Only, she hadn’t. At least not yet.
She arrived at the store, surprised to find her father already there, dressed in a white undershirt and slacks. This could only mean one thing—one of the machines had gone down. Again.
“So, what’s happened?”
“Oh, it’s that main taffy machine.” Pop reached for a bottle of water and took a swig. “One of the arms is locked up. Jammed tighter than a drum. Again.”
“I’ll look at it,” she said. “I’ve always managed to get it freed up.”
“I know, but this time I think we’re going to have to call in the big guns. We’re looking at a major problem.”
“Nah. Let me take a look.” Taffie made her way into the back room where the largest of their taffy pulling machines stood. Unlike the smaller one in the front window, this one was grander in scale and more complex in function. She’d managed to get it going several times in the past but had to admit, after nearly half an hour of trying, it appeared to be frozen in place this time. Nothing she tried seemed to work.
“Who should we call?” She turned to her father, unsure of what to do next. “It’s not exactly under warranty. Grandpa Gus bought it in the thirties, didn’t he?”
“Right. Let me think.” Her father paced the room, offering up suggestions. “We obviously need someone who does machine repair.”
“You mean, like office machines? Copiers. . .that sort of thing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was thinking of someone who could get the parts we need from another machine. Might be expensive, though.”
“Maybe we could find someone to make the part.” Taffie thought about it for a moment. “But why don’t we start with the obvious. . .get someone in here who knows about commercial kitchen equipment. Might be a stretch, but surely there are other commercial appliances that have similar functions.”
“I don’t know.” Pop raked his fingers through thinning gray hair.
“We’ll never know till we try.” Taffie reached for the phone book and flipped it open, ready to solve this problem once and for all.
Ryan pulled his head out of Mr. Petruzelli’s oven to take an incoming call on his cell phone. “Antonelli’s Appliance Repair.”
The voice on the other end of the line caught him off guard. A woman. Upset. Voice trembling. “I, um, I wonder if you service. . .”
He didn’t catch the rest. Must be poor reception. Ryan shrugged at his pop and mouthed, “I’ll take this outside,” then stepped toward the door.
The woman’s voice came through a bit clearer from here. “So, you see, we’ve got quite a problem on our hands. If we don’t get this fixed, we’ll lose business. And this would be the worst possible time for that to happen. I can’t stress how important this is.”
He wasn’t quite sure what problem she referred to, and tried to get a word in edgewise to ask, but she plowed ahead, talking about the upcoming slow season and the fact that she hadn’t figured out how to market the products in her store enough to increase winter sales.
What in the world did this have to do with machine repair?
“I’m wondering if you can come by our shop this afternoon. I hate to ask on such short notice, but it’s urgent.”
She went on with her somewhat confusing explanation and Ryan finally managed a few words. “Where are you again?”
“On the boardwalk. Carini’s Confections.”
“Oh, the candy store.” Must be one of the commercial coffee makers or industrial refrigerators. Hopefully a quick fix. Not that he minded working on a Saturday, but if he planned to take in a movie with his niece, as promised, he’d have to be home by six.
“I’m booked up for the next hour or two,” he explained as he looked at Mr. Petruzelli’s oven, “but I’ll be there when I can.”
“Thanks so much.” He could hear the relief in her voice. “And if you’re able to get the job done, we tip in sugar.”
“Oh, um, okay. I get it. Funny. See you around noon.”
“Just ask for Taffie.”
Ask for taffy?
Ryan wrapped up the job at the pizza parlor and Mr. Petruzulli, who obviously tipped in food product, as well, insisted that he and Pop settle in for a large thick crust Pepperoni pizza, heavy on the mozzarella.
“Great stuff, Mr. P.,” Ryan spoke through mouthfuls of food. “Best pizza I’ve had in years.”
“It’s that oven. Turns out a perfect pizza every time!” Mr. Petruzelli said with a beaming smile.
“They’ve had me on a special diet,” Ryan’s pop explained to the pizza owner. “So, don’t tell my wife I’m eating this, okay?”
“I promise.” Mr. Petruzelli gave him a wink, then began tending to his influx of customers.
After dropping off Pop at the house, Ryan headed over to the south end of the boardwalk. He parked near one of the larger casinos and made his way around to the back—to the boardwalk, teeming with tourists, folks dressed in swimsuits, and children running amuck. Nothing much had changed over the years. Sure, he used to be one of those kids, racing up and down the wooden sidewalk in search of adventure. Today, he’d come for another reason altogether.
A few paces down, he located Carini’s Confections. Ryan’s excitement grew as he looked through the front window at the small taffy pull, loaded with a sticky pink mixture. Back and forth it twisted. He found himself transported back in time, to his childhood. How many times had he stood here in a wet bathing suit, begging his parents for money so that he could go inside?
This time he would enter the building for a different reason, and they would put money in his pockets. Not a bad deal. And maybe he’d still buy a half pound of vanilla taffy before leaving. It had always been his favorite.
Ryan glanced up at the sign above the door and smiled as he read the words. “How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” Perfect marketing strategy, and a pretty amazing way to share a spiritual message. He entered the store behind a mob of children and parents. The tantalizing aromas almost caused him to forget why he’d come.
Better stay focused. He had a machine to fix. But what machine? He looked at the coffee bar. Everything appeared to be in working order. He glanced behind the ice cream counter. Every piece of machinery was in use. No problem there.
Strange.
That woman on the phone, the one with the mesmerizing voice. . .what was it she told me to ask for when I arrived? Ah yes, taffy.
He joined the line of customers jockeying for position to get to the candy counter.
Ryan took in the sights and sounds while waiting. Overhead, a familiar melody played. Sounded like something he’d heard as a kid. What was that, again? After a bit of humming, he recognized “Sugar, Sugar.” Clever.
As he inched his way up in the line, the scents nearly overwhelmed him. The shop smelled sweet. And talk about a visual overload! Somewhere between the candies, coffee, and ice creams, Ryan found himself toying with the idea of consuming a little of each. Or maybe a lot of each. Who needed a marketing strategy when the product spoke for itself?
He reached the counter in short order and looked over at something—or rather, someone—far more appealing than candy. In fact, he could scarcely get a word out, though not for lack of effort. He ended up stammering like a grade-school kid. “Hi. Um, I. . .I. . .I’m here for taffy.”
“What flavor, sir?” Her brow wrinkled and her beautiful brown eyes seemed to gaze into his very soul.
“Oh, they didn’t tell me.”
“They?” Now she looked genuinely confused.
“Someone called from your shop. I’m Ryan from Antonelli’s Appliance Repair. I was told to ask for taffy.”
“Oh!” Her face lit into a smile broad enough to light up the casino next door. “I’m Taffie! Taffie Carini.”
She pointed at her name tag and he felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as he tried to give a sensible response. “I. . .I see.”
The irony struck him at once. Taff
y had always been a temptation. No doubt about that. But today, as he stared into the chocolate-brown eyes of one Taffie Carini, the idea of the old-fashioned version suddenly lost all of its appeal. No, the only thing he wanted to wrap up and take home today was the beautiful girl behind the counter.
THREE
Taffie wondered why her ability to think clearly disappeared the moment Ryan Antonelli spoke his first hello. She’d never been struck deaf, dumb, and blind like this before—unless you counted that time in her third grade play when, fully dressed as a double-dipped strawberry ice cream cone, she’d frozen on stage in front of hundreds of her peers. She still laughed at the irony. This time around, however, she couldn’t blame it on stage fright. No, she could only blame it on one thing. One shockingly handsome appliance repairman with the richest brown eyes she’d ever seen.
Coming to her senses, Taffie called for her mom to take over at the candy counter for a few minutes so that she could escort Ryan into the back room to examine the broken taffy machine. As her mother approached, Taffie tried not to stare at his thick dark hair. A girl could get a little envious of a guy with hair that great. And long eyelashes, to boot.
“Mom, this is. . .” Taffie blanked out, unable to remember his first name.
“Ryan,” he interjected, extending his hand in her mother’s direction.
At once, Taffie could read the expression in her mama’s eyes: We’ve got a keeper here, Taffie!
Thankfully, Ryan turned back to Taffie and spoke again before her mom could say something aloud. “I couldn’t quite make out your words on the phone,” he explained, “so I’m not sure what I’m here to repair.” Somehow, staring into his gorgeous brown eyes, Taffie couldn’t remember either. Instead of responding like an educated business woman, she stammered a choppy, “O–oh?”
“So, I’m here to service a piece of equipment?”
Startling to attention, she tried to still her overanxious heart and offered a smile. “Yes.”
They made their way through the crowd and entered the back room where the family’s largest taffy pull usually filled the place with a melodic churning sound. Instead, the room stood silent. Pop looked up with relief in his eyes as Taffie and Ryan entered.
He approached, extending his hand. “Carl Carini.”
“Ryan Antonelli.”
Taffie watched the exchange, noticing the interesting similarities in the two men. Both had the same upper-East-Coast-meets-Italian-American dialect and dark hair, though Pop’s had lately begun to gray. Both had a strong grip. And, as they dove into a lengthy discussion about their respective businesses, she noted that both talked with great zeal about putting their customers first.
At the first lull in the conversation, Ryan looked around, curiosity etched in his brow. “So, what am I here to fix?” he asked. Taffie’s father led him to the taffy pull and his eyes widened. “Th–this?”
“Yeah,” Taffie drew near, picking up on the scent of his cologne. “The arm is jammed. I’ve always managed to get it working again, but this time I think we’re looking at a bigger problem.”
“Bigger than you know,” he said.
“What do you mean?” She gave him a curious look.
“I mean, I’ve never worked on one of these before. I wouldn’t have a clue where to begin.” He examined the machine more closely. “And we’re not talking about something made this century. This thing’s got to be. . .” He walked around it, taking it in. “Fifty years old.”
“Seventy,” her pop interjected, “but the age shouldn’t matter. It’s just a piece of machinery, like any other. Made out of the best possible materials, so it should last another seventy years, at least.”
“At least,” Taffie echoed.
“Well, it’s not like any other machine I’ve ever seen or worked on.” Ryan looked up, the sparkle in his eyes diminishing.
Taffie felt the energy slip right out of her and she sat on one of the nearby wooden barrels. “Not exactly what I needed to hear today.”
“Is there someone you can call?” Pop asked. “Surely you know lots of people in the appliance business. Maybe one of them. . .”
“Maybe.” Ryan raked his fingers through his dark hair.
“We need to pray,” Pop said. “The Bible says, you have not because you ask not. Well, Lord, we’re asking. . . .” He dove into an intense dialogue with the Almighty, right then and there, not pausing to warn anyone.
Taffie had grown up watching Pop chat with God in this fashion, but wasn’t sure what their new appliance guy would think of it. To his credit, Ryan bowed his head and appeared to join in.
Pop, never one to pray with his eyes closed, paced the room, the tenor of his voice rising dramatically. “Lord, we ask for wisdom from on high. We don’t know what to do, but we know that You do. You are the Creator of all things, so surely You know how to fix a taffy machine. Your Word says that our faith can move mountains. This taffy machine is our mountain, Lord, and we’d be grateful if You’d see fit to move it. Up and down and all around. Send us the person to accomplish that, we ask in Your Son’s name.”
Without so much as an amen, he ended his prayer and took a seat on a nearby barrel. Taffie watched as Ryan did the same. The men sat in silence for a few minutes, while Taffie bit her tongue. She wanted to speak but knew better.
Finally Ryan cleared his throat. “So, um. . .what next?”
Taffie released a sigh. How could she explain her father’s somewhat fascinating views on faith to a total stranger? Carl Carini was of the opinion that if you asked the Lord a question, He was bound to answer. . .sooner or later.
Problem was, they never knew if it would be sooner or later, and Pop appeared to have a lot more patience than most. She’d seen him wait it out for hours before moving.
Ryan stood and began to pace the room. “Tell you what,” he said at last. “I could call my older brother Luke. He’s had some experience as a mechanic. I think that’s what you’re going to need—someone who can actually engineer the part.”
“Yes, and amen!” Pop rose to his feet and clapped his hands together. “I knew the Lord would answer our prayer.”
“Well, I make no promises. . .” Ryan looked a bit flustered, but Taffie noticed the color returning to his cheeks. “But I’ll see what Luke has to say. Just give me a few minutes to make the call.”
“Son, take all the time you like.” Taffie’s father gave him a friendly pat on the back. “I’ll fix you a coffee. What kind do you like?”
“Espresso would be great,” Ryan said.
“And what about some candy to go with that?” Taffie asked. “Our taffy is the best in town.” She led the way to the candy counter, gesturing for him to join her behind the glass case.
“Oh, trust me, I know.” He flashed a grin and her heart melted. “I’ve been coming to Carini’s since I was a kid. I’ve probably consumed a dozen pounds of vanilla over the years.”
“Just vanilla?” She reached for the scoop.
“Well, um. . .”
“What?” She gave him a pensive look.
“I’m a creature of habit. What can I say?”
“So, vanilla all the way?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow.” Taffie leaned her elbows on the counter and looked him in the eye. “So, you’re telling me there’s not one other thing in this place that appeals to you more than vanilla?” She gestured to the rows of candy, pausing as she noted the playful glimmer that came into his eyes. “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” His gaze shifted and he quickly added, “I, um, I’m. . .stuck in my ways, I guess.”
“It’s just hard for me to believe you’re not willing to branch out. Try something new.” Taffie quirked a brow and before long, a smile lit his face.
“Tell you what. . . .” He looked inside the taffy jars. “I’m taking my brother’s seven-year-old daughter to the movies tonight and she loves taffy in every flavor. Give me a little bit of everything.” As the words “a little bi
t of everything” slipped from his lips, he glanced up at her with a smile, and for a second. . .a mere second. . . she nearly misunderstood his words.
Feeling the heat rising to her cheeks, she reached for a metal scoop and went to work filling the bag.
Ryan watched Taffie fill the plastic bag with candies. Her question, “So, you’re telling me there’s not one other thing in this place that appeals to you more than vanilla?” had almost caused him to fold like a deck of cards. He’d wanted to respond, “Yes, and she’s standing right in front of me,” but he’d somehow managed to bite his tongue.
Snap out of it, man.
He wasn’t usually the sort to fall for a complete stranger. In fact, he wasn’t the sort to fall easily, at all. Women—the ones he’d dated, anyway—had turned out to be more complicated than the machinery he repaired.
Taffie handed him the bag of candy and he took it with a grateful, “Thanks.”
“Hope your niece likes it.” Taffie reached up with the back of her hand to sweep a loose hair behind her ear.
“I’m sure she will.”
“I think it’s nice that you’re taking her to the movies. You must be quite a bit younger than your brother if he’s got a seven-year-old.”
“Yeah. I’m the youngest of three boys. Vic’s the oldest. Then Luke. Then me. Vic runs his own Web design business and Luke. . .well, he usually works with Pop and me.”
“That’s funny. I’m the oldest of three girls. My sister Candy is twenty-two. She’s in flight school in Tucson. And Tangie’s only twenty. She’s studying theater in New York.”
“Wow.” He gave her another look as he reached for a piece of vanilla taffy. “Tangie. Interesting name.”
“Well, we have rather interesting parents, in case you haven’t already noticed. And you probably picked up on the fact that they’re older than most parents of twenty-somethings. They weren’t able to have children for a long time. Mom was in her early forties when I was born.”
“Ah.” That answered one question.
“And as for our names. . .I guess when you’ve waited as long as they did for children, you can name them whatever you like. Tangie is short for tangerine, which happened to be the flavor of the month when my sister was born.”
Boardwalk Brides Page 2
