Better Than Chocolate

Elena looked at her uneasily. “I was getting worried. Where’ve you been?”

“Out getting inspired. I need you to look up festivals on the internet and print out everything you can find.”

“Okay,” Elena said. “But—”

“And call Luke and tell him to plan to triple production on our mint chocolate hearts.”

“What in the world is going on?”

“We are about to sponsor Icicle Falls first annual chocolate festival,” Samantha said, and then marched into her office, a general about to form her battle plan and conquer the world. Or at least the bank.

Chapter Seven

A positive attitude in you inspires a positive attitude in others.

—Muriel Sterling, When Family Matters

Wednesday morning found the members of the Icicle Falls Chamber of Commerce assembled in the banquet room of Dot Morrison’s Breakfast Haus.

“Do you want me to bring up the idea of the festival?” Cass asked Samantha.

“I appreciate the offer, but no.” It would be nice if someone would just take the reins and gallop them off into the sunset (or over the cliff) but Samantha knew she had to do this herself. Her glance sneaked to the far end of the table, where Blake Preston sat talking with Ed York, who owned D’Vine Wines. Would he weigh in and advise everyone present not to listen to a woman whose business was in ruins?

Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. It was in the bank’s best interest for her to succeed. Otherwise, they’d have a chocolate company on their hands, and what would the bank do with a chocolate company?

“Just remember to stress that we’ll all benefit from this,” said Charley, whom she’d filled in on their way to the meeting. “We need to figure out how to make Icicle Falls a tourist destination all year long, snow or no snow.”

Samantha nodded and pushed her plate away. What little she’d eaten of her Belgian waffle was lying in her stomach like a brick.

Another fifteen minutes of small talk and Ed brought the meeting to order. There was much to discuss, like how to encourage everyone to put out hanging baskets and window boxes full of flowers come spring so they could keep their Alpine village theme consistent throughout town.

During this discussion several of the women present cast scornful frowns in the direction of Todd Black, whose sports bar, the Man Cave, camped at the edge of town—rather like the embarrassing relative everyone at the family picnic wishes would just go away. His concession to the requisite Bavarian look they were going for had been to add the carved wooden overhang to his roofline and commission one of his buddies to paint a Neanderthal in lederhosen holding a club on the front of the building. Many thought it in poor taste. Rather like the brawls that often took place there on a Saturday night.