Sweet Dreams on Center Street

by Sheila Roberts

  Del took another swallow of wine. “Let’s enjoy our dinner, shall we? We can talk business a little later.”

  After how many more glasses of wine? Samantha looked to Ed, who just shrugged and cut into his steak.

  Samantha sighed inwardly and told herself that buttering people up required a lot of time. And there was a lot of Del to butter.

  As the evening wore on and the wine flowed, Del’s fish stories got harder to swallow and his laugh got as big as the one that got away. “Ah, but there’s nothing like being in the great outdoors,” he concluded. “When you’re out on the river, you can let the whole world go by. And if a man’s out there with a beautiful woman, it’s like being in Eden.”

  Del’s hand disappeared under the table and Mom suddenly shifted in her seat. Uh-oh.

  “Well, it is a little piece of paradise up here,” Samantha said in an effort to distract him, “which makes it the perfect place to hold a festival.”

  Del was obviously more interested in holding other things, like her mother’s leg. Now he was pouting.

  And Mom had become the ice queen. She turned to Samantha. “I’m not feeling well. If you don’t mind, I’ll take the car and head home.”

  “I’ll be glad to drive you,” Del offered, probably hoping for more grope time.

  “I don’t think you should drive anywhere,” Mom told him. “Ed, would you mind giving Samantha a lift? Del, too.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Mom, I’ll take you,” Samantha said. That was the least she could do. Oh, man, what a dumb idea this had been.

  Mom’s Miss Manners mask was firmly in place, but Samantha could feel the waves of irritation radiating off her. “No, dear, you stay and enjoy yourself.”

  Like that was going to happen. There had been nothing enjoyable about this little dinner party, and Samantha suspected it was going to be downhill from here on.

  Sure enough. Mom left and Del lost interest in everything but the second bottle of wine Ed had ordered. And when Samantha tried to redeem the situation by bringing up the subject of the festival, his only response was, “I wish you’d talked to me about this. I don’t see how you can pull it off.”

  Maria came to the table, to ask if they wanted dessert.

  They’d blown enough money on Del. “We’ll take the check now,” Samantha said.

  Fortunately, Ed insisted on picking up the tab.

  “I’m afraid we wasted your money,” Samantha said after they’d loaded a tipsy Del into Ed’s car.

  “Nothing is ever wasted, Samantha,” he said. “Sure I can’t give you a lift?”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather walk. Anyway, I think I’ve spent enough time with our good mayor.”

  Ed grinned. “Del’s a decent sort. Just can’t hold his liquor. Never could. Don’t worry. I’ll have another go at him when he’s sober. He’ll come around.”

  She hoped so. It was important to have Del’s support. She might not have her mother’s anymore. She hunched inside her coat and made her way back to Mom’s house, bracing herself for a well-deserved lecture.

  Mom was in her yellow leather chair, nursing a mug of tea and frowning at the TV when Samantha let herself in. Her mother looked up as she entered but didn’t smile. Not a good sign.

  “How are you feeling?” Samantha ventured.

  Mom cocked an eyebrow.

  Samantha knew that gesture. She’d learned it at her mother’s knee. It didn’t bode well for their conversation. She bit her lip and perched on the edge of the couch. “I’m sorry about tonight. I had no idea Del was going to behave like that.”

  “He always behaves like that when he’s had too much to drink, and he always drinks too much.”

  “Mom, I’m really sorry. I thought—”

  Her mother cut her off. “I know perfectly well what you thought. Samantha, I understand we need to save our company.”

  “Not only the company. This benefits the whole town,” Samantha insisted.

  Her mother held up a hand. “I don’t care if it benefits the whole world. I will not have my own daughter pimping me out.”

  “Mom!” Samantha protested. Bad enough she’d thought it, but to hear it voiced by her mother… Her cheeks flamed.

  Mom set down her mug and gave Samantha a look that made her feel eight years old. “Samantha Rose, I will do all I can to help you behind the scenes, but I am not putting up with this sort of nonsense. Is that clear?”

  Samantha bit her lip again and nodded.

  Mom nodded, too. “Good. Now, give me a kiss and go home.”

  Thoroughly chastised Samantha kissed her mother’s cheek, took her car keys and fled. She cried all the way back to her condo, then burned off her misery by playing games on her laptop until two in the morning. But no matter how many zombies she killed, it didn’t really help.

  She was still killing zombies in her sleep (they all looked like Del) when her alarm went off at seven the next morning. She shut it off with a groan and forced herself to get out of bed. Winners never quit and quitters never win. She was no quitter.

  She fed Nibs, who was, as usual, starving. Then she put on her favorite dance workout DVD and got busy. Exercise always made her feel better and she was really getting into it when an angry thump on her living room floor from Lila Ward, her cranky neighbor downstairs, told her she needed to curb her enthusiasm. She stomped on the floor a couple of times to show Lila she’d gotten the message, then switched from dancing to doing crunches. After that it was a quick shower, some scrambled eggs and out the door.

  She had a full day ahead of her. In addition to dropping off that form at city hall, she had to email the members of her newly minted festival committee, check out the website Jonathan was designing and meet with Lizzy, her bookkeeper.

  “So how much can we spend on advertising?” she asked later that day after Lizzy had assured her that she and her employees could survive another month.

  Lizzy looked at Samantha over her pink bifocals. “Seriously?”

  Samantha leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Yeah. Dumb question.”

  * * *

  Blake Preston had had a hard time getting Samantha Sterling out of his mind. Here was a woman who’d inherited a business that had been left in chaos, who could have taken one look at the odds and thrown in the towel. But she was still swinging, fighting for all she was worth. How could anyone not admire that? In addition to being a fighter, she was a walking idea factory. She could turn her company around, given half a chance.

  He knew all the reasons he couldn’t make an exception and give her that chance, but it would go a long way toward good community relations if he did. And what was Cascade Mutual going to do with a chocolate factory, anyway?

  He pressed his point to his regional manager, Darren Short, as they ate schnitzel at Schwangau, Blake’s favorite restaurant.

  Darren cut off a gigantic chunk of meat and stuffed it in his mouth. “Don’t worry. We won’t end up stuck with anything.”

  Blake frowned at Darren. Fifteen years Blake’s senior, Darren had been both his mentor and his champion. Right now Blake took in Darren’s scrawny build and weak chin and thought him a wimp. “And why is that?”

  Darren washed his schnitzel down with a hearty swig of beer. “Because we have someone who’s interested in taking over their assets.”

  “Who? Who the heck would want those assets?”

  “Madame C in Seattle.”

  Blake pushed a
way his plate, his appetite gone. “Their competitor.”

  “Big fish eat little fish,” Darren said with a shrug.

  “And we serve up little fish on a platter.”

  Now Darren set down his knife and fork. “Was it a mistake sending you back to your hometown?”

  Maybe. “You’ve seen my report. You tell me.”

  Darren took another swig of beer, then leaned back in his chair and studied Blake. They sat there for a moment, locked in a stare-down, while in the background other diners talked over an old German drinking song.

  Darren was the first to break eye contact. He picked up his knife and fork and resumed attacking his meat. “You’re doing a fine job. I’d hate to see you follow in Arnie’s footsteps.”

  “I have no intention of doing that,” Blake said. “But I am trying to do what’s best for the bank. Maintaining good community relations by helping a business that’s been part of this community for generations is a sensible way to bring in more business.”

  “We don’t want the kind of business that costs us large amounts of money. Come on, Blake, you’ve been in banking long enough to know the bottom line.”

  “Yeah, and it sure isn’t people, even though we say it is,” Blake muttered.

  “Trevor Brown is people, too, and if Sweet Dreams goes under, his company will benefit from their loss.”

  Blake’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So you know Brown.”

  Darren calmly cut off another piece of meat. “I know a lot of businessmen in Seattle. Look, Darren. I’m not saying I want this company to fail. I hope they succeed. But in case they don’t, either way, the bank will be fine and someone will be happy. Someone goes down, someone else goes up. And that, my boy, is business,” he said, and popped the meat in his mouth.

  “Like you said, either way the bank comes out fine,” Blake said in disgust.

  “That about sums it up. And all the people who work in the Icicle Falls branch will still have jobs come March 1 because you’re doing what has to be done.” He picked up his glass and saluted Blake. “Cheers.”

  Yeah, cheers.

  Chapter Ten

  Luck is what you make it.

  —Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman’s Journey

  The day before had been ugly, with unsympathetic creditors to deal with and an unexpected computer crash. Miraculously, Jonathan Templar had been able to fix it, but that minor miracle had taken several hours, and he’d warned Samantha it was only a temporary fix. She’d finally left the office at seven, a drained dishrag in heels, thoroughly depressed by what felt like a never-ending run of bad luck.

  But now their luck was going to turn, she was convinced of it. Her sister being able to come and help was surely the first of many lucky breaks, she told herself as she drove to Sea-Tac Airport on Friday to pick up Cecily. Reinforcements had arrived and things were already humming right along for the festival.

  Shop owners as well as the restaurants and B and Bs were on board and promising to offer special sales. Jonathan had their website up and, with the exception of one thing, it looked good. For the home page he’d used a landscape shot of the town and surrounding mountain peaks for background and then superimposed a glorious box of bonbons in the foreground. Looking at Center Street with its Bavarian shops and window boxes and hanging baskets full of spring flowers (not to mention that box of goodies), who wouldn’t want to come to Icicle Falls and enjoy a weekend dedicated to shopping, fun and chocolate?

  Cecily’s flight was on time, more good luck.

  “How are you doing?” Cecily asked as soon as they had her bags loaded in the car.

  “Great,” Samantha said. “Did you check out the website?”

  Cecily nodded. “It’s fabulous. I can’t believe how much progress we’re making.”

  “It’s amazing how much you can accomplish with so many people pitching in,” Samantha said. “But…that schedule of events you had Jonathan put up— I’m not so sure about this Mr. Dreamy contest.” She had a sneaking suspicion their baby sister was behind it. “Was this Bailey’s idea?” Whoever came up with it should have run it by her first before posting the event. Was it too late to remove the contest? Even though the website had already gotten a lot of hits, no one had entered yet, and she’d know if they had, since, according to the website, contestants could download the form and drop it off at the Sweet Dreams gift shop. Another little detail no one had run past her.

  “Yes, it was Bailey’s brainchild,” Cecily said, “but it’s a clever idea.”

  Translation: I didn’t stop her because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Samantha frowned.

  “It’ll stir up lots of local interest,” Cecily said, “and you can bet Festival Hall will be packed with women the night we have the competition. We’re charging for the event, so we’ll make a ton of money.”

  “And you know that because?”

  “Because I’ve been to events where the firefighters who do those fundraiser calendars make an appearance. The women go crazy. We’ll give everyone a small box of chocolates and a chance to watch their favorite man walk the catwalk shirtless, and they’ll think they scored big.”

  “It all seems a little tacky.”

  “I suppose it is,” Cecily admitted, “but with the ball, the dinner and the chocolate high tea at Olivia’s we already have enough classy events. This gives people a chance to cut loose and get silly. And Bailey’s rounded up some really cool prizes, so I suspect we’ll have a lot of men wanting to enter, not to mention women volunteering their boyfriends.”

  “I don’t know,” Samantha said dubiously.

  “Sam, you’re not going to micromanage us, are you?”

  “I don’t micromanage.” She shot a glance in her sister’s direction to see Cecily giving her a look that said, Oh, yeah? “I don’t,” she insisted.

  “Okay, then, since you don’t, don’t. You’ve delegated the events and publicity to us. Let us handle them. You’ve got your hands full overseeing the festival and running the business. That means you just have to make sure we’re doing our jobs. You don’t get to tell us how to do them.”

  “I would never do that. I mean, I might offer some suggestions once in a while.” That was part of overseeing, after all.

  “Suggestions are always welcome, but don’t worry. Everything’s under control,” Cecily said.

  “Okay, so tell me where we are with promotion.”

  “I found the name of the producer of that Seattle talk show, Northwest Now. I’m going to email her and see if they’ll do a story on the festival. I know the Mountain Sun will do one.”

  “Free publicity, the best kind,” Samantha said approvingly.

  They spent the rest of the drive home talking about Cecily’s ideas and brainstorming other ways to promote the festival. By the time they entered town both sisters were excited.

  “This really is going to be great,” Cecily predicted.

  Samantha nodded. “I think our luck is about to change.”

  And to prove it, her car started ka-thwumpity-thwumping down the road.

  “What the heck?” Cecily asked as Samantha gripped her jiggly steering wheel.

  “We’ve got a flat. That’s a real pain.” Samantha pulled off into the parking lot of the Man Cave.

  She got out to inspect her car and discovered that her left rear tire was flat. “My lucky day,” she grumbled as she got back in the car to fish out her cell phone and call a tow truck.

&n
bsp; * * *

  “What is this place?” Cecily asked, although the Bud Light neon sign in the window was a pretty big clue.

  Still, she couldn’t help asking. It was such an eyesore with its tacky mural, the potholed parking lot and the smattering of beat-up trucks and motorcycles parked in front.

  This business was a new addition to town since she had moved to L.A. She remembered the building itself. It had been a mom-and-pop grocery store before Safeway came to town and cornered the grocery market. Then it had enjoyed a short life as an office supply store. After that it sat empty and became party central for kids bent on fun their parents wouldn’t approve of. She’d been one of those kids for a short time until she decided getting high wasn’t going to get her the kind of attention she wanted in life or the kind of boys.

  Not that she’d gotten the type of men she wanted after high school. Pathetic to be able to tell who was right for whom when people came to her dating service (not that they listened), but never able to figure it out for herself. She eyed the gigantic mural of the Neanderthal in lederhosen on the side of this old building, which was being given a dubious new life. That was the type of man she’d always seemed to gravitate toward. Why? Had her life been so boring that she had to spice it up with cavemen?

  “It’s been here about a year,” Samantha said. “A guy named Todd Black bought it and turned it into a sports bar. He’s one of the few people who’s not on board with the festival,” she added with a frown.

  “Interesting taste in decorating,” Cecily observed.

  “The Neanderthal says it all. Oh, and speak of the devil.”

  Handsome devil. Cecily took in the lean man with the broad shoulders walking across the parking lot toward them. He had the dark hair and swarthy pirate complexion she typically fell for. He dressed like the kind of man she always fell for, too, in jeans and leather jacket hanging open over a gray T-shirt that showed off a fine set of pecs.