A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2)

by Natalie Charles

  They ran a cycle in silence, and as they started to walk, Jessie said, "My mom called me last night. She called me a few times while I was at work, and when I didn't answer, she assumed I'd jumped off a bridge. Because of Quinn."

  Nate eyed her. "She thought that? Literally?"

  "Literally. It's like, my parents moved to Germany for almost four years and left me behind, then they moved out to Colorado and left me behind. Now that they're close by, they want to be involved in my life, but they don't even know who I am."

  He turned that over for a moment. She'd never opened up to him about her parents before, and he could practically hear the old injury in her voice. "They let you down, didn't they?"

  He thought he knew how she felt. His father had died of brain cancer when Nate was thirteen, and he'd spent a long time feeling abandoned. It had taken years of therapy for him to begin to understand it, and he still didn't know if he did. He only knew that life was precious, and painful, and beautiful, often all at the same time.

  "Yeah, they let me down," Jessie said. "I spent a lot of time thinking they must not have wanted me around. How could they have, if they left?" She glanced down at his watch as it beeped. "Time to run?"

  "Yeah. Let's go."

  They set off again. This time, Jessie ran harder, almost as if she were chasing something down. Or running away from it. When they walked again, she kept the conversation light, and he didn't venture back to her parents.

  After several cycles, they ended right where they'd begun, at the stop sign. The morning sun had broken by then. "Done," he announced. "How do you feel?"

  She was covered with a light sheen of perspiration, and her hair was disheveled. Her cheeks were light pink. It was almost unbearably sexy. "Good," she puffed as she caught her breath. She bent over, setting her hands on her thighs, and eyed him sidelong. "You're not even out of breath."

  "Jess. This is my job. I work out with people all day."

  "Still. I'm like, dying here." She choked out a laugh and swept the back of her hand across her forehead. "I was thinking," she said, in between gasps. "You should open...your own gym...I mean it. You'd be...so great at that, and you could...keep better hours and everything."

  "Maybe one day." Nate thought back to his conversation with Dinardo. Until the rent came down, opening a gym wasn't an option. "What about you? Are you working on your chocolate shop?"

  "I have a few ideas. I think the right thing will come along. I'm going to take charge of what I can, you know?" She set her hands on her hips. "Hey. Thanks for listening to me complain. I didn't mean to dump on you like that."

  "It's okay. You'd be amazed at what my clients tell me when we run. It's like it opens people up."

  She nodded and took a few more breaths. "I've got about five minutes before I need to get ready for work. Are you going to help me stretch out?"

  His collar tightened at the thought of working out her hamstrings in those tight pants. He tugged his sweatshirt lower to hide the evidence. "Yeah. Let's go."

  There were daffodils sprouting outside the front door of the little blue cottage. One couldn't be pessimistic around sprouting flowers. And then when Jessie came to the bakery, there was a large order of chocolate waiting for her.

  Uncle Hank pulled two pans of his almost-famous coffee cake from the oven and set them on the counter. "Are you running out of work space? We can try moving some of the bakery equipment around."

  She licked her tongue into the corner of her mouth as she considered the question. She had two marble slabs now and a machine that tempered chocolate, and then the rack that held the candy molds. Things were getting a bit tight, weren't they? "Sorry, Uncle Hank. I placed a larger order this time because the candy's been selling. I won't do that again."

  "No, see, that's not what I wanted to hear." He set down the large red oven mitts and walked across the kitchen toward her. "I'm glad your chocolates are selling, and I want you to sell even more. We just need to figure out how we can make that happen." He paused. "I don't have a tenant for upstairs yet. Do you want to store some of these bars there?"

  Upstairs was the three-bedroom apartment she'd only recently vacated. Auntie Lil had redecorated the space, torn down the old wood paneling, and generally modernized the unit, but Uncle Hank had to replace some of the appliances before renting it out. "Great idea," she said. "It's only temporary, though, so if you need me to get out of there —"

  He waved a hand. "Don't worry. It works for now."

  They each made a few trips, carrying the forty-pound chocolate bars up the back stairs into the apartment unit. By the time they were finished, they had relieved some of the congestion. At least, Jessie had enough floor space to actually work.

  Customers had been requesting toffee, of all things, and she was running low. That morning she devoted time to making several batches. She also made a batch of hazelnut crème truffles and dark chocolate raspberry swirl hearts. By lunchtime, she was feeling downright productive. When chocoholics call, I appear.

  She changed her apron and stepped into the main bakery to help Emily with the lunch crowd, which was always a little daunting. She ran orders from the tables while Emily processed the to-go line. It got so busy that she didn't even notice when Nate arrived. He was visiting with a very tall, very muscular man, and she wasn't quite sure how long they had been sitting at the table in the corner.

  "Gosh, I'm so sorry," she said as she darted over, shaking her head and pulling a pencil from behind her ear to take their orders. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

  "We just got here," Nate said good-naturedly, but then he was probably stretching the truth a little. "Jess, do you remember Max Castonguay? He may have moved out of Archer Cove before you moved in."

  "I don't believe we've met," Max answered for her, and rose to shake her hand. "It's a pleasure."

  "Nice to meet you," she said. He had to be well over six feet tall, and he looked like he spent all day working out. "Are you a personal trainer like Nate?"

  "Navy SEAL," he said, pulling back his shoulders just slightly. "Just back for a couple weeks, visiting my folks."

  "Oh. Well, welcome, and thank you for your service." She positioned the pencil over the pad. "What can I get —"

  "I was telling Nate here that he's too soft on his clients," Max continued. "Life's about pushing limits."

  Jessie and Nate shared a glance, and Nate broke into a smile. "You're cut from a different cloth, Max. If I told my clients to work out until they puked, I wouldn't have many of them."

  "I disagree. You'd be known for getting results." Max sat back in his chair and leaned back, stretching his long legs. "It's about making them tough here," he said, pointing to his head. "You push to the brink of death, but no further."

  Nate lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Jessie, who was standing with pencil poised and jaw dropped, staring in disbelief at the newcomer. "How about it, Jess?" he said. "I'm going to adopt that training philosophy, and you're going to be my guinea pig."

  "Do you work out?" An interested smile tugged at Max's lips. "We could go out later."

  Jessie blinked and shook her head. "Uh, no. My workout is mostly running lunch orders. Speaking of which, today we have a great chicken salad —"

  "I've finally convinced Jessie to train with me," Nate said, leaning forward across the table. "Maybe she'd prefer someone tougher."

  Now he was teasing her. She tilted her head at Nate and shot him her best warning look, but Max was undeterred. "It's all mental," he said, poking at his head with his index finger. "If you want to run a marathon tomorrow, you know how it's done? One step at a time. You just gotta commit to keep going. You get a goal in your head and don't let anything stop you."

  "Thank you for that," Jessie said softly, and paused to chew on her lip. "I don't think I want to run a marathon."

  "She's starting her own chocolate business." Did she detect a hint of pride in Nate's voice? "You should try some."

  "I definitely will," Ma
x said. His gaze was intense, and she shifted a little to try to avoid it. "You should run a marathon, at least once. But the same lessons apply in life. Hard work and determination. Nothing can stop you unless you let it. Push to the brink of death."

  She nodded. "And no further. Got it. Good advice."

  "And here you thought you were only taking our lunch orders." Nate sat back in his seat with a satisfied grin on his face, clearly enjoying himself. "We'll both have the chicken salad. On wheat."

  "Two chicken salads. Great."

  "Make mine rye," Max said. "And hey, the offer stands if you want to work up a sweat later."

  "Thanks." She tucked the pencil behind her ear. "You've given me a lot to think about."

  She spun in place before Max had a chance to add anything else to the lecture. I work to the brink of death, but no further. For some reason, the affirmation didn't inspire her.

  Emily was staring at her when she reached the counter again. "What just happened there? You look a little dazed."

  "I think Nate's friend just propositioned me. Though he may have been talking about running. Or hard labor."

  "Ah." Emily glanced over her shoulder at the two men, who appeared to be engaged in a lively conversation. "Too bad it wasn't Nate."

  Jessie was half-listening as she started to prepare their lunch orders. "Pardon?"

  "He's hot. Nate, I mean." She leaned back against the counter, flicking the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. "I know you guys are friends. You probably can't even look at him that way, but he's seriously cute."

  Jessie felt her forehead tense as she set two thick slices of wheat on a plate and added sliced tomatoes and shredded lettuce. There was no reason in the world it should bother her that Emily thought Nate was hot. She was entitled to her opinion, and jeez, obviously Nate was attractive, and they were both single and everything. Jessie was barely single. Single for now, that was all. She swallowed. "Yeah, for sure."

  Emily smiled. "Quinn is hot too," she said. "Definitely. He has that football star thing."

  "Mhmm." Jessie bit her lower lip. "Quinn and I recently decided to take a break. He's busy, and I'm busy. We both needed some space."

  Emily's eyes grew large, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have said anything."

  Jessie put a hand on Emily's arm. "It's fine, really. It was mutual in a way, so don't worry." She glanced over at Nate and Max. "You know, I just realized I forgot to ask them what they wanted to drink. Would you mind running over there?"

  Emily bounced away, and Jessie took a moment to collect her breath. When she looked up, she watched Emily chatting up Max and Nate, and both men laughing in response to something she'd said. A pang worked its way through Jessie's stomach. Low blood sugar, that's all. She'd forced down a bowl of plain oatmeal that morning and hadn't eaten since. She turned her back on the scene and kept her mind on the work before her.

  Her and Nate? Now that would be just strange. He was Quinn's best friend, for one, and sometimes he was seriously annoying. Like when he'd picked her up at the baby shower and teased her about being a nun in a trampy black habit. Although it was nice of him to give her a ride home when she needed it. No denying he was thoughtful, and he was one of those people who was always around when she needed him. Reliable. And a pretty good listener, which was hard to find. But he definitely didn't think of her like that, and if he ever found out that these thoughts had even crossed her mind, he'd probably dunk her head in the toilet.

  "Hey, Jess?"

  She jumped at the voice and turned to see Nate leaning over the counter. "Y-yes?"

  "Can I get a few lemon slices? For our waters," he added.

  It took her a moment to snap back to reality. "Oh. Of course." She grabbed a handful of sliced lemons from a container and placed them in a small white ceramic bowl. "Here you go."

  "Thanks."

  She pressed her lips together and wondered if she'd ever noticed how nice his smile was. "And — oh! I owe you rent! Can I get it to you tonight?"

  "It's okay, no rush." He grinned. "I know where you live."

  "No, it's almost the middle of the month. I need to pay you."

  "I'll stop by later, then."

  Jessie pretended not to watch Nate walk away, or to notice how broad his shoulders were, or how muscular his legs. She glanced away to the black-and-white tiled floor, feeling guilty. Some avenues were better left unexplored. Besides, relationships soured, and Nate was a friend too valuable to lose.

  Chapter 8

  J essie flung open the cottage windows to admit the soft spring breeze. No doubt about it, everything was better in spring. There was something healthy in change and renewal, and days like this were made to inspire people to do profound things, like write poetry. Or in her case, craft chocolates.

  Up that evening: dark chocolate peanut butter fudge. "Don't tell anyone this, but my peanut butter fudge totally sucks," she confided to Prince Travis as she pulled an assortment of ceramic nesting bowls onto the counter. "And that suckiness stops right now." She set her hands on the counter, reigning over the ingredients and tools. "I am master of my destiny," she whispered. "Or mistress. Whatever."

  What she was not doing that night was thinking about Quinn. No sir. She had a doozy of a project in this peanut butter fudge. Perfecting the recipe, for one. Not eating too much of it, for another. Staying on track would require all of her mental fortitude — and a glass of chardonnay. That was chilling in the refrigerator. "Don't judge me, Travis," she warned as she unscrewed the metal cap and poured a glass. "You don't know what kind of week I've had. It's worth the calories." Besides, she'd only had a cup of fruit salad for lunch.

  Her heart had been hurting all day. That dull aching that comes from wanting someone and knowing they don't want you back. Even if she reminded herself that, rationally, she and Quinn had been coming to an end for a long time, that didn't make the inevitable stop any less painful. Breaking up hurt like hell. Being dumped hurt even more. Normally, she'd work late at the bakery, but that evening she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home. She turned on the radio and listened to a Top 40 station, but otherwise she was all business as she measured sugar and butter. This was a distraction she needed.

  Jessie reached for the shelf where she kept her cookbooks and removed a shiny silver notebook with the words "Follow your heart" embossed on the cover. This had been a gift from her mom, who'd suggested she start keeping a diary. "Write down your hopes and dreams, and send them to the heavens," her mom had said brightly.

  Jessie didn't think she needed to write down her hopes and dreams or send them anywhere. Usually, they were fairly modest. Like, hope to sell enough boxes of truffles to cover rent. Or hope that she didn't slip on something and fall flat on her bottom in front of whatever attractive customer might be in Hedda's. Dream that the rain would hold out until she'd made it home, that kind of thing. So instead, she used the little journal to record her recipes.

  The journal was equipped with several silver ribbons that Jessie used as bookmarks. For each experiment, she recorded every ingredient, including the brand name, in addition to the details about amounts and technique. She suspected her peanut butter fudge was failing because she was using the wrong brand of peanut butter. For that night's experiment, she had three different brands to try.

  As she drank white wine and hummed along to the radio, Jessie almost completely lost track of time. When she poured the batch of fudge into the pan, she was pleasantly surprised to find that it was only six o'clock in the evening. She would need to allow the fudge to cool for a while, so she picked up her cell phone and called Nate. No harm in trying to butter up her landlord every now and then, especially when she'd been a little bit of a handful lately, what with her crises and all.

  He picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

  Her heart skipped at the sound of his voice. Jessie shook it off. "Hey. Want to stop over now and get the rent check? I just made fudge."

&nbs
p; "What kind of fudge?"

  Jessie sighed as she set the mixing bowls into the sink. "Peanut butter and dark chocolate. Why, are you picky now?"

  "I was hoping you made rocky road. If it's only peanut butter, I'll pass."

  "Because it's terrible, right?" She groaned. "No, see! I'm experimenting with the recipe, trying to make it better! That's why you have to come over and tell me if I succeeded."

  "Stop trying to push your fudge on me, Jessica Mallory."

  She smiled as she ran her finger along the inside of the bowl. "Come on. You always know how to make me laugh, and my heart's kind of broken." She'd meant to say it lightly, but then her voice had cracked. That spot in her chest sure hurt. "Fine. Don't come over. I'll just sit here and watch that commercial about the shelter animals over and over, then call you up to cry about it."

  "That one with the one-eyed cat? An empty threat." He wasn't buying it, and good for him. He paused momentarily before saying, "All right, I'll be over in a little while. But I swear: if you're watching that commercial, I'm leaving. Understood? No self-pity."

  Jessie grinned as she disconnected the call and ran the water to wash dishes. Nate was exactly the right person to call, and she felt better already. By the time he arrived, the kitchen was gleaming again, but the fudge wasn't cooled. Nate groaned in mock exasperation. "You promised me a piece of your shitty peanut butter fudge."

  She launched a dishtowel at his head. "What are you talking about? I'd like to see you do any better."

  He caught the dishtowel with one hand and calmly set it back on the counter. "You think I drove three blocks to spend time with you? I could be working on my sun salutations."

  "Your what now?" Jessie untied her pink polka-dot apron and folded it carefully before placing it back in the drawer beside a pair of matching oven mitts. She'd acquired them months ago, dreaming of the day she'd own a fully-coordinated chocolate shop. If it was strange to want to match her imaginary awning, she didn't care.