In Her Candy Jar: A Romantic Comedy

by Alina Jacobs

  "These are amazing," I sighed. "I wish I had an actual kitchen where I could cook food like this."

  "You haven't been cooking in the tiny house?"

  I snorted. "I can barely survive in the tiny house. I think it's trying to kill me."

  Willow laughed. "It can't be that bad."

  "It doesn't even have a microwave."

  Willow grimaced. "Svennson PharmaTech is about to not have microwaves. Tara wants to have them all taken out because of that fire you started."

  "You're supposed to make me feel better, not throw my shortcomings back in my face," I complained.

  When the hamburgers arrived, she pushed mine toward me. "Here. Eat your feelings."

  "That's the plan!" I replied, looking up to see the waitress set down a mason jar filled with a gooey golden liquid.

  "Thanks?" I said confused. "I didn't order this."

  "You look like someone who's had a bad day," the waitress explained. "Trust me, this will make it all better."

  "Do I drink it?"

  "I mean you can," she said. "It's cheese sauce." She picked it up and poured the whole jar all over my burger and fries.

  "This is something I never knew I needed in my life," I told Willow through a mouthful of cheesy burger. "I'm having a religious experience."

  "You have cheese sauce all over your face."

  I licked it off with my tongue.

  "You know," Willow said, swiping one of my cheese-covered fries, "I was going to make a joke about you having jizz all over your face, but this cheese is too miraculous to be sullied with a dirty joke."

  "Yeah, this is the closest thing I'm having to a sexual awakening," I told her, taking another giant bite of the cheese-covered burger.

  "I guess Mace is off the table."

  "He was never on the table."

  "Actually I think that he probably wants you on the table." Willow snickered.

  "Doubtful."

  "I saw the way he looked at you." Willow waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  "I doubt he's in lust with me. I think he's going to fire me tomorrow," I said, contemplating my burger. It was grilled medium rare, with the smooth taste of high-quality beef. The tomatoes were juicy, and the cheese sauce brought it all together.

  "If you are fired, there's a tiny house village a few hours from here," Willow said as she swiped another fry. "Josie?"

  I didn't answer her. I was staring at my phone.

  "Is it Mace?" Willow asked.

  I shook my head, trying to breathe. I felt like my food was going to end up all over the table like Henry and his marshmallow cereal. "It's not Mace. It's Anke. She wants to meet," I said.

  Willow looked at me. "Why now?"

  "She wants something," I said. "She's going to try and convince me to do something for her. And I'm so stupid, I'll probably do it."

  "Or maybe she just wants to give you the money," Willow offered.

  I wasn't so sure. Nothing with Anke was ever that easy.

  20

  Mace

  Henry was up before five thirty the next morning. I had an uneasy dream that something was chasing after me. I woke up to see Henry inches from my face, staring at me, motionless.

  "I'm hungry," he whispered.

  "Dude."

  "I'm hungry! I'm hungry!" he repeated while I dressed and walked downstairs.

  "I guess you aren't any worse for wear," I said, ruffling his hair.

  "I want marshmallows," Henry said, bouncing around my legs.

  "Never again," I told him.

  Archer was in the kitchen, burning an omelet.

  "You could have had Archer fix you something," I told Henry as I opened a window to air out the kitchen. Henry ignored me and climbed up on a stool at the large kitchen island.

  "Why are you up so early?" I asked Archer. "Wait, let me guess. You never went to sleep."

  "We creative geniuses work best in the dark," Archer said as he scraped some of the eggs onto a plate and handed Henry a fork.

  I looked at the food. "You really want to eat that?" I asked Henry as he gingerly took a bite.

  "Don't hate on my food," Archer said. "At least I cooked. Normally I have people to do this for me."

  "I think there's some nut bread left," I told Henry, trying to take the plate away from him.

  "There's not," Archer said, sitting down next to Henry. "I gave it to Remy and told him to bury it in the yard."

  "You wasted food!" I said, shocked.

  Archer snorted. "Nope. Remy said he was going to vacuum pack it, that the bread would survive a nuclear apocalypse and we would all be glad to have it later. He stashed it in the bunker."

  I snagged a bite of my brother's omelet. It tasted as bad as it looked.

  "Maybe I should try and find a chef," I mused.

  "I thought you tried that before, and the kids couldn't handle it."

  "Right. Maybe we won't repeat that," I said.

  "You could find a live-in girlfriend," Archer said and made a suggestive gesture.

  "Not in front of Henry," I admonished.

  "Josie should be your girlfriend," Henry said, a piece of egg falling off his fork. He grabbed it with his hand and slurped it up. I handed him a napkin. "I hope she doesn't leave."

  "Mace isn't allowed to fire her," Archer said, smirking. "Greg said so."

  Henry beamed. "Good. I like her. She's cool." He looked thoughtful. "And pretty."

  "She is pretty," my twin said, smiling broadly.

  "Don't even think about it," I growled at him.

  "Someone's possessive!"

  I thought about that. I wasn't, was I? Strange. I didn't even like Josie.

  Henry rode with me to work. I sagged as soon as I walked into the building. Right. He was expelled from daycare.

  "What am I going to do with you?" I asked him.

  "Send me to Australia," he said.

  "I'm not sending you to Australia. You don't even know where that is."

  Josie was waiting for me in my office. The glass was still broken, but at least everything was picked up.

  "How is Henry?" she asked, worry on her face.

  "He's fine."

  "I just want to apologize—" she began.

  I grimaced. "It's fine. I have a tendency to overreact. I just… my brothers are all I have."

  She looked up at me. "I understand if you want to fire me."

  "I can't really afford to fire you," I admitted. "I need someone to watch Henry."

  "What about inventorying the snacks?" she asked.

  "What—no. Let's forget about that."

  Tara knocked on the doorframe and stepped inside. Josie's eyes narrowed when she saw the marketing director.

  "You have the visit to the hydroelectric plant," Tara reminded me, "with the city officials and the economic development director of the State of New York."

  "Yes, I'm heading over in a few minutes," I replied.

  "I thought maybe I should come along," Tara offered. "I am the director of marketing, and I think it would make a great advertising piece."

  "That's a good idea. But I need Josie to watch Henry while I'm there doing the tour. Why don't you tell her what you need, and she can interview officials for quotes and coordinate with the photographer who's coming on-site to take pictures?"

  Tara jerked back like I'd slapped her. "Josie?" she said, her voice rising an octave. "She wrecked your office, almost burned down the building, and made Henry sick."

  I turned my palms up. "I don't understand what the problem is," I told Tara. "Josie can handle it."

  "Can she?" Tara seemed skeptical.

  "Can you?" I asked Josie.

  "Absolutely!" she said. "I won't let you down."

  Josie was silent in the car ride to the hydro plant.

  "Do you still want me to quit?" she asked after we had been driving for twenty minutes.

  "Of course not," I said, glancing quickly at her then back to the road. "I shouldn't have acted so horribly to you. It w
as unprofessional."

  "I shouldn't have given Henry the sweets. I didn't mean to make him sick." She turned around in her seat to look at my younger brother. Henry had fallen asleep in his car seat. "What did the doctor say?"

  "That he should eat a salad," I said wryly.

  Josie laughed. She had a great laugh—it was sort of a snort, and it sounded genuine.

  She pulled a small notebook out of her purse and flipped it open. "So for the marketing stuff. I've looked through your marketing collateral. I think you need a brochure or commercial or something to highlight green energy. It shouldn't be for just the hydroelectric plant but for all the buildings in the complex."

  "We have something Tara put together," I said.

  Josie barked out a laugh. "That is not good, like at all. It's a small flyer with some random pictures and words."

  "It's not that bad," I protested. I could feel her glare at the side of my head.

  "Except it is that bad. You need to tell the story of your business—that you care about people's health and their environment."

  "But people do know that," I countered.

  "I bet a lot of them don't, and the ones who do need a firm reminder," Josie said firmly, her pen scratching on the paper. "You have to set the narrative about your company being innovative, cutting-edge, and just plain awesome."

  "Our work speaks for itself."

  "No," she said. Her dangly earrings chimed softly as she shook her head. "That's not what marketing is. You can't just leave these things to chance. You have to not only set the narrative but dominate it. Svensson PharmaTech needs to foster some goodwill. It will help shareholders, the general public, and government regulators to have more confidence in your company. You absolutely cannot be reactionary and play defense. You must set the narrative. If PharmaTech ever wants to make a risky play or take chances on a new technology, setting up the narrative that your company is cutting-edge and has a record of excellence will mean that a new idea isn't a stupid risk. Actually it's a bold move that will create a new market and make tons of money."

  I nodded along as she talked. What she said was simple but brilliant.

  "I'd never really thought of marketing that way," I admitted. "I always concentrated on the formulas, products, and logistics."

  She huffed. "Most people think marketing doesn't matter, or they assume marketing is facts and figures. But you can't make bold visionary decisions on last quarter's numbers. You have to set the trend. Marketing can grease the tracks, so to speak, and let your vision launch. It's not just pictures and a website. It's everything—the way you talk, the way you dress. It's graphics, photography, and social media. All those elements need to work together to sell the vision and the brand of the company."

  "Tara has all that together for us," I said curtly.

  "No she doesn't," she snapped, then her tone softened. "Surely you have some visions for the company beyond just making new drugs? While that's important, there are other aspects of the medical industry that would be smart to branch into."

  "We are already looking into new market sectors," I admitted. "This is strictly confidential, but we're unveiling a new gene therapy product at a big medical conference next month."

  "See?" Josie exclaimed. "That's the type of product you need a real marketing plan behind."

  "Tara's working on one."

  She snorted.

  "The next time I talk to Tara, I'll bring up your ideas," I assured her.

  I heard her mumble something.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing. Are we almost there?"

  Throughout the tour of the plant, Josie directed the photographer, chatted with the state and local officials, and all the while, wrangled Henry and made pages of notes. Henry thankfully didn't stray. He stayed glued to Josie the entire tour.

  "How did you keep him quiet?" I asked her after the handshaking and photo ops were completed.

  "I let him pick the restaurant we're going to," she said, looking guilty.

  "I have lunch at the office," I said. Henry's face screwed up like he was going to start yelling. "But since we're out, let's grab lunch," I added quickly.

  "Yes," Josie said, pumping her fist. "Free food!"

  "Free food!" Henry yelled and laughed.

  The restaurant he had chosen was a hip farm-to-table-type place.

  "I don't know if Henry's going to like this," I whispered to Josie.

  "You should give him a chance. He has opinions."

  "What a lovely family!" an older woman exclaimed as she walked by our table. She must have been out with her women's group. I recognized Ida and several other senior citizens from town.

  "Your son looks just like both of you," the elderly woman gushed.

  "Oh, ah," Josie stammered. "We're not—this is my boss."

  The woman's eyebrows rose up into her hair.

  "Don't be such a prude, Dottie," Ida exclaimed. She turned to Josie. "Sleeping with the boss, eh! That's how I met my former husband. It's a tried-and-true way to find a good man."

  Josie was red in the face. "She gave me free cookie dough," she explained when the women had left, cackling.

  I smirked. "Ida is a local character, isn't she?"

  Henry looked at the menu while Josie read it out to him.

  "They have panfried fish with a fresh salad and a lemon butter garlic sauce. That looks amazing!" Josie said.

  "There's a pasta dish; you might like that, Henry," I said. I did not want him to order something exotic, hate it, then make a scene.

  "You can order what you want," Josie assured Henry.

  "I want the lamb," Henry decided.

  "You should order the fish," she told me. "I'm having the duck with plumb sauce."

  "Could we also order the pasta?" I asked the waiter. If Henry didn't like the lamb, maybe he would eat the noodles.

  When the food came, though, Henry dug in. He took a bite of the chards, and I winced, waiting for him to start complaining.

  "This is good!" he announced. I wanted to tell him not to talk with his mouth full, but he was eating vegetables, so I didn't want to jinx anything. Henry reached for a whole lamb chop.

  "Let me cut that for you," Josie said, making neat kid-size pieces with her knife and fork.

  "Can I try some?" Josie asked him.

  Henry nodded, his mouth full.

  "Yum! It has a nice Mediterranean seasoning. It's very tasty," she said.

  Henry nodded, his cheeks bulging.

  "How's your fish?" Josie asked me.

  "Good."

  She looked at me expectantly.

  "What?"

  "Uh—"

  "What?" I set down my fork.

  "I want to try some of your food," she said sheepishly. "When I go to restaurants, I basically treat them all like tapas places because you can sample a lot of different dishes!"

  She seemed so delighted that I couldn't help but smile.

  She reached out with her fork. I took it and cut off a piece of fish. But when I extended the fork across the table, she didn't take it. Instead she bit the piece of fish off the fork. It felt strangely intimate to feed her a piece of my food.

  "Mmh!" she said, pleasure on her face. I felt the breath leave my body. "That is so good."

  21

  Josie

  I had no shame. I stole bites off Mace's plate all through lunch. The fish was amazing; it was slightly crunchy, and the sauce was tangy and almost sweet.

  "You can have it if you want," he finally said.

  "No, but I'm giving you some of my duck." I speared one of the thin slices of sweet and tangy duck with my fork and held it out to Mace. I wondered if he would bite it off, but he took the fork from me. His hand was warm where our fingers touched.

  "Don't you love how it just melts in your mouth?" I gushed. "I love food. I love cooking it and eating it!"

  I hadn't had the money to eat at nice places since the Anke debacle, and I'd forgotten how awesome it was, especially if someone
else was paying.

  Henry ate most of his lamb and some of the pasta. Mace watched him, amazed.

  "I can't believe he finished all of that," he said.

  "It was good. We should come back here," Henry said.

  "I mean, if he's going to eat vegetables, we might have to," Mace muttered.

  "Are we interested in dessert?" the waitress asked as she set down boxes for the leftovers.

  "No," Mace said.

  "Yes," I told him. "You can't skip dessert."

  "The coconut cream pie is very good," the waitress said. "It's from the Grey Dove Bistro."

  "Chloe's shipping stuff all the way out here?" Mace asked, obviously impressed.

  "You know Chloe?" I asked him seriously. Watching the Great Christmas Bake-Off over Christmas had been the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart after Anke left me with all that credit card debt.

  "She's my brother's cofounder's girlfriend," he explained. "When Jack comes to Harrogate, he always brings food that she's made."

  "Okay, see, you should have led with that," I told him. "Chloe is so cool! I follow her on Instagram. You should see her kitchen. It's amazing."

  "I've been to their penthouse."

  "What? You're killing me!"

  The waitress set down two pieces of the pie.

  "See?" I showed Mace. "You would probably actually like it. Chloe said she developed a new recipe that doesn't have all the cream. It's denser and less sweet. She puts salt on the coconut before toasting so you can really taste the flavor."

  I cut a piece off with my fork.

  "Try it," I demanded. This time, he didn't take the fork, letting me feed him.

  "So the next time Chloe comes to Harrogate, you have to let me know," I said as we walked out of the restaurant. "I want to casually be there for some fake reason. I feel like we would be friends after I finish fangirling all over her shirt."

  Mace laughed. It was a nice deep chuckle that ended in almost a purr.

  "Are you ready for a nap?" I asked Henry as Mace opened the car door.

  "He's going to be up all night," Mace said with a sigh. "You need to stay awake," he told Henry as I buckled him into the car seat.