the excitement coursing through Sasha Manning. She’d lost track of the number of times she had glanced at the wall clock. It was a week before Valentine’s Day and the grand opening of her patisserie. Sasha’s Sweet Shoppe was located on Main Street, in the heart of Wickham Falls’ downtown business district. The mayor, several members of the town council and the chamber of commerce had promised to be on hand at ten for the ribbon-cutting photo op.

“You can keep staring at that clock, but it isn’t going to make the hands move any faster.”

Sasha turned to look at her mother. Charlotte Manning had worked tirelessly alongside her over the past four months to get the shop ready. And Sasha knew Charlotte, who’d had a mild heart attack nearly a year ago, could not continue to put in such long hours. Several days ago, she’d posted a help-wanted sign in the front window.

“I keep wondering if they’re going to cancel the photo shoot because of the weather.” The words were barely off her tongue when the town’s photographer knocked lightly on the door. Sasha pressed her palms together to conceal their trembling. The door chimed when she opened it.

“Good morning, Jonas.”

“Good morning, Sasha. Charlotte.”

Jonas Harper, performing double duty as the photographer for the town and The Sentinel, Wickham Falls’ biweekly, set his leather equipment bag on the floor and then walked over to the showcases filled with colorful confectionaries. “They look too pretty to eat.”

Sasha smiled at the middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper ponytail. She’d spent the past two days putting together an assortment of tarts, tortes, cookies and pies. Earlier that morning she’d baked several loaves of white, wheat, rye and pumpernickel bread. “I’ve put aside samples for you and the others.”

Jonas unzipped his bright yellow waterproof poncho. “Is there someplace where I can hang this up?”

Charlotte stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’ll take that for you.”

Sasha watched her mother as she took Jonas’s poncho, offering him a bright smile. At fifty-six, Charlotte was still a very attractive woman, despite what she’d had to go through during her volatile marriage to a man she was never able to please. Her blond hair was now a shimmering silver and there were a few noticeable lines around her bright blue eyes.

As the youngest of three, and the only girl, Sasha would cover her head with a pillow to drown out what were daily arguments between her parents. She had counted down the time until she graduated high school and could leave Wickham Falls, as her brothers had done when they enlisted in the military. It had been more than a decade since she’d called Wickham Falls home, but now she was back to stay.

“This place is really nice,” Jonas said, as he glanced around the bakery. “It reminds me of some of the little bakeshops I saw when I visited Paris.”

Sasha nodded, smiling. The colorful wallpaper stamped with images of pies, cakes, muffins and cupcakes provided a cheerful backdrop for twin refrigerated showcases, recessed lights, a quartet of pendants, and a trio of bistro tables and chairs. She had also purchased a coffee press, a cappuccino machine and a commercial blender to offer specialty coffees.

“That’s what I had in mind when I decided to open this place.” Although she’d never been to Paris, she had watched countless televised travel and cooking shows featuring French cooking to know exactly how she wanted her patisserie to look. Her mother had teased her, saying perhaps the residents of The Falls weren’t ready for fancy tarts and pastries with names they weren’t able to pronounce. But Sasha refused to let anyone dissuade her from her dream of starting over as a successful pastry chef.

When growing up she hadn’t known what she wanted to do or be. Everything changed, once she left Wickham Falls and moved to Tennessee to accept a position as a companion to an elderly woman. Adele Harvey, the former English teacher and reclusive widow of a man who made a fortune buying and selling real estate, had become the grandmother Sasha never had.

Sasha saw the ad online for a live-in companion and filled out an application, despite not having any experience aside from occasionally babysitting her neighbors’ young children. Two weeks following her high school graduation Sasha boarded a bus for a trip to Memphis, Tennessee, for an in-person interview with Mrs. Harvey and the attorney overseeing the legal affairs of the childless widow. It had taken the older woman only ten minutes to announce she was hired, and when Sasha returned to Memphis in mid-August it was as a first-class passenger on a direct flight, followed by a chauffeur-driven limo to what would become her new home.

The bell chimed again, breaking into her thoughts, and the editor of the newspaper walked in. Langston Cooper had left The Falls to pursue a career as a journalist. For more than a decade he had covered the Middle East as a foreign correspondent for an all-news cable station before returning to the States to write several bestselling books. His life mirrored Sasha’s when he married a popular singer, but the union was dissolved amid rumors that she’d had an affair with an actor. Langston returned to Wickham Falls, took over ownership of the dwindling biweekly and within two years had increased the newspaper’s circulation and advertising revenue.

Taking off his baseball cap, he smiled at Sasha, exhibiting straight, white teeth in his light brown complexion. Growing up, Langston and her brother had been what folks said were as thick as thieves. You’d never see one without the other.

Walking over to him, she pressed her cheek to his smooth-shaven jaw. “Thank you for coming.”

Langston dropped a kiss on the mass of curly hair framing Sasha’s round face. “Did you actually think I would miss the grand opening of The Falls’ celebrity pastry chef?”

Sasha blushed to the roots of her natural strawberry-blond hair. She’d dyed the bright red strands a nondescript brown following her divorce to avoid attracting the attention of eagle-eyed paparazzi who’d hounded her relentlessly once the word was out that she was no longer married to country-music heartthrob Grant Richards.

“Have you forgotten that I’m not the only celebrity in The Falls?” she teased with a smile. “After all, you are a New York Times bestselling author.”

Langston nodded. “I didn’t come here for you to talk about me, but about you. After photos and the speeches, I’d like you to schedule some time for an interview for The Sentinel’s Who’s Who column.”

Since coming back to The Falls Sasha had discovered her hometown had changed—and for the better. The list of those returning to Wickham Falls to put down roots was growing. Langston had become editor in chief of The Sentinel, Seth Collier was now sheriff, and Sawyer Middleton headed the technology department for the Johnson County Public Schools system. And for Sasha it was a no-brainer. The Falls was the perfect place for her to start over with a business where she did not have a competitor.

“Can you call me in a couple of weeks?” she asked.

“You’ve got it.” Langston leaned closer and kissed her cheek. “Good luck and congratulations,” he said as he left.

She hoped the samples she planned to offer those coming into the shop for her grand opening would generate return customers. A nervous smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth when she spied the mayor, several members of the town council and the head of the chamber of commerce through the plate-glass window.

“It’s showtime, Natasha,” Charlotte whispered.

“Yes, it is, Mama.” Her mother was the only one who had refused to call her by her preferred name. When her mother brought her home from the hospital, her three-year-old brother could not pronounce Natasha; he’d begun calling her Sasha and the name stuck. She walked over to the door and opened it.

Sasha let out an audible sigh when the town officials filed out of the shop, each with a small white box, stamped with the patisserie’s logo, and filled with miniature samples of red velvet, pumpkin spice, lemon-lime and chocolate hazelnut cupcakes. Cupcakes had become her signature specialty.

She pushed her hands into the pockets of the pink tunic with her name and the shop’s logo stamped over her heart. “Even though Mayor Gillespie was a little long-winded, I think it went well.”

“It went very, very well,” Charlotte said in agreement. “Jonas took wonderful shots of the shop, and after your interview with Langston I’m willing to bet that you won’t be able to keep up with the demand for your cupcakes.”

Charlotte gave her daughter a reassuring smile. When she had come back six months before she had felt like crying when she opened the door to see her last born appear to be a shadow of the young woman who had come to her father’s funeral what now seemed so long ago. The bright red hair was a mousy brown, and she had lost a lot of weight. At five-nine she’d appeared almost emaciated and it took Charlotte all her resolve not to become hysterical. It was only after she revealed the circumstances behind her marriage and subsequent divorce that Charlotte understood what Natasha had gone through.

Sasha pulled her lower lip between her teeth. She wanted to sell not only cupcakes, but also specialty cakes, breads and made-to-order elegant desserts. Wickham Falls wasn’t Nashville, but she didn’t plan to offer the small-town residents creations of a lesser quality than those in the Music City. The doorbell chimed and within minutes there was a steady stream of curious potential customers. She’d sold out of fresh bread before the noon hour.

“May I help you?” Sasha asked an attractive teenage girl with large dark brown eyes and neatly braided hair ending at her shoulders.

“Yes. I’ve come to apply for the part-time counterperson position.”

“Are you still in school?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m finished with my classes at noon, so I’m available from one on.”

Sasha didn’t want to write the girl off before she interviewed her, although she would’ve preferred someone more mature. “What’s your name?”

“Kiera Adams. My dad is Dwight Adams,” she said proudly.

The moment Kiera mentioned her father’s name Sasha realized she was the daughter of the local dentist. “Does your father know you’re applying for the position?” She had asked the question because she did not want to have a problem with parents questioning the number of hours their son or daughter were committed to work.