The Christmas Sweets (Now and Forever Romance Book 4)

by Regina Duke

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Regina's Books

  Regina's Bio

  THE CHRISTMAS SWEETS

  by

  Regina Duke

  The Christmas Sweets

  Copyright © 2018, 2019 Linda White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Regina Duke.

  Published by RD Books

  United States of America

  Electronic Edition: April 2019

  Digital ISBN 978-1-944752-32-3

  This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

  Digital formatting by StevieDeInk, stevie1@steviedeink.com

  Edited by Marian Kelly, RavensGateEditing.com

  Cover by StevieDeInk

  Cover photo from Fotolia.com

  Tatum Price allows herself to splurge during the holidays, but Braydon Farmer’s prize-winning sweets contain more than chocolate…and maybe more than Tatum bargained for. Is the secret ingredient true love?

  The Christmas Sweets is number 4 in the Now and Forever Romance series.

  CHAPTER 1

  Tatum Price loved the holidays, and this year was no exception. She had already watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” three times, and it was only December 15th. Her apartment was decorated from floor to ceiling, and she had a Christmas music channel playing on the radio. Her third-grade class had made a paper chain for her tree, and every child had signed their links. Fall had been a thrum of activity, and her life felt rich and full.

  Until her school broke for Christmas vacation.

  This morning, she slipped her red horn rims onto her nose, as usual, and she was half-dressed before she realized school was out until after New Year’s. Seventeen days, all alone, left to her own devices. She kept the layers of pink she was wearing on top, but slipped out of her skirt and into a pair of jeans and running shoes. The weather had blessed southern New York with a stretch of dry cold. She wouldn’t need her snow boots.

  The apartment was quiet and still. She'd left the tree lights on the night before, and they blinked weakly in the morning light, as if to say, “Look at all these kids you won’t get to spend the holidays with.”

  She sighed. Just as she was about to slip into a pool of the blues, her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, TaterTot, you coming to our house for Christmas this year?”

  “Dad! What a nice surprise.”

  “Your school is out for Christmas, right?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Good! We’ll see you soon then?”

  “Oh dear.” She scrambled for a reason not to go. If she told the truth—she couldn’t afford to fly clear across the country on her beginning teacher’s salary—her parents would insist on buying her a ticket. She did not want them to do that. They were already helping out her brother, and one of her sisters was saving up to spend a year abroad in Italy. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m volunteering to help low income children over the holidays.” She could swear her nose grow half an inch, but when she touched the end of it, it felt normal. Maybe it was just her imagination. Or her guilt.

  She managed to make it through the phone call, but darn it, now her mood was ruined because she’d lied to her parents. If she could beam home, she would have gone. But the price of a ticket was outrageous for a woman who barely had grocery money left after paying for rent and other necessities. She’d already run her credit card up buying and mailing Christmas gifts. The idea of putting an airline ticket on that card scared her half to death.

  She stood there for a few minutes, holding her cell, and staring at her tree. Time to turn off the lights. She did so, and the room looked even lonelier. She combed her thick dark hair and brushed her teeth, then stared glumly at herself in the mirror.

  “No pity parties.” She wagged a finger at herself. “There are tons of things for a single woman to do during the holidays. Alone. By herself. Crap.” She left the bathroom and shook the contents of her purse out on the little table in the kitchen alcove. Her mother would be so proud to see how tidy her apartment was. Of course, when you owned one plate and a box of plastic picnic ware, it was easy to keep your sink clean. She found her wallet and opened it to count out her cash. She was determined to get to her next payday without using that credit card again. It would take her most of the year, as it was, to pay off the balance she’d created while Christmas shopping.

  Her personal wealth was limited to one hundred and twelve dollars and sixty-nine cents. She might be able to afford a movie if she snuck in her own treats. But what fun was that? She was in good shape, so she could walk most places, and working at a small private school an hour from New York City meant she had trains and buses and subways to get around on. But she wouldn’t be able to go into the city every day. And once there, she wouldn’t have much spending money.

  The credit card whispered in her ear, “Use me. Use me. It’s only once a year.”

  Naturally, that was her imagination again. If her credit card could really talk, she’d sign with an agent and take it on the road.

  She laughed at the thought.

  Then she sobered again. Her best friend Tina had left the night before to catch a flight home to Florida. And her baptism by fire as a new teacher had eliminated the possibility of a social life, so she didn’t even have a boyfriend to hang out with and possibly depend on for an evening on the town.

  She put everything back in her purse, and sat heavily on the kitchen chair. Seventeen days. She drummed her fingers on the table.

  “Oh! What’s the matter with me? What would I tell my students?” She took a notebook out of her purse and wrote down, “Library books.”

  “I can spend my vacation reading! I can walk to the village library from here. And I can bake myself some cookies, too.” That made her feel better. She added cookies to her list.

  She could start her day by window-shopping at that local second-hand shop she passed every day on her way to school. What was it called? Oh yes. One-Two-Three. Strange name. It wasn’t open at seven in the morning, and by the time she headed home, it was usually closed. She had always wondered what was inside.

  She bounced with excitement as she realized she could also buy herself a Christmas splurge at the Village Candy Store. They made chocolates by hand, and the place was packed, floor to ceiling, with every kind of candy she could imagine, including all of her favorites from childhood. Five dollars would buy her a pound of loose candies. The handmade chocolates were much more expensive. But at least it was a fun item to add to her list. She wrote “Thrift Shop” and “Candy store” on her list.

  Certainly, that was enough for one day. She would think about tomorrow, tomorrow. She shoved her arms into her red down coat, slung her purse over her shoulder, and headed out the door.

  CHAPTER 2

  Braydon Farmer cringed every time his son, Jake, missed a note. He could hear him practicing upstairs, even over the hum of the machinery in his candy kitchen. He was working with caramel, and his white apron was spattered with the sticky stuff, and of course, he’d managed to get it on his hands.

 
Plink, plink, plonk. Sometimes he wondered if the boy didn’t mess up on purpose, just to get on his father’s nerves.

  But no, that wasn’t fair. They’d both agreed that Jake would try piano lessons for a year. They’d promised his mother, Shelly, that he would study music. But Braydon was certain of one thing. He’d never let his son fly all over the country to concerts. Those small planes routinely rented by her band had been the death of her.

  Then he wondered if it was his fear of losing Jake to some struggling chamber orchestra or rock band that was causing the boy to hate his lessons. Was he subconsciously sabotaging his son’s musical progress? He felt a headache coming on as Jake began another half-hearted scale. The jingle of the bell over the candy store door out front announced the arrival of a customer.

  “Oh no. Brenda? Are you out there?” He lifted his hands in the air, stopping just short of pushing his stubborn forelock out of his eyes. His hair and eyes were the same color as the caramel, but Jake had his late mother’s dark hair and brown eyes. He backed into the swinging door, hoping his teenage clerk was doing her job.

  No such luck. She was sitting at a table with her boyfriend, oblivious, having an ice cream cone. Ice cream? In December?

  “Hello?” A sweet female voice called from the door.

  Braydon swung his attention to the customer who’d just come in. “May I help—?” He sucked in a breath. “Hey! Come in, come in.” He’d only met her twice during the fall semester, but he’d burned her face and name in his memory. He hadn’t been stirred by a woman since Shelly’s death five years ago. “Tatum Price, right?”

  Tatum looked confused. “Do I know you?”

  Braydon was crushed, but he put on a brave smile. “You’re my son’s teacher. Third grade? Jake Farmer?”

  Her face lit up with recognition. “Oh, of course! I should have seen the resemblance. How are you?” She came close to the counter and reached over it to shake hands.

  Braydon’s hands were sticky with caramel. “Ummm….”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Tatum. “Is Jake enjoying his first day of Christmas vacation?”

  Upstairs, plink, plink, plonk, plink. Braydon’s gaze moved upward. “Oh, not yet, but he will.”

  Tatum laughed. “I didn’t know he was studying piano.”

  Braydon thought “studying” was a generous term, but he nodded. “Yes. He started in September.” He glanced at his hands. “If I go clean my hands, will you promise to wait right here? I’d love to talk to you.”

  “Sure.” Her tone was light. She moved to one of the little tables where customers were encouraged to sample the product.

  “I’ll be right back,” said Braydon. “Don’t move.”

  Tatum laughed sweetly.

  Braydon ducked back into the kitchen and scrubbed caramel off his hands. He had been going to fire his young counter help, but he was in such a good mood after seeing Tatum, he decided to cut her some slack. He forced himself to breathe calmly as he dried his hands. Her hair was gorgeous—thick, straight, and dark. She was adorable in those red glasses. They set off her steel-gray eyes. So unusual. Those eyes had grabbed him by the heart and shook him hard the first time he met her at Jake's school. He’d meant to make time to get to know her, maybe ask her out, but running his own business ate up his days and nights. Two parent-teacher meetings, and neither of them felt like the right time to ask her out, not while they were surrounded by dozens of other parents and kids.

  He took a deep, cleansing breath and headed out front.

  “Jake! Why aren’t you practicing?”

  Jake was chatting eagerly with his teacher, piling handfuls of gummy worms and bubble gum on the table in front of her. He swung around, looking guilty, when his father called his name.

  “Daddy! Look who came to see me.” He was wide-eyed and obviously delighted.

  Braydon’s heart melted. “You must be extra special,” he said. He settled his hand on Jake’s head and smiled at Tatum. “Thanks for waiting.”

  The look on her face when her gaze settled on Jake was more than Braydon could have hoped for. This woman loved kids.

  She said, “He was telling me he wanted to play drums, but you already had a piano.”

  Braydon ruffled Jake’s hair. “It was his mother’s.”

  Jake offered, “Her plane crashed when I was a little kid.”

  Braydon felt a twinge of sorrow at the mention of the plane crash, but at the same time, he was relieved that for Jake the memory was just a story to tell. He doubted that his son—only three years old at the time—had a clear memory of the tragedy.

  Tatum said, “I’m so sorry.” She started to stand.

  “No, please,” said Braydon. “Please stay. A little while.” He sat down to encourage her. “Jake, you only practiced for fifteen minutes. I thought we agreed on half an hour a day.”

  Jake’s pout was worthy of an Academy Award. “My fingers hurt.”

  Braydon wasn’t buying that one. “You can finish later, okay?”

  Tatum pushed her red glasses up her nose. “Jake, do you remember the fancy word we learned for drums?”

  He nodded eagerly. “Precaution.”

  Braydon laughed.

  Tatum smiled. “Very close. Percussion.”

  “Percussion,” repeated Jake. “Percussion.”

  “Good,” said Tatum. She glanced at Braydon. “Do you know what kind of instrument the piano is?”

  Jake sagged. “Boring?”

  This time, Tatum laughed with Braydon. “I think he’s going to be a comedian,” she said. Then, “No, Jake, it’s a member of the percussion family.”

  Jake looked at her as if to say, You grownups will do anything to make me practice. “No way.”

  “Way,” said Tatum. “Haven’t you ever looked inside?”

  The bell over the front door rang, and two women entered, bundled against the cold.

  Braydon lifted a finger in the air. “Please stay. I need to take care of these customers.”

  Tatum smiled. “Sure.”

  By the time Braydon returned to Jake and Tatum, it was obvious that she had almost convinced Jake about his percussion piano. Before he could sit down, three more customers came in.

  “Merry Christmas! We need homemade peppermints.”

  “I’ll be right with you,” said Braydon, giving up hope on the love-sick teen in the corner. He backed toward the candy counter. “We’re closed tomorrow. Jake and I would love to see you without interruptions. Be right back.”

  Tatum laughed softly. At least she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.

  Jake squealed, “I’ll get those peanut butter candies for you!”

  Ten minutes later, Braydon was still greeting customers. He couldn’t complain about the rush of sales, but he wasn’t happy about the timing. The next customer stepped up to the counter. “What can I do for you?”

  It was Tatum. She tossed her head and her gorgeous hair swung from side to side. “I have collected what I hope is a pound of candy from your barrels, with Jake’s help,” she said, setting a white bag on the counter.

  Braydon knew at a glance that it was closer to three pounds, but he didn’t weigh it. “That will be five dollars,” he said.

  Tatum eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure it’s only five?”

  Braydon pretended to calculate in his head, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, I forgot the Christmas surcharge. Five dollars, and a promise that I can see you tomorrow?”

  Jake jumped up and down. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Tatum looked pleased. “Ah, the surcharge. Well, I promised myself Christmas candy, so I guess I have to pay it.” She handed him a five. “What time tomorrow?”

  Braydon’s heart swelled in his chest. “Ten a.m.?”

  Tatum looked surprised.

  “I was hoping we could spend the day together,” he said.

  “Gee,” said Tatum, “that actually works for me. On one condition. Jake, will you play your piano for me?”

 
Jake wilted.

  “How about if I show you what’s inside it?”

  “You can take it apart?” Jake’s eyes widened at the thought.

  “We can open it,” said Tatum, glancing at Braydon for permission.

  Braydon nodded. “That sounds wonderful. Shall I pick you up?”

  “I can walk,” said Tatum. “I have to if I’m going to eat any of my Christmas candy.”

  Braydon scribbled his phone number on a sales slip. “Here you go. Just in case. We live upstairs, so just push the bell outside that’s labeled ‘Farmer.’ And we’ll be on the lookout.”

  Tatum grinned from ear to ear. “Okay. See you then.” She had to wend her way through half a dozen customers to reach the door.

  Braydon watched Tatum exit until he couldn’t see her anymore. He handed Jake a peppermint stick, then turned to his customers. “Merry Christmas! Everyone gets an extra half-pound of barrel candy with their purchase today.” He couldn’t believe his good fortune, and he wanted everyone to be as happy as he was.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tatum practically floated all the way home. Once there, she dropped off her library books and her candy, then headed out again. The sun was shining, and she hadn’t made it to the second-hand store yet. Besides, she felt so good, she just had to move.

  She hummed “Jingle Bells” as she browsed through the shop. When she found a clerk, a young woman dressed in what appeared to be a selection of clothes from the shop itself, she paused. “Excuse me, but could you tell me what the name of the shop means? Why One-Two-Three?”

  The woman smiled brightly, holding up her fingers as she spoke. “One, brand new. Two, second-hand. Three, new-to-you.”

  “It’s much bigger than I expected from the narrow shopfront.”

  “Are you looking for anything specific?” asked the clerk. “We have mostly clothes up front, but there’s furniture and household items in the back, and musical instruments, and books and knick-knacks. Take your time. Holler if you need me.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Musical instruments? Tatum was intrigued. Her piano—well, her family’s piano—was on the west coast with her parents. She’d been playing since she was six and had given piano lessons to help defray the costs of college. But when she got a job in New York State, she couldn’t just up and pack the piano to take along.