Fool for Love
Page 1
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To my literary agent, Amy Moore-Benson. My champion. My friend. Thanks for believing in me. Together we persevered!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I write from my heart, my soul, and feel blessed and grateful to all those who inspire and support my creative efforts.
Thank you to my editor, Monique Patterson, who embraced my voice and provided me with this amazing opportunity. Creating the Cupcake Lovers and delving into their world has been a challenge and thrill. Here’s to the future and more romantic, tasty adventures!
Holly Blanck, I thank you for your diligence, support, and constant cheer.
Barbara Wild, my copy editor, thank you for your meticulous and gentle touch. You’re amazing.
My deep appreciation to the art and marketing departments, the editorial staff, and everyone at St. Martin’s Paperbacks who poured their energy, talent, and enthusiasm into this series.
A very warm and heartfelt thank you to my critique partners on this project, Barb Justen Hisle (aka Elle J Rossi) and Cynthia Valero: I owe you! Thank you for everything.
Special thanks to Mary Stella, Heather Graham, and Julia Templeton for their friendship and avid support. No matter where I am in the writing process, in life, you are there.
To my friends (patrons and co-workers) at the Brigantine Library and my support system throughout the Atlantic County Library System … To my friends—readers, booksellers, and librarians—on-line and in life … thank you for your amazing support and enthusiasm.
Last but not least and first in my heart … My love and appreciation to my husband Steve—my hero, my friend. You make me laugh and keep me sane. You inspire happily-ever-afters.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Though inspired by a northern region of Vermont, please note that Sugar Creek and the surrounding locations mentioned in this book are fictional. Welcome to my world!
On a fun note, while writing Fool for Love, I learned that many of my friends and readers were already avid cupcake lovers! In celebration of the book series and a mutual love of cupcakes I launched a cyber-club that’s featured on my blog—Honorary Cupcake Lovers! Featured in the back of Fool for Love you’ll find some of the honorary CL members’ cupcake recipes. My heartfelt thanks to all who submitted. Some are original creations, some family favorites. Some easy, some challenging. Mix, bake, and enjoy!
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Honorary Cupcake Lovers recipes
Teaser
About the Author
Copyright
ONE
Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.
—Ernestine Ulmer
Manhattan, New York
Upper East Side
“How many years do you think I’d get for death by Cuisinart?”
“Chloe—”
“I’m serious, Monica. I want to kill him.”
“With a hand mixer?”
“I don’t want it to be quick.”
“Or easy. How exactly would that work?”
Chloe didn’t know—exactly. She wasn’t thinking rationally. Her brain was choked with visions of Ryan licking vanilla-bean buttercream frosting from her beaters—frosting she’d prepared for a celebratory cake—right before announcing he was leaving her for a Parisian “tart.” (Chloe’s description of the other woman, not his.)
Heart full of equal parts grief and fury, Chloe squeezed back tears as she continued her long-distance tirade with her closest and oldest friend. “Maybe you’re right,” she said into her smartphone. “Maybe I should skewer his traitorous heart with my meat fork. Or pulverize him with my tenderizer.”
“That’s just grisly. And totally out of character. You’re a pacifist, hon. Zero tolerance for gore. You threw up when we accidently ran over that squirrel on Route Twenty-two. Remember?”
Senior year of high school. Driving home from a rehearsal for West Side Story. Monica had swerved, but not enough. Chloe had screamed when she’d felt the thud, then, looking out the rearview window and seeing the furry roadkill, had puked all over the backseat of Monica’s 1992 Camaro.
Remember?
“Sort of,” she mumbled, letting out an aggrieved sigh. Monica was right. Violence and gore wouldn’t do. Just thinking about that squashed squirrel turned her stomach and soured her killer instincts. Once she was depleted of rage, Chloe’s knees buckled. She slumped onto the love seat she and Ryan used to cuddle on, misery pouring over her soul, slow and thick like the homemade maple syrup Monica had shipped from Vermont.
Two years. Chloe had invested two years of her life in this relationship—her longest serious liaison ever. She’d had a severe falling-out with her dad when she’d moved in with Ryan, and she’d lost touch with a contingent of her NYC friends when she’d given up partying for domestic bliss. She hadn’t expected a conventional union, what with Ryan frequently traveling oversees for his job, but she hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t suspected an affair, hadn’t felt Ryan’s affections straying. She’d thought they were a solid couple, destined for marriage. She felt like the biggest freaking idiot on the planet.
“Listen, Chloe. I know you’re crushed. The bastard cheated on you. That sucks. And he’s leaving you for her. Sucks worse. But…”
“But what?”
Monica blew out a breath. “Okay. Here comes some tough love, sweetie. You had a comfortable relationship, lived a comfortable life, but did you seriously want to spend the rest of your nights with a guy who couldn’t find your G-spot?”
Chloe flushed. “I had orgasms.”
“With the shower massager. Doesn’t count.”
“I shouldn’t have shared that with you.”
“Why not? I told you about the time I got off sitting on top of the crazed washing machine.”
“Are you trying to make me feel better? Because, news flash, you’re not.”
“I’m trying to tell you Ryan Levine isn’t worth twenty-five to life in the state penitentiary.”
“Don’t worry. The murderous urge passed.”
“Good.”
“Now I just want to curl up and die.”
“Oh, hon—”
Chloe burst into tears and poured out her heart. Maybe Ryan wasn’t worth a stretch in the clink, but he was sure worthy of a good cry. “He ru
ined the happiest day of my life, Monica. After all these years, all the botched courses and careers, I finally followed through, finally excelled at one of my passions. After four hundred and forty hours of in-class training and a two-hundred-and-ten-hour externship, I not only earned a diploma from the Culinary Arts Institute; I graduated with honors.”
“What? You’re kidding! I mean, that’s fantastic! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just found out today. About the honors part, anyway. The happiest day of my life—ruined! The affair’s been going on for months. He could’ve waited a day or two to dump me. Any day other than my proudest.”
“Or,” Monica growled, sounding like a provoked mother bear, “he could’ve broken off with you weeks ago, when the fling started.”
“He said he didn’t want to distract me from my studies.”
“Big of him.”
“Said he’d feel better leaving, knowing I was finally focused on a sensible career.”
“Bastard.”
“He’s coming back at the end of the month to pack up his things. He’s actually transferring to the company’s resort in France so he can live with her. Said our apartment’s paid up for the next three months. That gives me three months to find a roommate or to find a place I can afford on my own. Both prospects are daunting. Not to mention I’ll be job hunting at the same time.”
“Maybe you could ask your dad—”
“No.”
“Right. Dumb suggestion. Okay, then. Come stay with me.”
Chloe blinked. “You live in Vermont.”
“So what? Put your things in storage and fly up for an extended visit. It doesn’t have to be forever. Just time enough to heal. To catch your breath and plan for your future. Who knows? Maybe you’ll fall in love with Sugar Creek like I did and want to stay.”
Chloe glanced around the living room and into the kitchen, her gaze drifting toward the bedroom. Every square inch of this apartment reminded her of Ryan and the life they’d shared. She couldn’t imagine staying here for the next three months. What’s more, she didn’t want to.
“I don’t feel right about imposing on you and Leo. You’re trying to have a baby. I … I wouldn’t feel comfortable.” According to her friend, she and her husband of three years were doing it like bunnies every chance they got. Last week when he’d come home for lunch, she’d greeted him at the door naked.
“Potential for awkward moments,” Monica said with a smile in her voice. “True.”
“Plus, what would I do with my time? Sugar Creek is even smaller than the town we grew up in. I’ve been a city girl for fourteen years. I need culture. Activities and distractions.” Especially now. The last thing she needed was empty hours enabling her to wallow in the breakup.
“We have activities and distractions in Sugar Creek,” Monica said. “Just different than what you’re used to. Hey, I know. Daisy Monroe is looking for a cook and companion.”
“Who’s Daisy Monroe?”
“You’ll love her. She’s just like you—charmingly off beat—only older. The town just celebrated her seventy-fifth birthday.”
“The whole town? What is she, famous or something?”
“You could say that. She lives alone in a beautiful old colonial home. I bet if I asked, I could get her to include free board.”
“Monica—”
“It’s perfect! Time away. Time with me. Plus you get to cook. Let’s put that diploma to use, honey!”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. Say yes.”
She hugged Ryan’s favorite toss pillow to her chest, breathed in his scent. Her aching heart pounded with renewed fury. What the hell. “Yes.”
“Fantastic! I’ll line everything up. You pack. Oh! Speaking of activities, you can join Cupcake Lovers. Hit us with some of those fancy recipes you learned in culinary school.”
“No, thank you.”
Monica had mentioned the local club in her e-mails. A small group that met once a week to swap recipes and ideas on how to make a difference in the world via cupcakes—chocolate, red velvet, banana walnut …
Chloe envisioned the devil’s food cake she’d chucked in the garbage less than an hour ago. Thought about the way Ryan had sampled the frosting, the groan of delight just before the weary sigh. Remembered the way he’d raved about her cooking over the last few months, especially the dishes she’d created during her Contemporary Desserts course.
Equating confectionary with heartache, she wondered if she’d ever be able to mix up another dessert without feeling depressed or homicidal. “I’m swearing off sweets,” Chloe said with a sniff. “Forever.”
Monica snorted. “Now that’s just crazy talk.”
TWO
Two days later …
Sugar Creek, Vermont
Devlin Monroe massaged his throbbing temple as his brother relayed troubling news. He shifted the phone to his left ear and scribbled a name on a notepad. “Thanks for the heads-up, Luke.”
“If you would’ve accepted her invitation for breakfast you would’ve heard it from Gram herself.”
“Backed up with work.”
“You’re always backed up with work. You need to get a life, Dev.”
“So you keep telling me.” He signed off with his brother and glanced at his watch. Nine fifteen a.m.
The store had been open to the public for fifteen minutes. Most of the employees had arrived fifteen minutes before that. Devlin, Chief Operating Officer of J. T. Monroe’s Department Store—family owned and operated for six generations—had been on the property since 7:00 a.m. He’d already crammed three hours of work into two, focusing on a short, medium, and long-range report regarding the nineteenth-century retail store’s ability to compete with the Walmart Supercenter opening two towns over, a short thirty-minute drive for anyone in or around Sugar Creek. A concern that had robbed him of a month’s worth of decent sleep. Determined to bring J.T.’s into this century, he’d e-mailed the report to the CEO, his dad, who was in Florida enjoying the first year of his semi-retirement. Even though the old man had handed over the reins, he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, get out of the damned driver’s seat.
Just after Devlin had texted his dad about the incoming high-priority document, Luke had called. Now Devlin stared at his phone contemplating who to wage war with first. His dad or his grandma.
Before he could decide, his sister, Rocky, blew into his office—unannounced—and dropped into the seat across from his desk. As always, she was dressed in jeans and layered T-shirts, her thick blond hair woven into two braids. Twenty-nine and still a tomboy. A tomboy with womanly curves and the face of a Hollywood starlet. Thankfully, she scared off a lot of men with her blunt talk and tough attitude; otherwise, given his overprotective nature, his big-brother role would be daunting. “Have you heard the news?” she asked.
“Most people knock.”
“I’m not most people. I’m your sister. Besides, the door wasn’t closed all the way.”
“Ah.” As if that made all the difference.
“Gram hired a companion.”
“I heard.”
“You don’t look thrilled.”
“I’m not.”
“Why? You’re the one who convinced Gram she needs help.”
“I was hoping she’d rely more on us. Or hire someone local. Someone we know.”
“We’re lucky she hired anyone at all. You know how stubborn she is. Now we don’t have to worry about her starting another kitchen fire or running over another fire hydrant. This woman can cook Gram’s meals—I heard she’s a gourmet chef, by the way—and drive her wherever she needs to go.” Rocky crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You’re just pissed because Gram excluded you from the interview process.”
“I’m concerned,” Devlin said, leaning forward, “because we don’t know this woman.”
“Her name is Chloe Madison.”
“Luke told me.”
“Did he tell you that she’s an old friend of Monica
Smith’s?”
Devlin nodded. “Doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy.”
“I don’t think Monica would hook Gram up with an ax killer.” She frowned. “You need to loosen up, Dev. Seriously. This is good news. For all of us.”
“You drive all the way here just to bust my balls?”
“No. That’s a bonus. Actually, I came to ask a favor.”
“You could’ve called.”
“Too easy for you to say no over the phone. This way I can charm you by smiling and batting my baby blues.” She proceeded to do just that.
In spite of his tense mood, Devlin smiled. “What do you want?”
“Your house.”
“What?”
“For one night. Tomorrow night. It’s my turn to host the meeting for Cupcake Lovers and my oven’s busted.”
“Since when?”
“Since this morning.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“I like my old one. I called a repairman, but it won’t be ready in time. By the way, if I wanted a new cooking range, I’d buy it myself. That’s the trouble with you, Dev. Always taking control. Sometimes people like to make their own decisions, take care of their own problems.”
“Not helping your case here.”
“So can I take over your kitchen and living room for about four hours? I’ll make an extra batch of cupcakes just for you.”
“Toss in a pot of your vegetable beef stew and you’ve got a deal.”
Her mouth quirked. “You know, if you had a wife or even a steady girlfriend, you wouldn’t have to bribe me for the occasional home-cooked meal. Of course that would mean actually getting out and socializing so you could meet someone.”
“I’ve met a lot of someones.”
“Just not the right one. I swear you set yourself up for failure. Take Tasha for instance.”
“Do you want my house for the night or not?”
“Cupcakes and stew it is.” She stood and moved to the door, pausing on the threshold. “We missed you at breakfast.”
Meaning “we miss you, period.”
His family had always been close, and even though he and his sibs and cousins were adults with full lives and careers, they still got together regularly. Except for Devlin. With his multiple business interests and investments he spent more and more time at the computer. Seeing the genuine hurt in his sister’s eyes, he offered a smile and a promise: “I’ll see you at Sunday dinner.” A running tradition at Gram’s house.