by Nicole Ellis
Sweet History
Nicole Ellis
Copyright © 2018 by Nicole Ellis
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
1
The Donohue Gallery in Seattle was packed with people and Charlotte suddenly felt self-conscious. Although her painting was but one of many at the show, there were people checking it out and commenting on her use of color. This was good though, right? This was what she’d always wanted. She hovered near the wall, not wanting to miss anything, but not wanting to join the crowd either.
“Charlotte, I want you to meet some of our patrons.” Raymond Donohue appeared beside her, cupping her elbow to guide her over to a well-dressed couple in their fifties. Her stomach churned. This show had the power to make or break her career as an artist.
“Dana, Chet, this is Charlotte Gray, the up-and-coming artist I told you about.” He gestured to one of her paintings hanging on the wall. “This is one of her newest pieces.”
All of them stopped to assess the painting. Charlotte held her breath as the woman sipped thoughtfully from the half-full glass of white wine she held in the crook of her index finger. Finally, she nodded in approval. “It’s beautiful.”
Charlotte’s chest puffed up a little and she smiled at the woman. “Thank you.”
The watercolor of Candle Beach at sunset was one of her favorites. She’d begun painting it on a beautiful summer evening from a perch along the cliff, high above the sand and water. It had taken some time, but she’d managed to capture the moment when the sky filled with a rich gold that melted into brilliant hues of purple and rose.
“Are there more?” The man glanced at his wife, who nodded.
Charlotte was about to speak, but Raymond cut in first. “She’s going to have her own solo show in a few weeks and you’ll be able to see the full collection then. I’ll call you with the details once we get them worked out.”
“Ah.” The man smiled at Charlotte. “We’ll be sure to come back for that showing.”
They walked away, with Raymond close on their heels. He looked over his shoulder at Charlotte and gave her an encouraging smile.
She wanted to squeal and jump up and down, right there on the gallery floor, but restrained herself. That is, until she made it into the bathroom. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her wavy blonde hair was up in a dignified bun and her mascara-accented, cornflower-blue eyes were wide with excitement. She checked under the door of the bathroom stalls for feet. They were empty, so she leaned against the counter and allowed herself one squeal.
A solo show? It was something she’d dreamed of since she first started painting, but thought would never happen. From the elegant patrons, to the delicious hors d’oeuvres, to the impressive artwork and the artists themselves, it was as though she was in some sort of fairy tale. She gave herself a quick pinch on the arm to make sure she wasn’t going to wake up and find out that none of it had actually happened.
The telltale sound of high heels clicked in the hallway outside the restrooms and neared the door, so she quickly composed herself. A tall woman that Charlotte recognized as someone who worked in the gallery gave her a curt nod. Charlotte smiled as she brushed past her and out the door.
After the showing, Raymond took her aside.
“People were raving about your paintings. I think your career is going to go far.”
She looked up at him. “You really think so?”
He nodded. “Yes. Your work shows much promise.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got to finish up here, but I’ll give you a call next week, and we can set up a showing of your other work.”
She tried to keep it together, but excitement bubbled out of her voice. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.” She calmed herself to a more professional level. “I look forward to hearing from you next week.”
“Great, I’ll talk to you then.” He walked off toward one of the galleries.
Although it wasn’t really in her budget, she’d booked a hotel nearby to stay at so that she didn’t have to make the four-hour drive back to Candle Beach so late at night. She gathered her belongings from where she’d stored them in a back office of the gallery and walked the few blocks over to her hotel. Unlike back home where almost everything shut down by ten o’clock, here the city was still alive with people, flashing lights and a curious array of odors. She certainly wasn’t in Candle Beach anymore.
In the hotel room, she stepped out of the black cocktail-length dress she’d had since she was in college and hung it up in the closet. When the dress was off, the magic and adrenaline of the evening wore off with it and she realized how much the experience had drained her. She retrieved her favorite pink flannel pajamas from her suitcase and eased into them, the cats imprinted on the fabric smiling at her as she pulled them over her legs. Ah. They were comfortably familiar and warm in the cool air of the hotel room.
She stood in front of the hotel mirror and stared at her reflection as she had earlier at the gallery. While she’d looked put-together before, now she was a mess. Her blonde hair had come out of the bun and the extra mascara and eye shadow she’d worn for the show had smudged around her eyes. She scrubbed the makeup off of her face until her cheeks were naturally pink. When she finished, she was just Charlotte, not some artist eager to prove her worth in a competitive world.
She flopped down on the bed, but her brain wouldn’t stop spinning. In the distance, a car alarm honked incessantly until it finally shut off a few minutes later. The pillow-top mattress had appeared comfortable and inviting, but in reality, a rock would have been softer. She tossed and turned, drifting in and out of sleep until four in the morning when she called it quits.
The news about the art show was too exciting to keep to herself and she wanted to go back home to share it with her friends. She threw her clothes back in her suitcase in a haphazard fashion, not even bothering to fold the dress she’d worn the night before, and rolled the luggage down to her car, which was parked in the underground parking garage. The bill had been paid the day before, so she was free to leave whenever she wanted.
When her hands were on the steering wheel, a wide smile spread across her face. Everything she’d ever wanted in her life was coming true. An art gallery wanted her paintings for a show, she had a great group of friends, and she owned a cute little shop, Whimsical Delights.
The world around her froze. The shop. Would she be able to paint and manage the shop? Whimsical Delights was a full-time job and a half, and she’d worked hard to make it a success. If her art career took off, how would she do both?
A twinge of anxiety settled in her stomach. Ever since she’d received the call from Raymond informing her that they were interested in showing her work, she’d been on cloud nine and had worked full steam ahead to get ready for the show. She hadn’t stopped to think how the increa
sed demands on her time would affect everything else in her life on a long-term basis if the show was successful.
The air in the car seemed thinner and she opened the windows but only succeeded in breathing in a mouthful of exhaust from the diesel bus in front of her. Quickly, she closed it and turned up the fan speed for the air conditioner.
Doubt flooded over her like a rogue wave, drenching the elation she’d experienced at the art show. Was she doing the right thing? What if she couldn’t manage the shop and be a serious artist at the same time? Painting in her spare time wasn’t going to be enough to make it in the art world. She would be lucky to finish a few paintings a year at the level she was able to devote to it.
Her fingers tightened over the wheel as her car drove seemingly on autopilot toward Candle Beach. By the time she neared Haven Shores, a town about twenty miles from home where she’d grown up, she had worked herself into such a lather that she was lucky to notice that the needle on her gas tank was hovering just above empty. Not enough fuel to make it the rest of the way home. She exited the highway in Haven Shores, taking the turn onto Gull Street and pulling into the gas station she’d gone to hundreds of times since earning her driver’s license on her sixteenth birthday.
While pumping gas into the car, she was struck with a realization. What would her parents think of her if she gave up on her dream of owning Whimsical Delights? They’d called her dreams silly and she’d fought with them over it when they wanted her to join the family real estate business after college. She’d acquiesced to their demands and become an administrative assistant at Gray & Associates Real Estate, but only for a few years while she built up enough savings to purchase inventory for her shop and the Airstream trailer that housed it.
Her gaze shifted toward the direction of her parents’ house, situated on several acres on the long canal that ran through town. They’d found success in real estate, but unlike her brothers, it had never been her dream. She’d always wanted to pursue her art and run her own business. But now that she had it all, could she keep it? Had her parents been right all along? Were her dreams foolish?
She replaced the gas cap and got back into her car in a daze. You can’t do this to yourself.
She had no idea what the future held and it seemed silly to worry about having too much going on when it hadn’t even happened yet. She’d be lucky if her art career ever took off. With that thought, she lowered the window and breathed in the fresh ocean air as she drove back to Candle Beach.
Thirty minutes later, she entered town, passing through the one stoplight and waving to several people walking along Main Street that she knew. The mayor’s wife Marsha and one of her friends, another one of the Ladies of Candle Beach, were power-walking down the sidewalk holding to-go cups of coffee. Charlotte’s friend Maggie was outside of the Bluebonnet Café clearing dishes from the breakfast rush, but she didn’t see her pass by, which was probably good, or she’d be tempted to stop and block traffic to tell Maggie about the show. She parked in the small parking lot across from her apartment over To Be Read, the town’s bookstore, and turned off the engine.
Saturday was usually the busiest day of the week and she needed to open Whimsical Delights soon to take advantage of the increasing tourist traffic as summer approached. First though, she needed a quick shower. After unloading her medium-sized suitcase from the trunk, she entered the bookstore’s back room through the alley.
“Char?” a woman’s voice called out from the adjoining office. “Is that you?”
She left her suitcase behind and poked her head into Dahlia’s office.
“Hey.” Charlotte pushed her hair back from her face and smiled at her friend.
Dahlia grinned at her. “Hey, yourself. How was the art show? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”
Charlotte sighed dramatically. “It was amazing. Better than I dreamed.” All of the feelings she’d had the night before reappeared. “They want to sign me for a solo show.”
Dahlia’s eyebrows lifted and she stood. “Really?”
Charlotte nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m so happy for you—and a little jealous. I wish I was as talented of a painter as you are.” She walked over to Charlotte and gave her a hug. “Did they say when? I’m sure all of us would love to go.” She frowned slightly. “I hope it’s not after Garrett and I leave for Europe.”
Charlotte laughed. “I don’t know when it will be. We didn’t make any definite plans.” She crossed her fingers in front of her for good luck, then checked her silver wristwatch. “With any luck, the gallery owner won’t change his mind. I’d better get showered if I want to open the shop on time.”
Dahlia waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Of course. Go. But the other girls and I will want to hear all about it. Maybe we can meet up at Off the Vine in the next day or so?”
“I’d love that.” Charlotte picked up her suitcase and opened the door to the apartment stairs. “See you later.”
“See you.” Dahlia went back into her office and Charlotte walked up the stairs with the heavy suitcase, dragging it by the time she reached the top step.
She’d left a window open before leaving for Seattle the morning before, and fresh air streamed through the kitchen and living room, bringing with it the scent of the roses Dahlia had planted outside the bookstore. Not for the first time, she found herself thankful that she’d moved to Candle Beach. It was close enough that she could still see her family in Haven Shores when she wanted to, but far enough away that it wasn’t a daily occurrence. As the baby of the family, they’d coddled her, and it had taken her far too long to figure out her own place in the world. Here, she’d been able to make her own way, out of the shadow of her family’s prominent real estate firm.
After the long drive back home and lack of sleep the night before, exhaustion hit her the moment she entered her apartment. It was still only nine o’clock in the morning and business wouldn’t pick up until the afternoon, so she gave herself a few hours to take a nap. When she woke up, she showered and dressed quickly, eager to get to the shop.
While in Seattle the day before, she’d talked to a few merchants at Pike Place Market about the possibility of selling their wares in her shop. The tourists loved anything handmade locally and she liked to keep a good mix of gifts in her inventory. That was one of the things she enjoyed most about being a small business owner—sourcing the products she sold and finding things that would delight her customers—hence the name Whimsical Delights.
She hurried down the sidewalk and over a block to the empty lot where her Airstream was parked. Whenever she saw the shiny silver trailer, the fairy lights she’d strung across the parking lot and the neat white fence that bordered the lot, she was struck at how perfect the setting was. When she rounded the corner, she smiled in anticipation. Sales should be good on this sunny Saturday.
Horror quickly replaced happiness.
In her cute little lot, next to her beautiful, meticulously restored trailer, was a towering hunk of metal on wheels. What was that thing? She hurried up to it, stopping near the front of it, which bore a sign reading Beachside BBQ.
A food truck? What was a food truck doing next to her shop?
2
“So, what do you think, Pops?” Luke Tisdale waited with bated breath as his grandfather ran his eyes over the exterior of the Beachside BBQ food truck. He’d had the truck freshly washed and the sign painted before moving it to Candle Beach earlier that Friday morning, and he hoped it would be met with approval.
Finally, Pops looked back at him. “I’m glad you’re back in the area, but this seems like a big jump from your job at that tech company in San Francisco.” He peered at Luke with eyes full of kindness mixed with concern. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Luke smiled. “Yes. I’ve been shadowing a guy for the last six months who owns the best barbecue food truck in the Bay Area.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t take working at LinkinTechno anymore.”
He
’d worked at the company for over seven years and while he’d learned a lot, it had been seven of the worst years of his life. He’d had very little free time and the stress of working at a start-up had been overwhelming. When they put the company up for IPO, he cashed out his shares, leaving him with more money than he’d ever dreamed possible.
Pops ran his hand reverently along the line of rivets holding the arm of the open overhang to the smooth aluminum siding. “It’s a beauty.” He looked directly at Luke. “But you always hated the restaurant business when you were a kid. I was surprised when you said that you intended to buy a food truck.”
“I know. I think it’s in my blood though. When I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do next, it was all I could think about.” Luke was quiet for a moment as he folded down the steps to the back door. His grandparents had taken him and his twin sister Zoe in as toddlers after their parents died in a car accident. They’d owned a drive-in burger place nearby in Haven Shores that had been their pride and joy, but also kept them extremely busy. After Luke’s grandmother died five years ago, Pops had sold it and moved into a retirement community near the water, saying the restaurant and the house he’d lived in with Grams had contained too many memories of her.
“Your grandmother was so excited when you got that scholarship to Stanford, and even more so when you landed a job at that big tech company down there. We wanted you to have more in life than living in a small town forever, running a restaurant.” He looked over toward Candle Beach’s small downtown area. “This is even smaller than Haven Shores. It must be a big change from living in the city.”