Sweet Surprises

by Shirlee McCoy

  “There was a note. It said, ‘Silence is golden. Happy birthday.’ When I told Willow that, she freaked. I’ve never heard her so upset. Ever.”

  “She made you promise to burn it?”

  “And to never mention it to my family.”

  “Sounds like she’s got a big secret.”

  “We all have them and she’s welcome to keep hers, but . . .”

  “What?”

  “It feels bigger than a secret. It feels like it’s something she’s carrying around, something that’s haunting her.”

  “A person can only be haunted by things if they let themselves be. Willow is an adult. She’s made her choice. Until she wants to share the burden, there’s not a whole lot you can do but be there for her.”

  “I know.” She sighed and lifted a pan of fudge she’d left on the counter. “I’ve got to dump this. Want to come?”

  What he wanted was to take her in his arms again, but he followed her outside, walking to the Dumpster and helping her scrape the fudge from the pan.

  “I’m never going to get this right,” she said as they walked away, but she was smiling, her face pale and pretty in the moonlight.

  God, she was gorgeous.

  And he couldn’t help himself. He kissed her, because the air was cold with the beginning of fall and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  When he pulled back, she was clutching his arm with one hand, the pan dangling from the other, holding on as if she were afraid letting go would mean giving up what they were creating together.

  He could have told her not to worry.

  He could have told her that what they had was going to last.

  “You didn’t tell me why you stopped by,” she said, her voice husky, her breath hitched.

  “You made me forget,” he said, and she laughed.

  “I guess my hysterics were a little distracting.”

  “You were distracting, Brenna. Just you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the card. “Here’s the reason I came. I found it near the cabin.”

  She took it from his hand.

  “Forever Kisses,” she said, running her fingers over the letters. “I must have dropped it when I grabbed my phone.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “I’m glad you found it, but you could have brought it tomorrow,” she said, tucking it into her apron pocket and walking back into the shop.

  “I could have,” he responded. “Except for one thing.”

  “What?” she asked, dragging a bowl from the cupboard and measuring sugar into it.

  “I didn’t think there was any better time than the present to start creating them.”

  “Creating what?”

  “Forever Kisses,” he said, taking the card from her apron and taping it to the backsplash.

  She met his eyes, smiled the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

  “You know what, River?” she said, levering up on her toes so they were face-to-face, eye-to-eye, lip-to-lip. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was two in the morning before they finished setting up for the next day. They’d worked together for hours, talking and laughing and creating, the recipe card still taped to the backsplash, the ingredients so simple and pure: Humor. Patience. Truth. Love. Laughter. Tears.

  Friendship.

  Faithfulness.

  Commitment.

  How had Brenna never realized just how easy forever could be?

  The display case was filled with beautiful chocolates.

  The kitchen was spotless.

  And Brenna?

  She was happier than she could ever remember being.

  She stirred her twenty-sixth batch of fudge as River poured vanilla into it, the smooth mixture everything the Lamont family fudge should be. She didn’t have to taste it to know it was right. She could see it: the glossy sheen, the silky consistency. She’d watched Byron make it a million times over, and this was exactly the way it had looked.

  “It’s perfect,” she said, lifting the pot off the burner. “Of course if Byron finds out you helped, he’ll kill me.”

  “Will he?”

  “No. The recipe is for family, and you’re more than that to me,” she said, the honest words coming from that place in her heart where dreams lived and romance blossomed, that place where second chances always happened, and where sweet surprises waited around every corner.

  “I’m glad you think so,” River said, pouring the fudge into a pan and smoothing the top of it. “Because I’ve been thinking.”

  He dipped a spoon into the pot, scraped out a little of the fudge that was stuck to the sides. He held it out to her and she tasted the rich chocolate, felt the smooth, creamy perfection of it fill her mouth and her senses.

  This was what people paid money for.

  This was the fudge people ordered from all over the country.

  This, right here? It was magic.

  “God, that’s good,” she said, scooping up another taste, with River’s gaze burning through her. She could feel it like she could feel the heady richness of fudge on her tongue.

  “You didn’t ask me,” he murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing hers.

  And God! She wanted so much more than that.

  “Ask you what?”

  “What I’ve been thinking.”

  “What have you been thinking?” she said, the fudge forgotten, the shop forgotten, everything just fading away as she looked into his eyes.

  “The cabin is beautiful at dawn, and I was thinking how nice it would be to sit on the porch with you, wrapped in a blanket and watching the sun rise. What do you think about that?”

  What did she think?

  She thought that it seemed big. It seemed huge. It seemed like the most important thing she could ever decide to do.

  She should have been scared.

  She knew she should.

  She’d made so many mistakes before.

  She’d failed so miserably at knowing what she was looking for, but River was there, the scent of chocolate on his skin, a million promises in his eyes, and all she felt was joy.

  “I think,” she responded, hands trailing up his arms and resting on his shoulders, “there is nowhere in the world I’d rather be than on that porch with you.”

  He smiled, that slow, easy smile she loved so much, and then he lifted her into his arms, left that perfect pan of fudge exactly where it was, and carried her into their future.

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  Shirlee McCoy’s next Home Sweet Home romance,

  BITTERSWEET,

  coming in August 2017

  wherever print and eBooks are sold!

  He was there again. Just like he’d been before, standing in the hallway, his face hidden by shadows. Smiling. She knew it. Knew the knife was in his hand, knew exactly how it would feel when the blade nicked the underside of her chin. Knew how the coppery blood would feel as it trickled down her neck.

  Knew that she had to escape.

  She ran, back through the hall and into the front of the shop, the door right there in front of her, moonlight gleaming in through the glass.

  This time would be different. This time, she’d win. This time . . .

  He caught her by the hair, whipping her around, slamming her into the wall. She tried to scream, tried to fight, but the knife came up, the blade pressing right exactly where she knew it would, the first drop of blood oozing like hot syrup down her neck.

  “Scream, and you die,” he breathed in her ear, his free hand gripping her chin so tightly she thought her jaw would break. “Understand?”

  She couldn’t answer. All the words and the screams were trapped by fear and the desperate need to survive.

  “Do you?” he growled, banging her head into the wall so hard she saw stars.

  She gasped, tried to shove him backward, heard a scream that might have been her own or someone else’s, and then she was falling, h
er head pounding, blood still oozing, his hand still gripping her chin.

  * * *

  Willow Lamont woke bathed in sweat and gasping for air, her heart thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings. She lay still, bile filling her throat, pain stabbing through her head. It took a moment to realize where she was. Not the little house she’d been renting in Seattle since she and Ken parted ways. Her grandfather’s apartment above the family chocolate shop.

  Because she was back.

  In Benevolence, Washington.

  The place where the nightmare began.

  She shuddered, pushing aside the covers, and climbing out of bed, the wood floor cold beneath her bare feet. She didn’t bother with slippers. Mostly because she didn’t want to scrounge through the suitcase she’d carried in yesterday morning. She hadn’t packed much. Just enough for a couple of weeks. That’s as long as she planned to stay.

  As long as she could stomach staying.

  She moved through the well-lit hallway, walked into the galley kitchen. Also well-lit, because she hated waking to darkness. She hated the dark. Period.

  Which seemed silly at her age.

  Most thirty-two-year-olds preferred sleeping with the lights off. Most of them did not sleep with knives under their mattresses.

  Usually, Willow didn’t.

  Usually, she kept one light on in the hall and let the rest of the house be dark.

  Usually, she wasn’t in Benevolence.

  She grabbed the old tea kettle and tried filling it with water, but her hand shook so hard, water slopped over the edges and fell into the chipped porcelain sink.

  She took a deep breath, tried again, this time managing to get enough water into the kettle.

  “See?” she muttered. “That wasn’t so hard.”

  She dropped the kettle onto the burner, turned on the gas, sweat drying on her forehead and nape.

  God! She hated the nightmare.

  Hated it.

  But, it was over.

  She was fine.

  She was.

  She grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from her purse, popped three in her mouth and swallowed them with a glass of water. Maybe they’d stop the migraine before it got worse. Hopefully, they would because she had to be back in her family’s chocolate shop by six in the morning.

  Just the thought made her want to puke.

  She’d do it, though.

  For her family, and for herself.

  It was time to make peace with her past.

  Past time, if she were going to be honest.

  And she was. At least with herself.

  Everyone else?

  They didn’t need to know the battle she’d fought. Why hurt them more than they had already been hurt?

  She grabbed a teabag from the box she’d left on the counter, plopped it into a mug and poured steaming water over it, her hands steadier, her pulse slower.

  You are fine, her brain mind said, but she wouldn’t sleep again. Not for a while.

  She glanced at the clock.

  Midnight.

  Too late to call one of her sisters. She sure as heck wasn’t going to call her mom. Janelle would be over in a flash, hovering and questioning and only adding to the migraine that was brewing.

  No. She wasn’t going to call anyone.

  She’d work, because she had plenty of it to do.

  The floorboards creaked as she grabbed her laptop from the office and carried it into the warmer kitchen. The place was old and quaint, the woodwork original to the 1900s building. She could remember coming up here as a child, playing games with her sisters while her father, grandfather, and grandmother worked in the shop.

  That was before her father’s cancer diagnosis, before the pretty little life she’d been living had been shot to hell.

  She frowned, booting up the computer and pulling her cell phone from her purse. One text. A group message to Willow and Brenna. From Addie, of course. Her younger sister, but not by much.

  Mom is driving me crazy. She can’t decide what needs more meddling—my pregnancy, Brenna’s marriage, or Willow’s return. I kept her occupied all day. Told her I might be feeling contractions. No worries. Just indigestion from eating one too many pecan rolls. Kept her out of your hair, though. You both owe me. Love you!

  The text made her smile.

  Typical Addie. Sweet and uncomplicated. She’d stayed in Benevolence long after Willow and Brenna had left. She’d built a business, found love, was living her happily-ever-after.

  Willow couldn’t be happier for her, because no one deserved it more.

  Of course, her happiness had been Willow’s undoing.

  She’d have never agreed to help in the shop if her sister wasn’t pregnant and about ready to pop. She’d have stayed right where she was, working her job as state prosecuting attorney, living in her cute little rental, telling herself that it was nice not to be part of a couple anymore.

  Granddad had other ideas. Just like always, Byron Lamont had gotten his way. He was as sneaky and conniving as they came. He was also funny, wise, and loving. A dangerous combination. One that Willow almost couldn’t resist.

  He knew it, and he’d used it against her.

  He’d talked her right into a corner, asking how work was going, confirming that she did a lot of it from home, making certain that she hadn’t started a new relationship.

  Then, he’d pounced, reminding her about the impending birth of Willow’s first niece, mentioning how difficult it was going to be to run the shop on his own while Adeline recovered from childbirth. He’d thrown in a couple of hints that Willow’s sister Brenna was too busy with her new married life to be much of an asset to the shop, piled on a few complaints about his bum hip and leg, and the next thing Willow knew, she was agreeing to come to Benevolence to help.

  For two weeks. Tops.

  That had been her one stipulation, and of course, Granddad had been happy to agree.

  More than anyone else, he knew how much she loved the shop.

  Had loved it.

  Chocolate Haven had been her heritage. Maybe even her destiny.

  That’s what she’d thought until she was thirteen.

  Then, everything had changed.

  She shoved the thought aside, focusing on a few work-related emails, because that was easier than thinking about the past. She’d faced it a million times before, in a million ways. It was time to let it go.

  She’d come back more for that than for anything else.

  She’d healed years ago. She’d accomplished everything she’d promised herself she would. So, why not come back to the smell of chocolate and the feel of icy eastern Washington air? Back to the memories that had driven her away from what she’d loved?

  She shivered, took a sip of hot tea, grimacing at the slightly bitter note.

  Outside, the wind whistled through the alley and rattled the old shutters, the sounds familiar and oddly comforting.

  She could put the nightmare out of her mind for a while, go back to the busy work she’d been losing herself in for more years than she cared to admit. She had a couple of depositions to write, a big case that would go before the grand jury in April. The guy was a counselor at a public high school, accused of molesting several students. He denied it. His friends and family were shocked. The school was shocked.

  Willow? She’d studied the police reports. She’d read medical and psychiatric reports for three of the five accusers. She thought the guy was guilty as sin, and she knew she had enough evidence to prove it. Now, it was just a matter of dotting all the I’s and crossing all the Ts. She had one chance to convince a grand jury to go forward with a trial so that the guy could be tossed into prison where he belonged.

  She wasn’t going to mess that up.

  Somewhere outside, a car door slammed. Not unusual if she were still in Seattle, but she was in Benevolence, and it was midnight. Nothing was open. No one was up and roaming the streets. At least not anyone who wasn’t up to no good.

  She pushed
away from the table and stalked to the front window. Three buildings away, a car idled at the curb. Lights off, but she could see the white exhaust against the darkness. Surprised, she watched for a moment, just staring at the vehicle as if it could tell her exactly what it was doing there. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe a couple of teens trying to find some trouble. Young lovers taking a midnight stroll. What she wasn’t expecting was nothing.

  A minute ticked by. Two. She still stood there, watching exhaust puffing out of the muffler, unease creeping along her spine, shivering through her blood.

  PTSD. That’s what her therapist had called this. The quick reaction to the unexpected, the way her heart started thumping erratically, the way every one of her muscles tensed.

  It seemed to Willow, that after so many years, she should be over it.

  “Chill out,” she whispered and then heard the soft clattering of the exterior staircase. The one that led from the apartment door to the alley below. Not the wind blustering. She knew what that sounded like. This was what she heard every time she stepped onto the stairs. A kind of shuddering metallic sound as the metal vibrated against the wall.

  Imagination.

  Right?

  Right.

  Except she heard it again, the shuddering vibration and, maybe, the clank of feet on metal stairs.

  She ran to the door, checked the lock and the bolt. Both secure. Just like she knew they would be. The windows were locked too. Not that she expected anyone to scale the wall and try to open one.

  But someone was out there, and whoever it was needed to stay out.

  She grabbed her cell phone, flicking off the living room and kitchen lights as she ran toward the back of the apartment, locked herself into her bedroom. Just in case. Because she’d been a victim once, and she’d vowed she’d never be one again.

  She fished under the mattress, pulled out the knife, clutching it in her hand as she hit DIAL. She didn’t even know who she was calling. She was too focused on the door, too worried that she’d hear the floorboards creaking, see the doorknob wiggling.

  “Hello?” Addie’s groggy voice filled her ear, and she realized what she’d done, realized how stupid she was being.