Déjà Date
by
Susan Hatler
Déjà Date
Copyright © 2015 by Susan Hatler
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
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Cover Design by Elaina Lee, For The Muse Design
www.forthemusedesign.com
Titles by Susan Hatler
An Unexpected Date
Better Date than Never Series
Love at First Date (Book 1)
Truth or Date (Book 2)
My Last Blind Date (Book 3)
Save the Date (Book 4)
A Twist of Date (Book 5)
License to Date (Book 6)
Driven to Date (Book 7)
Up to Date (Book 8)
Déjà Date (Book 9)
Date and Dash (Book 10)
Teen Novels
Shaken
See Me
Praise
“Susan Hatler has a knack for writing books that draw me in from the very first page!”
— Books Are Sanity!!! on Love at First Date
“Ms. Hatler has a way of writing witty dialogue that makes you laugh-out-loud throughout her stories.”
— Night Owl Reviews on Truth or Date
“Seriously you guys, you have to pick this one up if you are a romantic at heart. Deliciously sweet.”
— Getting Your Read On Reviews on My Last Blind Date
“An Unexpected Date is a wonderful and perfect release to a stressful or crazy day.”
— Cafè of Dreams Book Reviews
“If you enjoy a YA Romance jam packed with adventure and the unknown. I would recommend this fantastic read.”
— Tifferz Book Reviewz
Déjà Date
by
Susan Hatler
Chapter One
I was an ugly duckling who turned into a swan, and I can’t decide which was worse. Yeah, I may have had to endure the nickname “Marshmallow Melinda” all through elementary school but at least I had gotten to indulge in the world’s most scrumptious creation: the chocolate marshmallow fudge bars from Bernie’s Bakery.
I wanted one now.
As I pushed open the yellow shabby-chic door of Bernie’s Bakery in East Sacramento, the ding-a-ling of a bell chimed overhead. I stepped inside. Although it had been almost two months since my last visit, the familiar warmth washed over me as I inhaled the sweet scents of banana bread, carrot cake, and something that smelled suspiciously like sourdough. Bernie’s Bakery had always been a home away from home for me, and I would’ve smiled if my situation weren’t so dire.
My heels clicked along the wooden floor as I strode to the back of the very long line of Monday morning patrons, who were waiting to order their espresso drinks and delicious pastries from this popular bakery.
For over a decade, I’ve forced myself to opt for Bernie’s bran muffins instead of those fudge bars my taste buds really craved. But that was about to change, because I’d never been so stressed in my life. Tension mounted inside me as my gaze flicked to the chocolate marshmallow fudge bars lined up behind the glass display case. Three left. One was mine. All mine.
I licked my bottom lip.
Changing my diet to ditch the nickname “Marshmallow Melinda” hadn’t been easy, and my willpower had held strong even when I’d worked here part-time through college. But where had being size four gotten me anyway?
I’m a twenty-seven-year-old customer service representative who was recently laid off from my job of four years, forcing me to move in with a roommate to save on expenses. Goodbye independence, hello lint remover—my roommate, Ginger, had two kittens, and feline hair was so not my friend.
Yeah, I’d hated my career—listening to people’s complaints day in and day out wasn’t exactly a mood booster. But at least it had paid well. I couldn’t say the same about the menial temp jobs available. All my spare time in the past seven weeks had been consumed with sending out résumés and going on interviews. I hadn’t even had a chance to visit my mother let alone come in to say hi to Bernie at his bakery, which was in the same neighborhood where my mom lived.
I also still hadn’t found a new job. As such, my bank account was dry. Since my mom had called last night to invite me over for a visit, this was my final stop on the way to her place—a gorgeous house in the historic Fabulous Forties neighborhood—where I’d have the utter humiliation of asking to dip into the inheritance I swore I’d never touch.
I’d truly reached rock bottom. Thus, my need for the chocolate marshmallow fudge bar in order to offset my misery. I glanced nervously at my watch, keenly aware that I had to act fast before my roommate’s sister, Mary Ann, arrived.
In an effort to cheer me up last night, Mary Ann—who I didn’t even know very well—had treated me to an expensive dinner at a trendy restaurant, which was very generous of her. Unfortunately, I found myself wishing I’d brought earplugs. Steamed lobster with a buttery Chardonnay? Good. Incessant gripes about her alcoholic father who was in rehab? Bad.
Couldn’t she appreciate that she still had a dad? Mine had gone and died on me during a freak hot air balloon accident when I was fourteen. And taking any of the life insurance money resulting from his death felt wrong. But I was desperate.
To top everything off, Mary Ann had swung by the condo this morning to give her final reimbursement check to her sister—apparently Mary Ann had owed Ginger a hefty sum of money—and had invited herself to meet me at Bernie’s Bakery. Before I had time to protest, she’d zipped out the door saying she’d see me there in fifteen minutes.
First, I didn’t want Mary Ann or her sister (aka: my landlord) to know I was broke. And second, I didn’t need anyone witnessing my final moment of defeat when I chowed down that fudge bar.
I’d worked hard to project a good image and I would not have my cover blown now. My perfect persona was currently a complete façade, but nobody needed to know that. Maybe if the line moved fast enough, I could scarf down that alluring fudge bar before she arrived. Now that sounded like a good plan.
My heart pounded in my chest as I moved up in line and my mouth watered just thinking about that sweet chocolate melting on my tongue. How I’d survived thirteen years without eating one of those fudge bars was beyond me. Two more patrons ahead of me then that delicious treat would be mine. As I stared at the row of decadent delights, the ding-a-ling of the bell chimed.
“Melinda!” Mary Ann called in her perky voice as she strode over to me, her honey-blond curls bouncing over her shoulders. She glanced at the glass case. “You looked like a caged tiger eyeing her prey. Are they really that good?”
I gasped, humiliated that my weakness was so blatantly obvious. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lied.
“Those.” She pointed toward Bernie’s oh-so-tempting chocolate marshmallow fudge bars that screamed my name from inside the case. “Y
ou’re practically drooling.”
“No, I’m not,” I lied for the second time in under a minute, and a coat of sweat took up residence on my forehead. I needed to maintain control. No, I needed the fudge bar. . . My head started to spin.
“May I help you?” A young woman’s irritated voice caught my attention.
I whipped around and gaped. Instead of Bernie’s familiar face with his hazel eyes and graying temples, a brunette barista with bright streaks of purple in her hair stood behind the counter, staring at me with an expression of impatience.
I blinked at her. I’d been so focused on myself that I hadn’t noticed the owner was missing from his usual routine. “Where’s Bernie?”
She frowned. “I have no idea.”
“But he mans the register every day,” I pointed out. Bernie had never missed a day of work in all the time I’d known him—not even when his wife divorced him for greener pastures (aka: a Parisian guy who’d invited her to run away to France with him permanently).
“Sorry to disappoint you. Would you like to order or what?”
“Um . . .” I glanced behind the girl for any sign of Bernie, but didn’t spot him. My stomach bubbled with worry. What if something bad had happened to him? I’d grown up coming to Bernie’s Bakery daily and he was like a second dad to me.
Trying not to freak out about Bernie, I sucked in a breath, knowing I couldn’t regress into my bad fudge bar habit with Mary Ann standing there to witness it. That would be too humiliating. “I’d like a non-fat latte with sugar-free caramel syrup and . . . one bran muffin, please.”
Mary Ann tugged on my arm. “Just order the freaking fudge bar.”
The woman paused, holding her tongs mid-air, then gave a meaningful glance at the line behind Mary Ann and me. “Did you want to change your order?” she asked.
“I’ll stick with the bran muffin, plus whatever she’s having.” Knowing I really shouldn’t revisit the bad habits of my former life, I turned to Mary Ann. “I don’t want the fudge bar, but get whatever you want. It’s on me.”
“You know you wanted it. But, whatever.” She rolled her eyes then ordered a mocha with extra whip and a chocolate croissant. She handed the barista her credit card. “My treat, actually.”
My mouth dropped open, because she’d just bought me a pricey dinner last night and I needed to do something back for her. “No, I can—”
“Too late.” Mary Ann waved a hand, then gazed down at my outfit. “You look nice. Do you have an interview this morning? Or are you going to another temp job?”
“Neither,” I said, touched that she’d treated me yet again, and given me a compliment on how I looked. I picked a piece of cat hair off my black suit jacket covering the red silk blouse I’d tucked into matching pants. I’d styled my blond mane until no stray hair was out of place and I’d applied my make-up to perfection, but only because these had been daily habits since I’d vowed to lose my ugly duckling reputation. “After seven weeks of low-paying temp jobs, I’ve reached a dead end. Everyone hiring for a customer service representative has told me I have too much experience.”
Mary Ann’s nose wrinkled. “Uh, isn’t experience a good thing?”
“You’d think.” I lifted the brown and white-checkered plate holding my bran muffin, then picked up my coffee cup. “But that’s probably the reason Rich Woodward laid me off from his company. I was the lead customer service rep at the top of the pay scale, and he was cutting back on expenses.”
“That makes no sense.” Her tone rose as if in confusion as she followed me toward a bistro table by the front window. “If you’re one of his most valuable employees, then why would he lay you off?”
“To make his business look more profitable on a balance sheet.” I slid into the chair across from her. “I’m guessing Rich is getting ready to sell his company. It’s the only thing that adds up. He laid off your sister from her office manager job, too, and rolled her duties into the human resources manager position.”
“Yeah. Poor Kaitlin’s been so stressed out.”
“I can imagine.” A flicker of jealousy ran through me that she’d said the human resource manager’s name so casually as if they were good friends. Much like my school days, I’d never been part of the female in-group at Woodward Systems Corporation. But my roommate, Ginger, had been besties with everyone. Apparently, so had her sister.
“Hello, hotness!” Mary Ann’s sultry tone pulled me from my thoughts.
“Hotness?” I repeated, following Mary Ann’s gaze out the window to where a guy on a motorcycle pulled to a stop in front of the bakery. He wore a black leather jacket over his broad shoulders, snug-fitting jeans, and black boots. He dismounted facing the bike, then turned in our direction as he pulled his helmet off.
Hotness was not a strong enough word.
Dark layered hair fell across this guy’s brow, accentuating the lightness of his jade-green eyes. His narrow jaw complimented full lips that seemed sensual, even from this far away. He was a mixture of style and danger that could tempt any woman to hop on the back of his bike and ride wherever he wanted to go.
“Not my type.” I tried to keep my voice even since I suddenly felt short of breath. I’d been interested in a bad boy once before, and he’d left me heartbroken and alone. Not something I cared to repeat. Actually, this guy looked kind of familiar. Maybe he’d been on a local TV station or something.
“That guy is every woman’s fantasy.” Mary Ann made a humming sound as she stared at him, then she glanced over at me. “Why do you like to deny yourself the fun stuff? Fudge. Fling.”
“I’m not a person who lives on the edge,” I said, knowing a girl like Mary Ann, who gives in to her every whim, wouldn’t understand my preference for stable men or the treacherous history between me and those fudge bars. “I have more important things on my mind, anyway.”
“Like what?” she asked, breaking off a piece of croissant and popping it into her mouth. She stared at me with a gaze so sincere, it felt like she actually cared.
I’d never had a friend I felt comfortable confiding in, but she genuinely seemed concerned. I suddenly found myself wanting to tell her everything I was going through. I took a deep breath. “Well, I—”
“Jiminy Cricket!” a male voice shouted, then a splattering of papers fluttered across our table as a man’s body hit the floor beside me, face first.
“Are you all right, sir?” I knelt next to the peppered-haired man as his nose rose off the floor revealing thick black glasses perched crookedly. My eyes widened. “Bernie? Is that you?”
“I’m not sure who’s asking.” He pressed his palms against the floor, pushed himself up onto his elbows, then tilted his head my way. “Melinda Morgan. I’d ask where you’ve been hiding, but I look rather ridiculous right now.”
“Let me help you up.” I held his arm firmly while he stood. Mary Ann fished up the papers he’d accidentally thrown and handed them to me. I glanced down at what appeared to be a stack of résumés then gave them to Bernie. “Are you all right?”
He brushed off his pants. “It’s good to see you. How’s your mother?”
“Fine,” I said, automatically. But, in truth, the last time I’d seen her she’d looked pretty depressed. That’s when I’d told her to stop painting those ridiculous ceramic hot air balloons and that she needed to get over my dad’s death once and for all. I also told her it might be time for therapy. She’d said she would think about it, but neither of us had brought it up again. “I’m going to visit my mom after this, actually.”
Bernie adjusted his thick black glasses. “I’m glad to hear she’s doing well. Please say hello to her for me. Now I’ll let you finish your breakfast in peace,” he said, giving a polite nod to Mary Ann. “I apologize for the interruption.”
Mary Ann smiled. “No worries here.”
I watched Bernie walk away with what seemed like a limp. Poor guy. That had been a hard fall and he seemed pretty shaken up. I held my finger up to Mary Ann, then
strode over to the table where Bernie had sat down. “Why aren’t you behind the register today? Who’s the woman behind the counter with the pretty purple streaks in her hair? What are all of those résumés for?”
“These are tough questions to answer.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “But I’ve known you too long to hide it from you. . . I’ve been sick. The doctors say I need to stop working—permanently.”
I brought my hand to my chest. “I’m so sorry to hear about your health. They think you’ll get better if you retire?”
“That is their opinion.” He set the résumés down on the table, his expression tired and worn. “They say I need stop working immediately and rest, but I don’t have anyone to run the bakery. I hired Avery last week for extra register help—she’s working behind the counter right now and seems to be doing a good job. Don’t you think?”
“She’s . . . capable.” I didn’t want to add to Bernie’s worries so I refrained from telling him how the long line seemed to stress her out and that her impatience showed big-time. Since I’d been in customer service for years, I knew that the way the patron is treated is practically as important as the product itself but this girl Avery obviously didn’t understand that concept. “What are all of the résumés for then?”
“Responses to the manager position I advertised in the paper.” His expression drooped further, making him appear defeated. “I need someone to manage the bakery, including the accounting, purchasing, day-to-day operations and, of course, the baking.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard to find,” I said, glancing at the large stack of applicants he had to choose from. He’d taught me all of those roles when I was a college student working for him so surely he’d find someone quickly. “Did any qualified candidates apply?”
“Many have the proper experience, yes. But this bakery has been the love of my life for almost twenty years. I can’t hand her over to just anybody. There will need to be many interviews, perhaps background checks. I need a manager who I trust completely. Otherwise, instead of improving my health, I could have a heart attack.”
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