Sugar Rush

by Rachel Astor

  Lila scrunched her face, confused. “I’m pretty sure there are no mortal enemies when it comes to candy making.”

  “Are you kidding me? Don’t you remember Grams always talking about How Sweet It Is and how they almost ruined our business by automating their store and undercutting our prices?” Dulcie said, her voice rising.

  Lila blinked. “I guess I sort of remember something like that, but seriously, isn’t that a little dramatic? Your shop survived.”

  “Barely,” Dulcie said.

  “So you’re just going to give up on a guy like that, who you are obviously hot for, because of some stupid business thing?”

  “I am not hot for him,” Dulcie said, shifting in her seat.

  “Oh, please. If you were any more hot for him, you could start this building on fire.”

  Dulcie made a sour face. “Look, let’s just get out of here, okay? I’m tired.” She stood to put on her jacket.

  “Okay,” Lila said, smirking.

  “And I am not hot for that jerk,” she repeated, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt.

  Chapter Three

  People always complain about having to get up at “the butt crack of dawn,” but Dulcie would give anything for the luxury of waking at daybreak. A seven-minute snooze button would also be heaven, but those who have a bazillion things to take care of and never enough time do not get that luxury.

  She cursed the cheesy candy song from the sixties that woke her up every day for years, her mother’s idea of a joke. She should just change it already, but she could never bring herself to do it.

  The song did have one good attribute, she supposed. At four in the morning, the over the top beat did get a person going.

  I want candy…

  Dulcie’s feet hit the floor at a full run as she threw on some clothes, bopping her head to the music.

  Half a second to check the mirror…and she nearly screamed. The whole going-to-bed-with-wet-hair-because-who-has-time-to-blow-dry thing seriously wasn’t working. Overnight, her head had grown a cowlick bubble, puffing out like a microwaved marshmallow. She sighed and searched for an elastic, throwing in her usual ponytail, trying to slick the disaster into submission. She flew out of the house before her song had finished a second run.

  The street was quiet, as usual. Not a whole lot of people mulled around that early, and Dulcie had to admit, in a way, the wee hours had become her favorite time. The calm before the storm. She even stopped running for a few steps when she hit the park, just to enjoy the peace—also known as snapping herself out of the daydream of Nick from last night. Ugh, why did her mind keep wandering there? He was awful.

  She shook her head and broke into a run again. If she showed up late one more time, Constance would not be happy. And she could not risk losing her.

  She slid the key into the door just as Constance came around the corner.

  “It’s a miracle!” she exclaimed.

  Constance was chipper even at four eighteen in the morning, which should be super annoying, but somehow she pulled it off without being obnoxious.

  “Har, har,” Dulcie said, shoving the door open, the bells jingling above.

  They’d done the routine so many times they didn’t have to talk—not that they had to stay quiet or anything, but both of them just got to it.

  Dulcie tuned to the all-blues station on the satellite radio, swearing she wouldn’t think of him even once. She needed her music, though—something about the blues really got a person into the groove of getting down with some candy making. Which she got right to as she ripped open the first ten-pound bag of sugar for the day and poured it into the giant pot lovingly referred to as Cauldron One.

  Unfortunately, along with helping her relax into the groove of candy making, the music also helped her mind relax, going every which way it pleased. Nick playing the bass was a recurring theme, which she scolded herself for every time, remembering all the things he’d said, thinking of witty replies she should have shot back with. Why do they always show up too late?

  Then it was back to concentrating on the music and candy, which only led to more daydreams: Nick’s lips, the way his hair curled around just his left ear, that maddeningly sexy smirk.

  Three hours, much music, lots of scolding, and several batches of truffles, fruit-flavored hard candy, and chocolate-dipped creations later, her iPhone’s code-red alarm for class wailed.

  Constance filled the display cases in front as Dulcie grabbed two small boxes of treats on her way out.

  “Have a sweet day!” she yelled as the bells jingled.

  “You too, sugar,” Constance called back.

  It was their lame little ritual, but it made Constance happy, and even Dulcie had to admit, she usually left with a grin on her face.

  She flipped the sign to open as she left and dodged a car in the side parking lot, then snuck down the alley behind the store—her usual shortcut.

  “Mornin’,” a voice said.

  She jumped. “God, Jess, you scared the hell out of me.”

  Jess giggled. “Sorry. I had to shuffle down to this end last night. The wind was ridiculous.” She pulled her coat tighter around her neck.

  “Yeah, it’s getting chilly,” Dulcie said, handing her one of the boxes of treats, trying not to show how much she worried about her.

  Jess looked at the box like it was her last meal. Of course, when you live in an alley, meals—even ones made almost entirely of sugar—probably weren’t that easy to come by. Dulcie knew Jess had stuff to eat—she thought she even had a part-time job somewhere—but Jess was never able to scrape up enough to afford a place. Stupid recession.

  Plus, winter was coming way too fast. But it wasn’t like Dulcie could afford to take in a stranger. Even though she saw Jess almost every day, she didn’t really know her that well.

  Dulcie turned away to head for home. “There’s a new one in there,” she said. “White Chocolate Lemon Squeeze.”

  Okay, it wasn’t actually new—she’d found it in the back of the family Spell Book of Sweets (a.k.a. the store’s master cookbook), but she was sure the recipe hadn’t been made in years.

  “Tell me what you think later,” she said, giving Jess a wave as she walked away.

  “Will do,” she said, her mouth already full.

  Dulcie never understood how Jess ate so much sugar first thing in the morning. After smelling sweets for the past four hours, sugar was the last thing on her mind.

  She rushed down the alley, turning onto the sidewalk as she checked her phone, marveling at how she fell behind almost every day. Tardiness was her one true gift.

  The door flew open before she even got a chance to get her key out. “What do you have today?” Grams demanded, the same as every other day.

  “Good morning to you, too, Grams,” Dulcie said, pushing her way through and over to the table.

  Grams was wearing the short shorts again. Of all the grandmothers Dulcie had ever met, not one of them had ever worn hot pants in her presence…you know, besides her own. She could only assume that was because they would never actually wear hot pants. But Grams was a grandmother of a different breed. Seriously, Dulcie wished she had legs like her grandmother. Somehow Grams was still hotter than her, even though she was sixty-five.

  Grams pulled the top off the sweets box and took a whiff of each creation. If she thought they smelled good, her face didn’t let on. No, her expression was one of…disappointment.

  Dulcie dropped her hands to her sides. “Come on!” she said. “There’s nothing you approve of? What about the lemony one?”

  Grams gave her a look. “You know very well I approve of all your sweets, hon, but…well, you’ve got to start making something of your own. You really think I wouldn’t recognize my White Chocolate Lemon Squeeze? You gotta think outside the box, Dulcie, and stop playing it safe all the time. The same goes for life. It always needs a little flair,” she said with a whoosh of her hand. “How in the world are we supposed to give those b
uffoons over at How Sweet It Is a run for their money?”

  Dulcie rolled her eyes. Grams was nothing if not obsessed with beating out the competition…not that she did anything about it.

  “Our stuff would have a little more ‘flair,’” Dulcie said, throwing in some air quotes for good measure, “if you’d come down once in a while and lend me a hand.”

  Grams turned away. “We’ve been through this. I would if I could, but you know how busy I am,” she said, suddenly looking tired.

  Grams was not tired often.

  Dulcie sighed. She’d never understand Grams’s issue with going back to the store. Sure, that’s where they got the final call about Dulcie’s mom, and Grams always said it was the worst day of her life and everything, but…didn’t she realize it had been the worst day of Dulcie’s life, too? Yet somehow she still managed to get up every morning and go.

  Someone had to keep Mom’s dream alive.

  Grams performed her weird full-body convulsing maneuver, a unique (and rather hilarious) way of literally shaking away ugly thoughts.

  “Besides, the store is more your thing. You always did love playing in all that sugar, even when you were a little kid. I’m much better at taking care of things around here than looking after Candy Land.”

  She was right, Dulcie supposed. Grams’s days for sugar had probably passed. She’d created more candies than Dulcie could ever dream of, even though her mom was the true candy artist. Maybe it had never really been Grams’s thing.

  As much as Dulcie was drowning in a sea of caramel nougat, she couldn’t imagine where she’d be without Grams. She was the one who kept them afloat, working her library job even though, if it weren’t for Dulcie, she probably could have retired by now. Dulcie had to find a way to get Candy Land back to where it had been when her mom was running it, and everything would be fine. Grams could retire, and they wouldn’t have to worry so much anymore.

  She wished she could shake off her thoughts the way Grams did.

  “Okay, well, I’ll try to think of something for tomorrow,” Dulcie said as Grams bit into the Lemon Squeeze. Honestly, the disappointment act might be easier to believe if she didn’t have an expression of complete and utter bliss every time she ate one of the sweets.

  Dulcie grinned and shook her head. “Later, Grams.”

  But she was too engrossed in the chocolate to even realize Dulcie was leaving.

  Same routine every day.

  Dulcie snuck down the hall toward her room, but then made a last minute switch to the left instead.

  The air stilled as she crept into her mom’s old bedroom. She waited by the door, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, then stumbled over to the window seat, pulling out the photo album. Her mother had been taking photos of her creations for years, always joking about someday making them into a book. Dulcie flipped through the dozens of mouth-watering pictures overlapped with the matching recipes, written in Mom’s perfect handwriting.

  “I made the White Chocolate Lemon Squeeze today,” she whispered, moving her finger over the very recipe she’d whipped up only a few hours ago. “Grams doesn’t think it’s fresh enough…but you know Grams.”

  Dulcie pretended her mom rolled her eyes right along with her.

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to make you guys proud.”

  …

  Nick’s future was riding on this competition, and he was sure he could come up with something spectacular. The only problem was, every damned flavor he thought of had nothing to do with candy.

  He stared at the three dozen cupcakes on the counter, which he’d stayed up half the night working on.

  He sighed heavily. “Why in the hell do I obsess over God damned cupcakes so much?” he wondered aloud.

  He knew why, obviously. The classes he’d signed up for at the cupcake store in Boston to impress that girl in his junior year. God, what was her name again? For the life of him he couldn’t remember, but he would never forget the cupcakes, or the way he got excited, the same way he used to when he’d helped his mother create. It wasn’t long before he’d begun baking them at home for study sessions, or just to get his mind off everything for a little while. He may not have won over the original cupcake girl, but the ladies certainly seemed impressed by his skills in the kitchen.

  Unfortunately, he’d found out last night that his cupcake creativity did not translate to candy as well as he’d hoped.

  He grabbed one of the red velvet cupcakes with stabilized raspberry whipped cream icing, topped with a fondant heart for breakfast. He never officially named his cupcakes, of course—that would be silly—but he’d be lying if he didn’t secretly think of this one as the Queen of Hearts.

  He shoved the last bite in as he got into his Bentley in the underground parking garage and headed to the shop.

  “Good morning,” his father said, coming in after Nick had settled into his office, second in size only to his father’s. From what the other employees said, Nick knew Jack Miller was none too happy about the office situation. His was way down the hall and about the size of a broom closet.

  “Morning,” Nick said, a little annoyed that his dad still came in to check on him every day to make sure he had something productive to do.

  This morning, though, Nick had an out.

  “You will never guess who I met last night.”

  His father stared.

  “The woman who runs Candy Land Confections.”

  His dad’s eyes widened. “You met Evelyn Carter?”

  Nick furrowed his brow. “Evelyn? No, her name was Dulcie.”

  “Ah, must be the granddaughter,” his father said, then narrowed his eyes. “I hope you weren’t making friends with this…girl.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. His father was nothing if not predictable. “No, Dad, I was not making friends with her, though she was rather…intriguing.”

  His father scoffed. “Don’t you go looking for trouble. Nothing good can come out of fraternizing with the enemy!”

  “The enemy? Really?” Nick said. “I don’t think her little shop is exactly an enemy.”

  “Oh, make no mistake, that woman is most definitely the enemy. She is as sneaky and underhanded as they come.”

  “Dulcie?”

  His father sighed. “No, Evelyn, the grandmother.” He shot Nick a look that said he should get there faster. “Although I highly doubt this Dulcie is much different.”

  “Okay,” Nick said, putting up his hands in surrender, although the way his father was acting only piqued his interest. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “I’m serious,” his dad said. “We do not associate with anything related to Candy Land Confections.”

  “Fine,” Nick said.

  “Now, since you insisted on entering, we’ve got to start working on this contest entry,” his father said. “It’s coming up fast.”

  “I know; I’ve been working on it,” Nick answered, wishing he’d grabbed one more cupcake for the road.

  “Wait a minute,” his father said, pacing and rubbing his chin. His eyes suddenly lit up. “You said you find this Candy Land girl intriguing…”

  Nick’s face scrunched. “Um, I guess,” he said tentatively.

  “This could be perfect,” his father said. “If you could get close enough to her, we could gain access to their contest entry.” Something evil twinkled in his eye. “We could sabotage the whole thing!”

  Nick wondered whether it was time to call the psych ward. “We don’t even know if they’re entering the contest. You’ve completely lost your mind.”

  His father’s brows knitted together. “Of course they’ll enter, and this could be our perfect chance to—”

  “Just stop right there,” Nick said. “I am not sabotaging some poor woman’s chocolates, for Pete’s sake. What has gotten into you?”

  Nick’s father shook his head. “But it would be so simple. Just cozy up to this girl—”

  “Stop, Dad. Just stop,” Nic
k said, staring him down.

  His father sighed. “Fine. But remember, you’re the one who wanted to enter this damned contest in the first place, and you’d better not embarrass the store. We’ve already announced that we have a new flavor for the contest and our customers expect something huge. I’ve put a lot on the line for you.”

  Nick nodded. “I know, and I appreciate it,” he said.

  He still couldn’t figure out why in the hell his father had gone and announced a new flavor was in the works. Although it had brought a lot of extra business just this morning already. Must have put the store in people’s minds.

  Still, the whole thing would be a lot less stressful if he could just relax and get creative. Leave it to his father to suck all the fun out of the one thing he’d been looking forward to.

  His father eyed him dubiously. “Are you sure you don’t need my help with this?”

  Nick nodded. Honestly, he could use all the help he could get, but trying to create something alongside his father might be the end of him. And he needed to prove he could do this on his own. “Trust me, Dad, I’ve got this.”

  His father stared, then finally spoke. “I’m counting on you. All those people out there are counting on you.”

  “I know,” Nick said.

  “Do you?” his father asked. “Because I don’t think you realize what a big deal this is. I’ve seen other stores make a poor showing at the competition and get absolutely massacred in the food pages. A store is only as good as its last creation.”

  Well, that explains a lot, Nick thought. No wonder his father never came up with anything new. “I told you, Dad, I’m on it.”

  “I hope so. Have some ideas ready for me after lunch.” His father stormed out of the room.

  Nick listened to the whir of the machines in the warehouse, just beyond the door. Candy speeding along, pushed and pulled and prodded by machines, touched by human hands only to move them from one machine to another, assembly line style.

  He blew out a huge puff of air and stared at the plain white walls.

  How did his father expect any creativity out of him in this place?