SWEET SOMETHINGS
A Coffee Shop Novel
Barbara Freethy
Table of Contents
SWEET SOMETHINGS
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One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Excerpt from ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS
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About The Author
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Don't miss the tie-in movie COFFEE SHOP
The Callaway Series
On A Night Like This (#1)
So This Is Love (#2)
Falling For A Stranger (#3)
Between Now and Forever (#4)
Nobody But You (A Callaway Wedding Novella)
All A Heart Needs (#5)
That Summer Night (#6)
When Shadows Fall (#7)
Somewhere Only We Know (#8)
If I Didn’t Know Better (#9)
Tender Is The Night (#10)
Take Me Home (A Callaway Novella)
Closer To You (#11)
Once You're Mine (#12), Coming Soon!
Lightning Strikes Romantic Suspense Trilogy
Beautiful Storm (#1)
Lightning Lingers (#2)
Summer Rain (#3)
Bachelors & Bridesmaids
Kiss Me Forever (#1)
Steal My Heart (#2)
All Your Loving (#3)
Before I Do (#4)
Falling Into You (#5)
Forever Starts Tonight (#6), Coming Soon!
SWEET SOMETHINGS
From #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy comes a poignant, and charming romance about going home, falling in love and finding yourself.
Roman Prescott has always lived his life in the shadows. Being invisible meant staying alive—during his troubled childhood and his years as a soldier. But when an injury sends him back to the small town of Fairhope, he can’t hide from his past or the light brought forth by a beautiful pastry chef.
Having lost her parents at a young age, Juliette Adams has had her share of tragedy, but now she fills her days making sweet desserts in her bakery and trying to recapture her happy childhood. Then she meets an attractive, brooding man, who is not only tearing down her old house but might just tear apart her fragile future. She’s not interested in the tragic love story she was named after—she wants a love that will lift her up, that will last, and this sexy soldier has one foot out the door.
They both know they should ignore the sparks between them, but Valentine’s Day fever has lit up the town and old love letters and long-buried secrets keep bringing them together. Can these two wary souls get past their fear of loving and losing to finally win the greatest love of all?
If so, what could be sweeter than that?
SWEET SOMETHINGS
© Copyright 2017 Barbara Freethy
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ISBN: 9781943781560
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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One
Juliette Adams had been at work in her bakery for over an hour when the sun came up over Fairhope, Alabama a little past seven on Thursday morning, the second of February. Her kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar, and the heat from the ovens had put a red flush on her cheeks. While she loved serving her customers, there was nothing better than the actual baking: kneading the dough, whipping the cream, layering the pastry—all of it, really.
Her father said she'd been born to bake, and she'd always believed that. Nothing had ever made her happier than early mornings in the kitchen like this—except maybe the mornings when her dad had been the baker and she'd been his trusted assistant. In those quiet and dark hours before dawn, they'd shared their dreams, their triumphs, even a few fallen cakes, but it had all been so special—until it had ended painfully and abruptly.
She drew in a breath as her thoughts moved in a negative direction, and it took all of her will to force them out of her head.
Wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron, she popped the last tray of her Valentine's Day Wish cookies into the oven. Starting every February first her father had made the special batch of cookies in honor of the season of love. According to town lore, dozens of people had found their heart's desire after eating one of the magical cookies.
Now it was up to her to continue the tradition—to give love and fate a little help.
Her cookies were good, but were they the same? Were they magical?
She hoped so. It wasn't just the cookies she wanted to recreate; it was the wonderful life she'd had in Fairhope before her parents died, before she had to move away to New York, before she had to start completely over.
But her big city days were behind her now. She'd been back in the idyllic small coastal town of Fairhope for five months, and she was feeling pretty good about most things.
Her bakery business was growing rapidly, and she'd found a second sales outlet at Donavan's, the popular coffee shop across the street. Between the two locations, she was beginning to show a profit, which would eventually bring her closer to her long-term goal—to buy the house she'd grown up in.
The old Victorian on Primrose Lane called to her every time she walked down the street. The house had changed hands a couple of times since her parents had died, but one day she hoped to make it hers, the way it should have been.
Most of her New York friends—make that all of them—had thought she was out of her mind to leave one of the most exciting cities in the world to go back to small-town life, to consider buying a house before she was thirty or married or living with someone. But they didn't understand that while she'd enjoyed New York and spending time with them, there was still a hole in her heart, and she couldn't seem to fill it no matter how hard she tried.
Maybe she'd have the same problem here; she hoped not, but only time would tell.
As the oven timer went off, she quickly retrieved two trays of cookies and put them on a cooling rack. Then she went into the front of the bakery and refilled the display cases she'd emptied the night before.
Her storefront was small but cozy. She had a twelve-foot glass display case that ran most of the length of the room, showcasing her pastries, cookies, cakes and pies. On the wooded shelf behind the case and against the wall, she featured her homemade breads: rye, seven grain, white, wheat and the occasional sourdough.
In front of the display case was a coffee stand with a large stainless-steel canister for Donavan's dark roast, coffee beans provided by Donavan's Coffee Shop. For the fancier coffee drinks, customers would have to go across the street.
Next to the coffee offerings were two small red café tables for those customers who liked to linger.
As her gaze moved to the window, she caught sight of a man standing outside. His presence startled her—not just his presence, actually, but the dark, compelling gaze that seemed to hold a hint of yearning that she found oddly unsettling.
He straightened when her gaz
e met his. He gave her a slight nod and then took off.
She walked over to the window and saw him jogging down the street. He wore dark track pants and a hoodie sweatshirt, and he moved with the athletic ease of a long-time runner.
It wasn't uncommon for some of the before-dawn workout crowd to hit up her shop before they went to work, but she'd never seen him before.
Had he just been hungry or had there been something else in his eyes?
Shrugging that odd question out of her head, she turned away from the window and went back to her display case. She'd just finished that task when her assistant manager came in the door.
Susan Montgomery was a fifty-year-old woman whose only daughter had gone off to college in the fall, leaving Susan with time on her hands. She'd been the first person Juliette had interviewed, and she'd known instantly that the perpetually cheerful and dedicated woman would make the perfect assistant manager.
"Morning," she said.
"It sure smells good in here." Susan took off her coat and hung it on a hook by the door leading into the kitchen. "I know I should expect it by now, but every day I'm still a little surprised by the delicious aroma. Oh, and George said to tell you he's gained ten pounds since I started working here and bringing him home extra treats, so I better be more careful about that." She laughed, adding, "We're not going to talk about how many pounds I've gained."
"One of the dangers of working in a bakery," she said.
"Not for you, Juliette. I don't know how you never gain an ounce. Actually, that's not true; I do know. You never stop working long enough to eat."
"I do enough tasting, believe me. I get plenty of calories in. I want you to try my latest Wish cookie."
Susan tied her apron on. "How early did you start today?"
"Four."
"Oh, my goodness. You might as well stay here all night."
"It might come to that. Every day there are more requests for Wish cookies."
"That's because they're so pretty and so good," Susan said, her gaze sweeping over the shortbread, heart-shaped cookies with the purple icing that were not only in the first display but also on a sample plate on the counter.
"I just don't know if they taste the same as my dad's cookies."
Susan picked up a cookie, bit into it, chewed for a moment, then shook her head. "You're right. They're terrible."
"They are?" she asked in surprise.
"No, they're amazing, but you already know that. Maybe they're not the same as your dad's; perhaps they're better."
"But if they're not the same, I can hardly make a claim that they'll make someone's Valentine's Day wish come true."
Susan rolled her eyes. "The only people who believe in that are twelve-year-old girls, Juliette."
Since she'd been a twelve-year-old girl the last time she'd made a wish on the cookie, Susan was probably right.
"I understand that the wish gimmick sells cookies, but you really shouldn't worry about it so much," Susan continued. "These cookies will sell even if they don't make any wishes come true."
"I'm sure you're right. I'll bake some more this afternoon. I have one more variation on the ingredients that I want to try."
"I know you won't stop until you get it the way you want it," Susan said, with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "You're quite the perfectionist when it comes to baking."
"It's the one thing I'm confident I can get right if I put my mind and my effort into it." She paused. "I'm going to take our delivery over to Donavan's and get an espresso. Shall I bring you back something?"
"No, thanks. I already had two cups at home."
"I'll be back in a bit."
"Take your time."
She grabbed the plastic container of assorted brownies, muffins, cookies, and pastries she'd put together earlier and took them across the street to the coffee shop.
Donavan's wasn't just a place to get your daily dose of caffeine; it was where the townspeople gathered to chat, work on their computers, play chess, and watch the tourists go by. It was also a place where she was starting to sell a lot of baked goods.
As she walked into Donavan's, she saw Donavan, the pretty blonde owner with the big blue eyes behind the counter, whipping up coffees for the early morning crowd of caffeine addicts. Her coworker, Sara, tended the register. Sara had dark hair and dark eyes that were framed by a pair of black glasses.
Donavan and Sara had become two of her closest friends since she'd moved to town and tentatively asked Donavan about selling some of her baked goods at the coffee shop. Donavan had generously said yes, and it had turned out to be a good business arrangement for both of them.
"Good morning," she said to Sara, as she went around the counter to unload her baked goods.
"So, did you bring more Wish cookies?" Sara asked, eagerness in her eyes. "They were gone yesterday before I got one."
"I've got a dozen here."
"Excellent."
"I am ready to find some love."
She laughed. "It's not just about finding love. It's about wishing for something you want—your heart's desire."
"Great, then I'm going to need more than one cookie. Because I have a lot of wishes."
She opened the container and put the plate of cookies on the counter, then loaded a display case with mini banana bread loaves, chocolate muffins, and raspberry tarts. "I can't quite believe people still remember the Wish cookies from when my dad was the baker here in town. It's been fifteen years," she said.
"Around here, people have long memories. Fifteen years is nothing," Sara told her.
"I suppose." She was happy that her dad had left behind an unexpected legacy, and it warmed her heart that so many people remembered him.
"Juliette, I have something for you," Donavan said, reaching behind the counter to pull out a framed photo. "I was cleaning out the storage room yesterday, and I came across some old photos my mother had hung onto for whatever reason." She turned the photo around so Juliette could see it. "What do you think about this?"
Her heart squeezed painfully at the sight of her father in his baker's hat and white apron. She stood next to him at about age six, dressed in exactly the same outfit. They were standing in front of the display counter in the bakery he'd run so many years ago. It had been located across town, and while she'd thought about getting the exact same space, she'd discovered that bakery had been turned into an Italian café, so she'd rented the property across from Donavan's.
It had actually been a better decision, because Donavan's provided a steady stream of customers and another place to sell her desserts.
"You look adorable," Sara said, peeking at the photo over Donavan's shoulder.
"I loved helping him bake. He was my inspiration to become a pastry chef." She took the photo out of Donavan's hands and pressed it against her heart. "Thank you."
Donavan gave her a sympathetic smile. Having lost her mom, Donavan knew firsthand about parental loss. "I thought you might want to hang it at the bakery."
"Absolutely," she said. "I'm looking for as many photos as I can find that show off my dad or his old bakery."
"If I see any others, I'll let you know."
"I'd appreciate that."
"How's business going?" Donavan asked. "It seems like there is a steady stream of customers going through your front doors."
"It's picking up every month. Christmas was very good. With Valentine's Day looming, sales are staying strong. I just have to be able to keep up with demand. I might have overextended myself by signing up to provide desserts at every pre-Valentine's Day town event. I can't quite believe how much Fairhope gets into the holidays: the romantic movie festival, the love boat parade in the harbor, and the Sweetheart's Dance to name just a few."
"It's a way to turn February into a fun month and bring in some extra tourist dollars that we don't normally see in the winter," Donavan said with a laugh. "And Sara and I'll be right there with you. We signed up for everything, too."
"That's great. I'll be hap
py to have the company. In between events, I'm also starting to get a lot of orders for private parties, but I'm not complaining; the more business, the better. I love seeing a line at my counter." She paused, as a gust of cool wind drew her gaze to the door. At first she thought it might be the attractive jogger she'd seen earlier, but it was another guy.
"Looking for someone?" Donavan asked curiously as she turned back to her.
"Not really. Well, sort of…"
"That sounds interesting—like maybe you're looking for a guy?" she asked with a gleam in her eye.
"There was a man outside my bakery early this morning," she admitted. "He was jogging, but he stopped to look in the window, and, I don't know…there was something about him—he was kind of unforgettable."
"Like he had two heads or he was super-hot?" Sara put in, curiosity in her brown eyes.
"Definitely not two heads," she said with a laugh.
"So good-looking then," Sara prodded.
"Definitely. He had this super intense gaze." She shivered at the memory.
"That looked right through you?" Donavan asked, a gleam in her eyes.
"Yes, exactly."
"I'm pretty sure that was Roman Prescott," Donavan said. "I heard he's back in town. I haven't seen him since high school, but that man's gaze was searing. There wasn't a girl in the school who didn't think so. If he's looking at you, you won't be able to do anything but look back."
"Did you look back?" she asked, wondering if there had been something between them.
"Oh, sure," Donavan admitted. "But I was two years younger, and far too innocent. Roman was not interested in me in that way. He liked the hot, fast girls."
"In my experience, most high school boys do," she said dryly.
"True, but Roman was different from most of the guys at school. He didn't grow up here, for one thing. He came to town to live with his grandfather when he was a wild, rebellious teenager, and he caused all kinds of problems, but most of them were just pranks. I always thought he had a good heart."
"He sounds—complicated," she murmured.
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