by Rachel Astor
She would try, and she would give it her absolute best shot.
After all the dread and fear began to wane, her heart started beating faster thinking about the many chocolates she could bring to life. Her head swirling with combinations of chocolate, fruit, flavorings…anything her candy-loving mind could fathom.
“Oh, crap,” Ava suddenly said. “The customers!” She rushed back out the kitchen door.
Dulcie couldn’t help it—she started giggling. They all laughed for a long time, the tension and stress of the past weeks easing away.
When they stopped, Dulcie went to the table. “So, I guess I have some work to do.” Everyone smiled. “But Grams, if I’m going to do this, I need to give it my all and that means…” She took a deep breath. “School will have to stay on the back burner. I might not pass this semester.” Dulcie thought her heart might go into palpitations in the short silence that followed.
“School schmool,” Grams said with a wave of her hand. “I always thought taking those masters classes was stupid anyway. I mean, you’ve already got a degree and are running your own business. Your mother and I taught you everything we know; I doubt those college teachers have anything new to say. If they were any good at business, they’d be running businesses of their own now, wouldn’t they?”
“Um…,” Dulcie said, “I guess so. But what about Mom’s dream?”
Grams shrugged. “Your mother’s dream was for you to be happy. The reason she put that money away was so you would have options in case you decided candy wasn’t your thing. And I think it’s safe to say you’d rather be spending your time here than at some boring grad school.”
Dulcie nodded, the weight of a life-sized chocolate globe lifting off her shoulders. “Okay then. Let’s do this.”
That evening, for the first time in her life, the kitchen had become Dulcie’s biggest nightmare. Even with all the ideas floating through her mind that afternoon, standing in the big open space at that moment, her mind was blank. Every idea she’d ever had for a candy had flown away, as if heading south for the winter.
Grams had been right; Dulcie thought about candy making pretty much nonstop, but suddenly every ounce of creativity she’d ever had let her down.
She stood in her kitchen after everyone had gone home and swore crickets chirped in the dark corners of her mind. At least in the creativity department. The rest of her brain was otherwise occupied with images of Nick, remembering the way he looked that first night in the jazz club and hating herself for even thinking of him. She glanced around the kitchen, hoping the equipment or the stove would get the creative juices flowing.
Nothing.
She opened the huge refrigerator doors and stepped inside. Maybe standing in all those ingredients would send a little spark her way.
Again, nothing.
She sucked in a huge breath of the cold air, letting it out slowly, watching the fog her breath made. She went back out to the big table and pulled up a stool, plopping down and picking up her phone.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end said.
“Grams, I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, as if she didn’t have a doubt in the world.
How nice it must be to live that way, Dulcie thought. Sure, steady…confident.
“I can’t think of a single thing to make.”
“Oh, well, that’s easy,” Grams said. “Make something of your mom’s. What better way to come up with a brilliant recipe than using another brilliant recipe as inspiration?”
“Hmm…,” Dulcie said. “I do usually get ideas when I’m working.”
“Exactly. You’re thinking too hard. You need to let your mind get lost in the candy making. It’s in your subconscious where the real inspiration lies. A great candy is like a great memory, Dulcie,” she said. “Let your mind find one, and you’ll be fine.”
Dulcie smiled for the first time since everyone had left. “Thanks, Grams. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“And I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Dulcie pulled out the Spell Book of Sweets and got to work on one of her favorites, a simple but elegant molded raspberry-filled, dark chocolate: the Dark Dreams.
Grams had been right. By the time she’d finished Mom’s recipe, Dulcie already had two ideas fighting for her attention, screaming at her to try.
A week later, Dulcie had more contest possibilities than anyone was prepared for. Dozens of samples sat on the table as everyone gathered around after hours. The kitchen seemed small with everyone packed in: Constance and Ava, Lila and Jess, and even Grams all waited to be induced into their sugar coma. With all the sampling Dulcie had done over the seven days—not to mention the stress of unveiling her own creations to the people she loved most—she was as jittery as a chocolate-covered coffee bean addict.
She breathed slowly to calm her nerves. “Okay, let’s take this one step at a time,” she said. “We’ve got to keep all the criteria for the contest in mind while we’re choosing.” She turned to the large piece of paper she’d taped on the wall and uncapped her Sharpie. “Flavor, appearance, and texture are all important,” she said, writing down the words. “But most important of all is originality. We’ve got to give the judges something they’ve never imagined.” She wrote down originality on the paper and turned, capping the marker. “This is a showcase for the vendors who make up the Association of Chocolatiers to find new and unique ways of marketing their products to us, the candy makers. It’s why they’re willing to shell out so much money for a contest like this. They want innovation. The Salted Caramel Apple Enchantment was such a strong contender, something that wasn’t too common, though salted chocolate is more popular lately.”
She paused, swallowing. “Now it’s time to find something even better.” Dulcie let out a deep breath. “I think…I hope I’ve come up with some contenders that fit, but keep in mind, the first three criteria are also important. That’s where I failed the first time I tried to do this contest on my own, and Lord knows we do not want a repeat. Okay, let’s get started.” Dulcie handed out several sheets of paper to her testers. Each sheet had the name of one of Dulcie’s creations with the criteria listed down the side. Each taster had to rate the chocolates from one to ten on each of the criteria. In the end, whichever creation got the highest score would be the one.
Dulcie could hardly believe the selection in front of them had come out of her mind. It actually all looked good, like something people would want to eat. Dulcie had decided to remain neutral and let the others choose which would be the best entry.
There was a mini Swiss Chocolate covered cheesecake, which Dulcie called the Cheese Please. Her mind already swirled with variations: the Mocha Cheese Please, the Lemon Cheese Please, the Cherry Cheese Please…the possibilities were endless, with varieties to make seasonally or on special holidays.
There were also a couple new fudge recipes: the Strawberry Shortcake Fudge, with heavy cake and strawberries dotted throughout the white fudge, and the Crash and Burn, a subtle burnt sugar and pecan treat.
She’d made some Apricot Macadamia Bark, a new flavor of macaroon, the Almond Trance, and a Blue Lagoon tropical inspired Turkish jelly.
A few others rounded out the samples, including the one Dulcie had spent the most time on, and secretly hoped might be the winner.
…
Acid rose in Nick’s throat as he sat at the coffee shop near his house and read the text from his father for the third time.
We’re in the finals. Unfortunately, so is Candy Land.
In a perfect world, Dulcie would come up with something spectacular and make huge headlines as the winner of the competition.
He imagined her holding the trophy, shaking the hand of the president of the chocolatier association and, most importantly, clasping the check in her hands.
If anyone ever deserved the money, and would put it to good use, it was Dulcie.
Nick couldn’t c
are less anymore. Not about the competition, and not about taking over How Sweet It Is. All that mattered was Dulcie.
He hung his head close to his coffee. She would never speak to him again. She’d made it clear she didn’t believe a word he said..
There was only one thing left to do.
Eat his troubles away.
And what better place than in a coffee shop where they happened to have some rather delicious looking cupcakes. He ordered the Double Chocolate Supreme, anxious to dig in. To feel the sugar bliss that temporarily erased almost anything.
The disappointment was like a living thing as he took his first bite, certain the cupcake wasn’t even homemade. In fact, he was pretty sure it came from a regular boxed cake mix, disguised as a fancy cupcake. Was this what coffee shops got away with these days? Whatever happened to homemade treats and specialty coffee?
Oh right, they’d gone the same way his father’s store had gone. All profit and no pride.
That first bite was the only one he took.
The situation called for a real cupcake. Something made with a little care and attention and time.
It was time to get his bake on.
Back at his apartment, he mixed ingredients, realizing how much he needed this. Working with his hands, making something from scratch was more therapeutic than even eating the results. Sure, the sugar helped, but before he even took one bite, before he had even decorated the cupcakes, most of the stuff that had gone on in the past few days started to fade.
As he filled his icing bag with a decadent chocolate buttercream—because a cupcake is not a cupcake until iced and decorated—he barely registered the stress of the competition suddenly looming over him again, and of being without Dulcie with little chance of winning her back.
He decided then that while a good cupcake—and good cupcake making—could fix almost anything, no sugar high could compare to the rush he felt when he was with Dulcie.
Still, he shoved the first bite of cupcake in, Dulcie present in every thought. As he relished in the bittersweetness of the chocolate, an idea began forming.
He chewed faster, the plan solidifying in his mind.
Chapter Seventeen
“Drum roll,” Grams said as Dulcie tallied up the scores on all her creations.
“The best part of this whole thing,” Constance said, “is we’ve got so many new recipes we can use in the shop. This place is going to stay hopping for good if you keep coming up with candy like this.”
“And you only had one week,” Jess piped in.
“Well, I have been thinking about some of these for years. I wouldn’t expect this all the time.”
“But can you imagine if we unveiled just a few new things each month?” Grams said. “Or did special items for holidays? The wedding and party crowds are going to go nuts over this stuff.”
Dulcie’s face burned. “Um, thanks,” she said, turning to her grandmother. “Since when are you all excited about how much business we have?”
Grams glanced down. “Since I saw how many customers you have now. I didn’t realize this little shop could do so well without your mother.”
“Well, let’s hope it keeps up. Of course, it would help if rent weren’t so stinkin’ high in Port Leyton.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Grams said. “Besides, with these, I bet there won’t be much to worry about.”
“Especially after you win the contest,” Ava added, jolting Dulcie back to the task at hand. Ava rubbed her hands together. “I definitely know which one was my favorite.”
“Me, too,” Constance said, and Grams, Jess, and Lila all nodded in agreement.
“If only it could be the same one,” Dulcie said. “It would make this a whole lot easier.” She went back to her calculations.
Soon, a pattern became very clear. All of her creations were scoring high, although her “judges” were hardly impartial, since each of them had at least a small stake in what happened with the store. Constance and Ava with their jobs, of course, Grams would probably love to retire if the store succeeded, Jess would have to find a new place to stay that might not be as safe and wouldn’t smell nearly as good, and Lila…well, Lila would have a whole lot less sugar in her life. Which might just kill her.
As Dulcie added the scores, though, one item stood out above the rest for every one of the women.
And it was the same confection Dulcie was most enamored with.
Her face spread into a wide grin.
The decision had been made.
…
Nick felt like a thief, all covered up; he was unshaven with a hoodie draped low over his head and large aviator sunglasses, but he couldn’t think of any other way—short of paying some poor kid, and he did not want to stoop so low—to get some of Dulcie’s candies.
Constance looked at him funny as she filled his order, but he’d made it back out to the street, streaking off in his Bentley toward his father’s store.
His plan had to work.
The Lemon Squeeze was the perfect contender for the job. It was light in color, which was important for quick recognition, and special enough to convince his father it would be perfect for the competition.
He could only hope his father hadn’t seen it at Candy Land in the past.
As Nick drove, he tried to decide what he could tell his father it was called, then smiled as he thought of just the thing.
He pulled up to the store, shed his sunglasses and hoodie, quickly placed the lemon treats on a paper plate, and tried to appear as excited as possible as he burst into his father’s office.
“I’ve got it!” Nick yelled, a goofy grin plastered on his face.
“Good Lord, what has gotten into you?” his father asked, startled. “And why the hell did you come in without even shaving? For God’s sake, this is a place of business.”
“I know, I know,” Nick said without missing a beat. “But I was up all night working on this.” He laid the paper plate down with a flouish. “I call it…the Lemon Illusion.”
Nick held his breath, praying his father had no knowledge of the Candy Land recipe. The surprise on his father’s face quickly evolved into something resembling pride. It wasn’t an expression Nick saw from him every day, which gave his heart a twinge of guilt.
“These actually look good, son,” his father said, picking one up to taste.
Nick’s anger simmered just under the surface at the surprise in his father’s voice. But his expression never faltered. Too much was at stake.
His father’s eyes opened in surprise. “These are really good,” he said. “Really good.” He popped the rest of the confection into his mouth.
“So we’ve got our recipe for the finals, then?” Nick asked.
“Sure, why not? This is as good as anything I would have come up with.”
“Thanks,” Nick said, though it almost pained him to spit it out.
But it didn’t matter.
Phase one was complete.
…
Dulcie had been in the same position so many times, mostly with her mother, and then…well, the time she’d rather forget. But this time felt different.
She was different.
She was on her own now, without the confidence of standing beside her mother—though she swore she felt her presence stronger in that moment than she had since her death—and without the naivete of that first time on her own, when she thought anything different, no matter how different, would wow the judges.
This year had been a whirlwind, but the process had still been careful, controlled, tested.
It was the first true test of Dulcie’s talent.
And she was terrified she wouldn’t measure up. Sure, she’d gotten this far, to the finals, but not without stumbling, and not without her mother’s recipe, or her reputation.
But mostly it felt different because she could stand there and whatever happened, win or lose, she was proud of her creation, and for the first time in her life, she could truly call it her own.
“Grams, come out there with me,” Dulcie had said, grabbing her grandmother’s arms. “Please.”
But Grams had shaken her head with the tiniest smirk on her face. “No, this one is all you. Now get out there and do Candy Land proud.” She chuckled a little. “You know, it’s fitting, coming full circle like this.”
“Full circle?” Dulcie asked.
Grams nodded. “The only reason we even have a candy shop is because of you. Did your mother ever tell you?”
Dulcie shook her head, tears threatening.
Grams had smiled, remembering. “There was a time when your mother was frustrated. Not happy with any of the jobs she’d taken on since you were born, trying to make ends meet and everything,” Grams said with a wave both dismissive and serious. “One day she was making you some kind of treat.” She’d smirked at Dulcie conspiratorially. “You always begged your mother to make you one sugary thing or another.”
Dulcie had been afraid to talk. Afraid to break the spell of the story.
“So anyway, your mother was all ‘I can’t do this’ and ‘I’m no good at anything’ and I honestly didn’t know what to say. Jobs weren’t easy to come by and she had a child to take care of.”
“Well, you both took care of me,” Dulcie whispered.
Grams smiled, and Dulcie detected a hint of a tear in her Grams’s eye, too.
“At that exact moment you came bounding in as happy as could be, like always, and you heard your mother say the part about not being good at anything. And you walked right over and said, ‘I know what you’re good at, Mommy. You’re the best at making me treats.’ Your mother crouched down and kissed you on the forehead. All she said was, ‘Thank you, honey, it’s my favorite thing to do,’ and you skipped out of there full of smiles. But you know what?” Grams said. “Your mother was full of smiles from that day on, too. We planned it all right there in the kitchen while she finished making your Peppermint Fudge.”
“You planned the whole store?”
Grams had nodded. “Your mom started creating recipes right then and there. We figured out how much startup would be and went to the bank a few days later. They didn’t want to give us the loan, of course, but your mother had quite the business plan all done up, I cosigned, and bringing samples of the product didn’t hurt, either. Those poor bankers didn’t know what hit them—besides the sugar high. Now here we are, all these years later, and it’s your fault,” Grams finished, winking.
