AN ECHO RIDGE ANTHOLOGY
LUCY MCCONNELL
CAMI CHECKETTS
RACHELLE J. CHRISTENSEN
CONNIE E. SOKOL
HEATHER TULLIS
Christmas Kisses: An Echo Ridge Anthology
© 2015 Rachelle Christensen LLC, Lucy McConnell, Cami Checketts, Connie E. Sokol, Heather Justesen
All rights reserved.
Original Cover Design: Christina Dymock
Cover Design © Peachwood Press
Interior book design: Heather Justesen
ISBN 978-1-63034-016-2
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Published by Peachwood Press, November 2015 in cooperation with Jelly Bean Press.
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To Joyce, Rolayne, Allyson, Marlene, and Dayna.
May your caramels be soft and your fondant creamy, and may your chocolate never bloom.
REESE GATES WATCHED THE SILVER-BACKED candy thermometer with a careful eye. Even though the numbers on the new thermometer were easy to read compared to the old one Grandma Ruth broke yesterday, one couldn’t leave caramel unattended when it was this close to 224 degrees.
The golden liquid bubbled, content to release steam and thicken, while Reese fretted over the difference between two degrees. Because of the Christmas rush, learning the personality of a new piece of equipment was more stressful than it was a fun experiment. Reese squatted down to be on level with the mercury. She leaned in closer, the sugar and cream steam heating her face. If she took the pan off the burner too soon, the caramels wouldn’t set properly. If she waited too long, they’d be hard, like suckers. Nothing less than the best made it into the display case at The Candy Counter, located in Kenworth’s Department Store, so her calculations had better be right.
Grandma Ruth sniffed the air. “It’s ready,” she said from her stool at the dipping counter. Reese’s mom nodded in agreement. The length of the counter was stainless steel, but under Grandma’s chocolate-covered hand was a one-inch slab of marble. It was the same slab she’d used for the last fifty years. One day it would be Reese’s, as would the chocolate molds lining the far wall and the lease to The Candy Counter.
Reese checked the thermometer— not that Grandma’s nose had ever been wrong. Her caramels came out perfect every time. At least, they used to ... until yesterday, when she’d forgotten she was making a batch and they ended up throwing away an expensive saucepan and airing out the food-grade kitchen with industrial fans. Burnt sugar stink, stank, stunk.
Reese made a face. It also stunk that Grandma had been doing a lot of forgetting lately. Watching her now, Reese marveled at the speed with which she dipped the lemon fondant and with a swoop of her pointer finger created the elegant L to mark it.
Satisfied with the time, temperature, color, and thickness, Reese clutched the heavy black handles and swung the pan off the burner and onto a waiting trivet. She poured in two teaspoons of high-quality vanilla and stirred quickly. Once the vanilla was incorporated, Reese placed the nine-by-thirteen-inch pan she’d buttered to within an inch of its life next to the pot. Then she carefully poured the still-boiling liquid inside. Leaving the caramel to cool on the counter, she set the saucepot in the stainless steel sink and filled it with hot water to soak. Grandma would wash and dry it after Reese and her mother, Joy, left for Kenworth’s.
The outside door opened and shut in less time than it took to chew a truffle. All three women hissed. One cold blast of air could cause the chocolates Ruth had been dipping by hand for the last forty minutes to bloom, making them chalky and unsellable— an offense worse than breaking a window at the Gates’ house.
“Other door!” all three women yelled at the same time.
“Sorry,” said the muffled offender, his scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. “I’ll go out the other way.” He pulled down his winter gear, and a slow heat started in Reese’s belly.
Andy.
“Pop said you needed these right away.” Andy held up a box. Even though he ran his own company doing something or other with computers, Andy made time to help his dad with deliveries during the busy holiday season.
Reese recognized the Just Sugar Coat It label on the side. They were running dangerously low on candy cups necessitating an overnight order. Technically, Andy could have waited until this afternoon to deliver, but in a small town like Echo Ridge, neighbors went out of their way to help one another. Even if it meant delivering a package at— Reese glanced at the clock on the wall— six forty-five in the morning.
“Thank you so much. I hope that will last us through the holiday. Can you just set it there?” Joy nodded to the top of the fridge. Her hands were busy popping chocolate Santas out of the molds and wrapping the little guys in gold foil. Once she was done with that, they would slide into red boxes with cellophane windows.
Reese moved to help her mom. She kept her head down, as if she were concentrating on the foil wrapping, as her eyes followed Andy’s big frame across the room. At six-foot-one, he had no trouble placing the box on top of the fridge. She smiled at the curls poking out from under his stocking hat. They weren’t tight spirals, just a flip at the ends that looked both boyish and incredibly manly at the same time.
“Oh man, more Santas? How many do you make each year?” Andy sidled up to Reese.
Reese felt her neck warm with Andy standing so close. If the heat traveled to her hands, she’d melt the Santa she was suddenly fumbling with. “A-about fifteen hundred.”
Andy let out a low whistle. “How many can you make a day?”
“A hundred and fifty if we do two sets, one in the morning and one at night,” answered Joy absently. Stepping around the counter, she picked up an empty storage box and began filling it with the wrapped Santas.
“I think I’m done.” Grandma used her dipping hand to wipe her brow, leaving behind a semisweet chocolate streak. She wiped at her head, trying to get it off. “Joy, honey, what is this?”
“It’s chocolate, Mom.” Joy bustled over to the sink and doused a washcloth. “Here, I can help you with that.”
Grandma wasn’t close to done, but if she wanted to rest, Reese could take over. Still, she needed to wait and see how things went. If Reese moved into the dipping seat too soon, Grandma would get angry at her.
Reese exchanged a look with Andy. He was well aware of Grandma’s growing dementia. To his credit, he didn’t treat her any differently than he had before. In some ways, it made it easier for Reese, because Andy took the crazy things Grandma said or did in stride. In some ways, it made it harder, because Grandma was different, and it was hard to watch her forget things or feel scared when she didn’t know where she was.
Andy bumped Reese’s
shoulder with his, giving her a conspiratorial wink. He snuck his hand across the counter and snatched one of Grandma’s chocolates, popping it into his mouth before Joy could notice. Reese grinned, waiting for the flavor to hit, sure that Andy would have an opinion. He always did.
“Lemon.” Andy’s brow furrowed and his lips puckered.
Reese’s jaw dropped, and she blinked several times. “You don’t like our lemon?”
“Shh.” Andy put his finger to his lips and glanced to make sure Ruth and Joy weren’t listening. They were done wiping off the chocolate and had moved to the sink to wash Grandma’s hands. “I thought they were banana,” he whispered.
Relishing having him close, Reese rose on her tiptoes to whisper back, “We don’t make banana.”
“Yeah-huh. You did when I was a kid. I remember it. Best chocolate I ever stole.”
Reese laughed, her hands expertly wrapping as she spoke. “Okay, we made it once and you were one of three people in Echo Ridge who liked it.”
“I love everything you guys make,” Andy said with a touch of reverence.
Reese paused in her wrapping. “Is that why you deliver our supplies instead of Pop? You’re hoping for free chocolate?”
Andy grabbed another one to taste. Reese pressed her lips together to stifle her smile. She’d made that fondant and was proud of it.
“This is the best way to start the day,” said Andy.
Reese found herself staring into his nut-brown eyes, lost in the deep walnut and tripping over the obsidian flecks. For all her observance of men’s eyes— after all, the eyes were the windows to the soul— she’d never seen eyes as interesting as Andy’s. Not when she was in high school and dated Chad Butterfield, who had pale blue eyes that held no interesting features whatsoever; nor when she attended junior college and dated Evan Thomas, who had the kind of green eyes that girls oohed and aahed over but she found kind of yellow and flat. Nor when she’d locked gazes with thousands of customers over the years. Nope: ever since the day in first grade when Andy moved in three houses down and Reese had peeked out from behind her mom’s skirts to get a look at the new kid, she knew she’d never find eyes as wonderful as Andy’s.
He was two years older than Reese, but they hung out together after school until she was in the eighth grade and saw him kissing Heather Donaldson on his front porch. After staring in horror at the two of them mashing their lips together, Reese had run home and swore to never give her heart to another boy again, and especially Andy Edwards.
The memory of her adolescent anger snapped Reese out of the trance she’d so willingly fallen into and back to the reality of work to be done. “A billion chocoholics would agree with you,” she said.
“I wasn’t talking about the chocolate.” Andy winked once again and headed for the door to the house, leaving Reese with a half-melted Santa in her hands. “See you later, heiress.” He waved to Reese and was gone.
Reese held her breath until she heard him shut the front door.
“That boy is yummy,” said Grandma Ruth as she settled back into the dipping chair.
“Grandma!” Reese gaped at the woman, whose filters were wearing thin.
“I’m old, not dead.”
“Grandma!”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Grandma looked pointedly at the mangled Santa in Reese’s hands. “Andy’s got your heater going.”
Convinced her face had turned as red as the Santa boxes, Reese hurried to the sink to wash her hands. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder to her mom.
“I think we’ll have enough Santas to fill orders. Don’t worry.” Joy finished filling the box. A small crease appeared between her eyes, and Reese knew she was working something over. Finally she asked, “Why don’t you ask him out?”
Reese pulled two paper towels off the roll and dried her hands. Feigning innocence, she asked, “Who?”
“Andy.” Joy threw a spool of ribbon at Reese, who caught it easily.
“He likes you,” added Grandma.
Reese rolled her eyes. “He’s not my type,” she lied. Despite her resolve to keep Andy far enough away that her adolescent crush wouldn’t spark to life, she couldn’t share her true fear that Andy wouldn’t want her. Every girl he’d ever dated— that she knew of, anyway— was tall and willowy, with smoky eye shadow and the ability to win a wet T-shirt contest just by showing up. Reese was all too aware of the hazards that working in chocolate posed to her figure. Not that she was unhealthy. She ran most days and took care of herself. But she worked in a chocolate factory; sampling was part of the job.
“Then why does he get up before the sun to see you?” asked Joy.
“He likes chocolate.” Reese pointed to the empty spots on the wax paper. “And he didn’t come to see me.” Setting the ribbon on the counter, she stretched to reach Andy’s delivery on top of the fridge. “He came to deliver these.”
Reese opened the box with a pair of scissors. She pulled out one of the twenty packages and began placing the now-set lemon confections in the cups. From here they would go into airtight storage containers and be taken to Kenworth’s for sale. The process was as old as her grandmother, and the family was content with the way things worked.
Reese was not.
Everywhere she looked, she saw potential for growth and expansion. And every time she brought it up, she was reminded to be thankful for the blessings she had and not demand more from the Lord. Reese didn’t think she was demanding more from God than He was willing to give. After all, she wasn’t expecting Him to do all the work. Putting in her sweat equity was a given; she was only asking the Lord for the opportunity to try.
“I’m done here,” said Mom. “I’m going to get ready. Santa arrives at Kenworth’s today and it’s always busy.”
“Okay,” said Reese, thankful for the reminder. She should stop by her apartment and change into something more festive for the kids. Maybe she’d wear her Santa hat with the fur trim.
“Will you get me another tray of fondant?” asked Grandma.
“Sure.” Reese wiped her hands on her apron and went to the fridge. Because of the time involved in tempering chocolate, they dipped every other day, and there were always multiple batches to be done. The caramels Reese made today would be dipped on Wednesday. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, heiress.” Grandma’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Reese grimaced. “Don’t you start too.”
“Oh.” Grandma paused. “I think it’s sweet and elegant.”
Reese stared at her grandmother’s hands, one dusted with powdered sugar from the fondant balls and the other covered in chocolate. She took in the wrinkles and pronounced veins. Those hands had provided for the family for years without complaint. They’d dipped chocolates and wiped tears and swatted bottoms and been part of every day of Reese’s life.
She put her arm around Ruth and kissed her white hair. “You’re sweet and elegant, Grandma.”
“Get on with ya.” Grandma smiled, never faltering in her rhythm.
Reese went back to filling candy cups. As much as she tried, she couldn’t see herself being content with this life. She wanted to do something great, create a legacy of her own in the world of chocolate. There had to be a way. Dear Lord, please help me see opportunity when it comes and give me the courage to take the unbeaten path.
KENWORTH’S DEPARTMENT STORE WASTED no time getting into the holiday spirit. Like every store across America, Echo Ridge’s premier department store decorated for Christmas right after Halloween. However, unlike many stores, Kenworth’s had character.
Reese loved the Georgian architecture on the outside of the building. Dating from a time before the concept less is more came into fashion, the exterior sported lintels over the windows and marble columns around the doors. Inside, the dark and dented hardwood floors had been softened with age and gave customers the feeling of coming home. The store’s high ceilings were grand, and the exposed timbers, aged to a beautiful gray, brought t
o mind a European ski lodge. There was a second story, now used mostly for storage and such, that had been closed off when the store had to downsize in the 1980s. With soft lighting and personable employees, Kenworth’s was an amazing place to work and a beautiful building.
Every generation had added to The Candy Counter’s offerings and Reese hoped to do the same. She was constantly looking for new opportunities and brainstorming between customers.
Despite the time on the clock, towards the end of her shift, Reese turned to greet a young mother as she discussed the different types of treats available with her children. The youngest happily agreed to a bag of peppermint taffy, which she clutched tightly, enjoying the way the cellophane crinkled. She had adorable blond pigtails and wore a red plaid dress. No doubt their visit to Santa had gone well.
“What about the bark? You liked that last time,” said the mom to the older daughter.
The girl’s eyes lit up with the memory.
And that is the power of chocolate. Reese slid the Plexiglas door aside and broke off a small piece of the bark with her gloved fingers. The chocolate snapped. Crisp. Perfectly tempered. Reaching over the display case, Reese held the chocolate out to the girl. “Do you want a taste?”
The girl looked to her mother, who nodded. While her daughter contemplated the greatness melting over her tongue, the mom motioned for Reese to come closer. “I need to put in an order for some of those.” She pointed to the chocolate Santas stacked behind Reese.
In less time than it took to eat a sample of chocolate, she had the order stowed next to the register and was ready for the girl’s big decision.
“I’d like a piece of bark, please,” she said in a very dignified voice for a seven-year-old.
Another power of chocolate: it can bring out the pleases and thank yous in all of us.
Reese picked the biggest piece of almond bark in the plastic drawer, weighed it, placed it in a wax-lined bag, and presented it to the child, whose little fingers curved over the top of the fold. Someday ... Reese shoved her maternal instincts to the back of her consciousness, where they only nagged her a little bit, as she ran the credit card— including the order for the Santas, which would be picked up on Christmas Eve.
Christmas Kisses: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 1) Page 1