Second-Chance Sweet Shop

“Did you know the first year that you would have enough patients to sustain your practice?”

“I knew that only when my patients returned for their sixth-month checkup. My mother was semiretired, so she filled in as my receptionist until I was able to find a permanent one, and after I hired a hygienist, I didn’t have to micromanage, and everything fell into place. A couple of months ago I added a dental assistant to our staff who performs some of the duties the hygienist had assumed. Initially, most of my patients were kids who needed to have their teeth checked for school, a few for sleepaway camp, and then after a while I was able to sign up their parents.”

“What about your hours?”

“At one time they varied because I was in the reserves and had to serve one weekend a month and two weeks during the summer. I resigned my commission last summer once Kiera came to live with me. Currently, I’m open Mondays and Fridays nine to six, and Tuesdays and Thursdays from one to seven. Even though I no longer go on maneuvers for the two weeks, I still close the office.”

“What happened to Wednesdays and Saturdays?”

“Wednesday is designated golf day for doctors even though I don’t golf,” he admitted, smiling, “and because I have two late nights, I can spend Saturdays and Sundays with my daughter.”

Sasha inhaled a deep breath, held it before slowly exhaling. “I debated whether to close for one day, and then decided on two because I don’t have an assistant. Mama had a mild heart attack last year and her cardiologist has cautioned her about overtiring herself. She’s been working nonstop helping me to get this place ready, but by afternoons she’s so tired that she must get off her feet. Most nights she’s in bed by the time I get home. I wanted to wait to see how many more would apply for the part-time afternoon position before I made a decision, but because Kiera was the first to come in, I decided not to prolong the process.”

“What time do you come in?” Dwight questioned.

“I get in around six and I’m usually here a couple of hours after closing.”

He whistled softly. “That’s a long day.” Sasha nodded. “I really understand your apprehension, but this isn’t the first time you’ve gone into business for yourself.” He wanted to remind her that she had earned the reputation as a celebrity chef.

“That’s true, but the difference is I’d worked out of my home and only when I was commissioned to design cakes for special occasions. I’m not questioning my ability as a pastry chef, but whether folks in town are willing to spend money on freshly made baked goods.”

Dwight curbed the urge to reach out and take Sasha’s hand when he noticed its trembling. “You’re experiencing what every other start-up business faces. We don’t know how it’s going to turn out except that we must take the risk and hope we’ll be successful. I had to withdraw money from an annuity to buy machines and equipment to set up the office, and it took me three years before I was able to put it back.”

Sasha suddenly felt as if she was being a Negative Nelly. Unlike Dwight, she didn’t have to borrow money to set up the bakeshop. She’d earned enough money from designing cakes for A-list celebrities to become financially comfortable, and she’d also inherited a small fortune from her former employer. Luckily, she’d signed a prenup before marrying Grant with the stipulation he wasn’t entitled to her earnings, just as she wasn’t entitled to what he’d received from his recording contracts. She’d had Adele Harvey to thank for the advice as to how she should protect her money.

“I’m sorry to bend your ear about…”

“Stop it, Sasha,” Dwight said softly, cutting her off. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re not the first and won’t be the last person to experience preopening jitters. I’m willing to bet you’ll have a line out the door like the ones in Brooklyn when folks order cakes from Junior’s for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

Her expression brightened noticeably. “You know about Junior’s?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Dwight chuckled softly. “One of my army buddies was a native New Yorker and he knew every popular eating spot on Long Island and the five boroughs. The first time he took me to Junior’s for dinner and suggested I try the cheesecake, I was hooked. I try to visit Junior’s at least once every time I go to New York.”

“Do you go often?”

“I used to go back three or four times a year when Kiera lived with my ex-wife.”

The mention of an ex-wife had Sasha wondering if Dwight had remarried, despite his not wearing a wedding band. However, his marital status was of no import to her at the moment. Her sole focus was making a go of her patisserie.

“After I graduated from culinary school, I took a two-month break and treated myself to trips to DC, New York and Boston to visit a number of restaurants who’d earned a reputation for their signature desserts. Junior’s was on my list for cheesecakes once I got to New York City. Everything I’d heard or read about their cheesecakes could not accurately describe what I’d eaten. I’d become so obsessed in attempting to duplicate their recipe that I gave up and now use a basic recipe and slightly tweak it to make it my own.”

“Your cheesecake is spectacular.”

A rush of heat suffused her face. “Thank you.”

Dwight stretched out long legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can count me as a regular customer if you send me an email whenever you bake bagels, ciabatta, focaccia, cinnamon raisin or Irish soda bread.”

Sasha felt a rush of excitement for the first time since sitting down with Dwight. She was looking forward to foot traffic for special-order items. “I’ll definitely add your name to my mailing list. I plan to alert everyone on the list of the day’s special.” She pushed to her feet, Dwight rising with her, and extended her hand. “Thank you for the pep talk. I left a pad at the front of the shop for you to put down your contact information.”

Dwight took her hand, his larger one closing over her fingers. He went completely still. “Why is your hand so cold?”

“I’ve always had cold hands.”

“Cold hands, warm heart?” he teased.

“You’ve got it,” Sasha countered.

Once her marriage soured and she felt comfortable enough to disclose the details to her mother, Charlotte had accused her of loving with her heart rather than her head. She didn’t want to tell the older woman that she did not want a repeat of her marriage, where every day was filled with hostility, so she’d bitten her tongue in order to keep the peace. However, in the end she knew she could not continue to put up with a man who was continually threatened that her popularity was surpassing his, as he constantly reminded her. It had taken more than six months for her to finally tell Grant it was over and that she wanted out. Much to her surprise, he agreed, and less than a year later they went their separate ways.

Dwight increased his hold on her hand, his thumb caressing the back and adding warmth not only to her fingers but adding a rush of warmth through her whole body. Though undeniably innocent, the motion elicited shivers of sensual awareness coursing through her. Sasha could not believe she was reveling in the feel of a man holding her hand.

“May I please have my hand back?” A teasing smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

Dwight dropped it as if it was a venomous snake. “Sorry about that.”

I’m not, Sasha thought. She wasn’t sorry because it had been much too long since she’d found herself affected by a man’s touch. Now that she looked back on her relationship with her ex-husband, Sasha knew she had been in denial when she refused to see what had been so apparent from her first date with Grant. He was a narcissist. It had to be all about him.

Despite what she’d felt when Dwight held her hand, Sasha knew there was no way she could allow herself to be swayed by romantic fantasies. Her sole focus was making certain she remained in business. She had invested too much time and money in the bakeshop to have it fail. Dwight stared at her, and suddenly she felt like a specimen on a slide under a microscope.

Without warning, a wave of exhaustion washed over her as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “It has been a long day, and as soon as I let you out, I’m going to head home. I’d planned to put up a batch of dough for bread, but that’s something I’ll do when I come in early tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait and walk you out.”

Sasha shook her head. “Thank you for offering, but I believe I can find my way to the parking lot rather easily.”

“I’ll still wait and walk you to your car.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

There was something in Dwight’s voice that indicated no matter what she said she wouldn’t be able to dissuade him. She showed him where he could put down his contact information before returning to the kitchen to turn off lights and retrieve her tote from the lower drawer in the file cabinet. Dwight met her as she armed the security system, opened and locked the rear door behind them.

Sasha pointed to the van parked several spaces down from the bakeshop. The parking lot was brightly lit with newly installed high-intensity streetlamps. A rash of burglaries and break-ins had prompted shopkeepers to get the town council to approve improved lighting to protect their businesses.

“The white van is mine.”

Dwight walked her to her vehicle and waited for her to unlock the doors. “Do you want to give me a hint about tomorrow’s special?”

“Red velvet cheesecake brownies. I’ll put aside a few and give them to Kiera when she comes in. One of the perks will be she will get samples of the day’s special.” Dwight’s dimples reminded Sasha of the indentations in thumbprint cookies when he smiled.

“That sounds like a plan.”

Sasha got in behind the wheel and started up the van. “Get home safe,” she said before closing the door. Dwight hadn’t moved as she put the vehicle in Reverse and drove out of the lot. Talking to him had offered Sasha a modicum of confidence that she could have a successful business offering the residents of Wickham Falls fresh baked goods.

Ten minutes later, she maneuvered into the driveway of the three-bedroom house where she’d grown up, and where her mother still lived. It wasn’t until she’d returned to The Falls and moved back in the house that she’d realized how small it was. Eleven hundred square feet was a far cry from the six-thousand-square-foot home she’d shared with her husband in Nashville’s tony West End neighborhood. Sitting on three acres of prime real estate, the house was so large the builder had installed intercoms for her to communicate with Grant whenever they were in opposite wings of the mansion.

Sasha had given all of it up—the guitar-shaped in-ground pool, the horses she’d loved to ride, and rubbing shoulders with Nashville’s country royalty—in order to control her destiny. The first night she crawled into the bed in her childhood bedroom, she slept for twelve uninterrupted hours and woke feeling as if she had been reborn. It took two months for her to put together a business plan to start over in a town she’d fled fourteen years before. Not only had she changed; the family dynamics had also changed. Her father was gone, and her brothers were lifers in the military, which left just her and her mother.