by Rachel Astor
“Good Lord, didn’t you sleep? You look awful,” Grams said.
Super.
“No, I did not, thank you very much,” Dulcie said, her tone a bit more grumpy than she meant.
Her mother had never missed getting through the preliminary round in the history of Candy Land Confection’s entries, but the last time Dulcie had been to the competition, with the watermelon/dirt concoction, was as vivid as if it were yesterday. She’d been able to hold off the thoughts of dread until last night, not having had time to focus on anything besides Nick and the smashed chocolate fiasco.
Grams, of course, didn’t seem to notice, and Dulcie wondered how she could be more like her grandmother. Not letting someone else’s reactions bother her in the slightest.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Grams said. “It’s quite a big day, you know.”
Gee, thanks for the shrewd assessment, Dulcie thought.
“I know,” she said, and quarantined herself in the bathroom for the world’s longest shower.
“Good God, I thought you’d died in there,” Grams said when she emerged.
“Thank you for your concern,” Dulcie said.
She did feel a million times better though, and thought she might even make it through the stress of the day.
Of course, the words dark chocolate and watermelon would not leave her alone.
But each time they popped into her mind, she sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding herself this was Mom’s recipe, not hers. She had nothing to worry about.
But then she thought about Nick, and her stomach rolled uneasily.
Grams and Dulcie went down for breakfast. It was torture trying not to look at Nick, who was sitting across the room with his father and trying to catch her eye. Her mind waffled between his guilt and innocence. She thought she knew him, thought he’d never do anything to hurt her. Then again, he’d flat-out admitted his father had suggested the idea, and he’d been raised mostly by his father.
Dulcie decided to pretend he just wasn’t there.
Which naturally meant she glanced over at least eight hundred times.
He even chews cute, she thought, then shook the observation from her head.
“What’s wrong?” Grams asked.
Dulcie cut her waffles vehemently. “Just thinking about the contest. I can’t wait until this stress is over.”
“It’ll be exciting. If only your mother were here,” she said, clearing her throat and stuffing a huge bite of omelet into her mouth.
Dulcie found herself having to clear her throat as well. “I wish she were here, too. I feel a little like an imposter entering in her place when it’s her recipe and everything.”
Grams shrugged. “You’ll have your own chance to shine soon enough.”
Dulcie sighed. “You can’t accept that I’m not a designer, can you?” She wondered if Grams was so intent on her creating because it might be the only way the shop would survive. Can’t have a candy shop without new products for people to try.
“Nope, sure can’t,” Grams said as easily as if the conversation were about the weather. “You’re already doing it. You just need to find the guts to put it out there.”
A line formed between Dulcie’s eyebrows. “Grams, I am not. There is a world of difference between imagining what might taste good and actually making something good.”
“Not really,” Grams said, going to town on the omelet. “It’s a matter of taking what’s up here,” she said, pointing at her head, “and getting it out there.” She gestured wide with her arms.
“Right. I guess it’s just that simple,” Dulcie said.
Except for the little issue of the paralyzing terror.
The time had come. Judging was about to begin.
The lights beat down, and even though she was standing with dozens of other competitors, Dulcie felt exposed, like she was doing something wrong.
A single bead of sweat snuck down the middle of her back, tickling her and settling uneasily under the waistband of her skirt. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, then opened them to gaze around the room, awed all over again that so many talented chocolatiers were ready and willing to give it their best try. All of them knew it would be a long shot; only ten finalists made it to round two and there had to be at least a hundred competitors standing proudly behind their covered creations.
How did they all do it, realizing the odds stacked against them? Sure, she was confident in her mom’s recipe, but nine out of ten people would go home empty handed.
The humiliation was too much to comprehend.
“Don’t you just love this?” the lady standing beside Dulcie in front of her own food cover asked.
Dulcie blinked. “I’m a little nervous, actually.”
“Oh”—the lady swatted her shoulder playfully—“don’t be nervous. This is fun. I mean, I don’t expect to win or anything… I just love to come here for the ideas, the creativity. To meet like-minded candy people.” She smiled. “Like you!” She held her hand out. “I’m Rita, by the way. Came all the way from Florida. Got myself a little candy shop in Orlando.”
“Orlando,” Dulcie said, amazed. And this woman didn’t even care about winning? “That’s a long way.”
Rita nodded. “I love it here, though, being surrounded by all this talent. It’s always a nice little trip to Boston, and an amazing vacation for the imagination. Gets those creative juices flowing.” She winked.
The strangest part was, the woman seemed completely sincere. She’d spent all that time and money to get there, and all she wanted was the experience. Heat crept up the back of Dulcie’s neck at how single-minded she had been about the competition.
Of course, that only calmed her nerves the slightest bit.
The room quieted as the judging began and the first contestants unveiled their creations. Dulcie couldn’t see what they were from so far across the room, so there wouldn’t be much sizing up the competition. Not that I want to size anyone up, she thought, trying to take a cue from the lady who was mostly there for creative inspiration.
She did, however, have an excellent view of Nick, who stood with his father six stations before her, just where the tables turned the corner of the U they were set up in. It was far too close for comfort, especially with Nick trying to get her attention every five seconds, although she was anxious to find out what How Sweet It Is had designed. In all the excitement over her mother’s recipe, she had forgotten to obsess over what the Sugarmans might show up with.
She wondered if they stuck with something lemony.
Time dredged to a standstill as the first hour passed, Dulcie’s high-heeled feet begging her to sit, which of course was out of the question. She had no idea how she was going to survive the wait until tomorrow for the results to come in. With so many entries, the judges always took their time to deliberate.
She began to regret the second cup of coffee at breakfast.
Another fifteen minutes later and the judges were almost at Nick’s station. Dulcie bounced a little, almost as much in anticipation as for her bathroom situation.
Three more…two more…she swore the judges had even slowed down the speed they wrote on their little clipboards…one more.
And Nick pulled the cover off his father’s creation with a flourish, announcing the name of their design.
“Judges, I give you the Salted Caramel Apple Confection!” he said, banging the cover down on the table and practically shooting out a round of jazz hands.
Dulcie’s heart stopped.
Nick stared at her, a mischievous smirk crawling its way across his lips like a worm. The same one as the first night in the jazz club, the one she’d nearly fallen all over herself for.
That night it had seemed so boyish, so knowing. But now it only seemed…cocky.
A noise, something between a gasp and a scream, lodged in her throat.
She felt like she might choke on it.
Her stomach seized and her bathroom issues went from too
much coffee, to something more in the area of throwing up.
She glanced from Nick’s face to his chocolates to his face again.
The cocky grin did not disappear.
Dulcie turned toward Grams sitting with the rest of the competitors’ families. She hadn’t been close enough to hear the name of the How Sweet It Is entry.
But Dulcie had.
That God damned bastard. How could he?
She took a step back from the table, suddenly dizzy, pacing behind the other entrants. She should have known. Nick had been playing her all along, getting close to her just like his father had said.
He’d stolen her mother’s last recipe.
There was no other explanation. The only people who knew about it were Ava, Constance, Jess, and Grams. It was far more likely Nick got ahold of the samples when he was at the shop.
She squinted, still pacing. That first day at the market. Had he been following her? Trying to weasel his way into her secrets even then? Her stomach lurched. She’d fallen for the whole thing, hook, line, and sinker. Even letting him taste test those first competition hopefuls right along with her friends.
She sucked in a long breath and let it out through her nose, trying her best not to snort like a bull. That asshole had been in her kitchen.
You do not mess with a woman’s kitchen.
Someone cleared her throat. Loudly.
“I think they’re waitin’ for you, hon,” the woman from California said, tapping Dulcie on the shoulder.
Shit. The judges stood in front of her station.
It was her turn to reveal.
“Goddamn it,” she said under her breath. One of the judges gave her a questioning glance.
Her instinct was to grab her Salted Caramel Apple Enchantments and run out of there as fast as her stupid feet in their stupid high heels would take her. But this was her mother’s legacy. That bastard had stolen her mother’s recipe and Dulcie intended to find a way to prove it.
She took a deep breath.
“It’s called the Salted Caramel Apple Enchantment,” she said under her breath.
“I’m sorry, what’s that, dear?” the lone female judge asked.
She cleared her throat. “The Salted Caramel Apple Enchantment.”
“Oh, um…” The judge seemed to be at a loss for words.
They all stared at her, no one even motioning to sample her chocolates or write anything down on their clipboards.
“It would appear my entrance recipe has been stolen,” she said, still glaring toward the How Sweet It Is station.
The short, round judge cleared his throat. “Well…that certainly is unfortunate. What do you have to say?” the man asked, turning toward Nick and his father.
But it would seem Nick had already made a clean exit.
Dulcie seethed. The bastard couldn’t even stay long enough to watch what happened. Left his father to clean up his mess. Cripes, he probably didn’t even tell his father where the recipe came from. God, what if Mr. Sugarman thought Dulcie had copied them?
Her heart beat faster as Mr. Sugarman stood there like a deer caught in headlights. “I’m sorry,” he said, tilting his ear toward the judges. “What was that now?”
“She claims you stole her recipe for the Salted Caramel Apple”—he glanced down at the cardboard title that sat on the plate of Dulcie’s chocolates—“Enchantment.”
Mr. Sugarman looked taken aback. “My goodness, that’s ridiculous. Ours is clearly called the Salted Caramel Apple Confection.” Dulcie sneered at the last word, obviously one more dig from Nick, having a word from the name of her store in his entry.
Last night when they were in his bedroom, he’d already entered his candy. Her thoughts moved a mile a minute. He’d crushed her samples. Shit, he tried to make it so she couldn’t even enter. Probably trying to cover up what he’d done so his father wouldn’t find out and would still hand him the reins to the store. Then he went running all over the hotel with her, probably hoping she wouldn’t scrounge up an entry.
She wanted to stomp her feet and throw a tantrum like some spoiled kid, but instead she watched Nick’s father.
“That’s not possible,” he said. “We kept everything under tight wraps.” He gasped. “But she knows my son. My God, she was in my shop! She must have seen the recipe when she was there! Nick! Where are you?” Mr. Sugarman looked around, apparently for his son, as if he would clear everything up.
“None of that is true. His son has been in my shop a dozen times the past few weeks. He stole my recipe. My mother’s recipe!” she said, the last words rising in volume.
Everyone stared at them now, no doubt the ones who couldn’t hear wondering what the hold up was.
The female judge reacted first. “Well, we’ve got to finish the judging. For now we’ll continue as if nothing…nefarious is going on,” she said, and Dulcie felt like she’d been sent to the principal’s office.
Clearly, Mr. Sugarman had the advantage, having unveiled his so-called creation first.
Dulcie’s one glimmer of hope was that the judges all seemed to appreciate her chocolates, nodding and smiling even with the dark cloud of deceit hanging over the competition.
Chapter Fourteen
Nick returned from the restroom to chaos. Well, it was a controlled sort of chaos, but people definitely chattered about something.
“What’s going on?” he asked his father.
He sniffed. “Well, it would seem your little friend,” he said, the word bitter on his tongue, “has the same entry as we do.”
“What?” Nick snapped his head to Dulcie’s station, but she was nowhere to be found.
“It’s good for us she ran off,” his father continued. “Makes her look like the guilty party.”
Nick scrunched his face. None of this made any sense. “But…how did she know what we made? Why would she even want to copy ours?”
The corner of his father’s mouth twitched.
Nick squinted. “Did you…do something?”
His father wore a smug expression. “All’s fair in love and war,” he said.
“What do you mean love and war?” he asked. “There is no war here.”
He didn’t say anything about the love part.
“No war? Tell that to her grandmother!” Mr. Sugarman said.
Nick suddenly got the feeling the bitterest wars were fought over something that had begun as love.
“Dad, what did you do?” Nick scrutinized the room, panicked. There was no sign of Dulcie or her grandmother, only an empty plate sitting in front of an empty gap in the competitors.
Whispered chatter spread through the judging hall, gossip and rumor traveling at a speed much faster than the judges making their final notes. The entire room pulsed with a wave of shock, and something else. That self-important air of righteous people catching someone doing something wrong.
Nick’s heart sank when he realized they were all talking about Dulcie.
And his father seemed as superior as the rest of them.
“Dad,” he said, his tone more forceful now. “What did you do?”
His father shrugged, then flicked a piece of lint off his sweater vest. “Nothing. Don’t worry.” He stood to face the table again, folding his hands in front of him. “Nothing they haven’t done to us in the past, anyway.” A satisfied glint sparkled in his eyes.
“What the hell does that mean?” Nick whisper-growled.
He needed answers, but the last thing he wanted was more eyes on him. More people talking in hand-covered whispers. More attention on Dulcie.
“Look, Nick, you’re a grown man. You’re old enough to realize you fight fire with fire, and ten years ago, those women started all this. I’m simply repaying the favor,” he whispered.
Nick was speechless, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. In no way could he imagine Dulcie doing anything to harm his business.
He had to find her.
“I gotta go,” he said. “I’ll deal with you later.�
�
He had never spoken to his father like that before. It actually felt kind of good. Especially once he caught the floundering expression on his face.
…
“I have to get out of here,” Dulcie announced to her grandmother as she stormed through the hotel.
“What’s going on?” Grams asked. “I couldn’t hear anything they said. You were pacing like you might lose your cookies. Are you feeling all right? You’re very pale.”
“No, I am not feeling all right.” She took a deep breath. She couldn’t get enough air.
“That…bastard stole our recipe.”
Grams grabbed her arm, stopping her. The force of it swung Dulcie around to face her. “What do you mean?”
Dulcie had never seen Grams so serious.
She inhaled, her chest rising, though she still felt like she lacked oxygen. She closed her eyes and said calmly, “How Sweet It Is had an entry called the Salted Caramel Apple…get this…Confection.”
Grams gasped. Like, actually gasped out loud. “Confection?” she said, her voice rising into a pitch only Dulcie, and perhaps all the neighborhood dogs, could hear.
It was rather dramatic, even for Grams.
“But how did he…? When would they…?” She grabbed both of Dulcie’s arms with vice-grip fingers. “How did they know about the recipe?”
She shook Grams off and charged toward their room. “Nick must have stolen some of the chocolates when he was at the shop.” She fought with everything she had not to cry.
“But I didn’t think he was even at the shop after you found the…” She paused, her mind catching up with her mouth. “Shiznit!” she yelled.
Usually Grams’s creative ways of expressing herself amused Dulcie, and with the way the man waiting for the elevator jumped, it should have been funny, but Dulcie was in no mood for humor. All she felt was shame. So similar to the shame she’d felt the last time, when the judges nearly spit her entry back out. Only this time it was so much worse.
She had done nothing wrong.
Well, other than fall for the wrong guy.
Not that she had even fallen for him, Dulcie tried to convince herself. She’d only fallen for the the handiwork of a master con artist.
