Better Than Chocolate

by Sheila Roberts

  Blake cut him off. “Sorry, Darren. You’re on your own.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do with Brown?” Darren demanded.

  “Hey, it’s a nice drive,” Blake said. “And if you decide you want to do dinner, try Zelda’s. They make a great steak.”

  Darren was still sputtering threats when Blake hung up. He wouldn’t follow through on any of them, though, and they both knew it. Blake was doing a good job here and bringing in new business from neighboring towns. He was an excellent bank manager. But he wasn’t a good whipping boy and, after that disastrous visit to the factory, he was done letting Darren bully him into unethical behavior. Darren could damn well drive up here with his pet pig, let Trevor Brown drool over Samantha’s company and eat bratwurst to his heart’s content. Blake hoped he choked on one.

  * * *

  By late Friday afternoon the town was full of tourists, intrepid explorers going from shop to shop, filling bags with merchandise. And that night Festival Hall was packed with women of all ages. There was probably enough estrogen to hot-flash the entire forest to cinders and there was certainly enough perfume in the air to send anyone with an allergy right to the new medical center. The noise level was on a par with a convention of geese.

  “I’d say you’ve got a hit on your hands,” Cass said as the judges took their places at the judges’ table.

  “I’d say we’ve got a potential riot on our hands,” Samantha said, and wondered who was doing crowd control, since half the police force were contestants. Across the hall she saw Dot’s daughter, Tilda, tall and impressive in her uniform, standing at the back, frowning.

  Like her mother, Tilda was tough as a turtle’s shell. Nobody messed with her and if Tilda stopped you for speeding there was no point in trying to talk your way out of a ticket. But even Tilda might have a problem controlling this crowd. High on chocolate and hormones, they were ready to party hearty. The men would be lucky if these women didn’t rip their shirts right off them.

  Oh, yeah. They were removing their shirts voluntarily.

  The contest theme music started (“It’s Raining Men”) and the crowd went wild. Bailey came out on stage wearing a white tux she’d picked up on sale in a tuxedo rental shop and had altered, along with three-inch heels that threatened disaster. With her curves and chestnut hair she looked like Betty Boop 2.0.

  The music died down and she spoke into her handheld mike. “Welcome everyone to the Sweet Dreams first annual Mr. Dreamy competition. Are you ready for a good time?”

  The audience responded with a wall of sound. Samantha glanced over to where Cecily and Mom sat. Mom was smiling her Miss Manners smile, ever the lady, even though Samantha suspected inwardly she was cringing and wondering how she’d gotten roped into this nonsense. Cecily looked smug. Well, she was allowed. This would go down as a big success and a nice moneymaker.

  “Okay, then,” Bailey was saying up onstage. “Meet your men!”

  The music started again and the herd of beefcake paraded across the stage, some of them seeming more comfortable than others. Of course, Bill Will had to stop and do a Mr. Universe pose, which produced squeals of delight.

  This really was tacky. Samantha sighed and resigned herself to a long evening.

  The evening proved more entertaining than she’d expected. There was no talent competition but Cecily and Bailey had come up with other ways for the men to show off, including a tug-of-war contest that took place in the center aisle between the seats, as well as a “sweet talker” pickup line competition where the men got points for originality and sincerity.

  Bill Will scored high with “I just had my thrill of the day. I saw you.” But Joe Coyote stole the heart of both the judges and the audience when he said, “I’m not real good at pickup lines so I guess all I can tell you is what I said when I first met Lauren—‘I know every guy here wants you for keeps but would you give me a chance and go out with me?’” That was rewarded with a collective sigh.

  The final round of competition required each man to explain why he should be the next Mr. Dreamy.

  Brandon Wallace had a cocky comeback when Bailey asked him that all-important question. “Because once I’ve kissed you, you won’t be able to dream of anything else.”

  Samantha didn’t like the way he looked at her baby sister when he said that. Wasn’t it time for Brandon Wallace, ski bum, to run away from home?

  Cecily leaned over and whispered, “I should have gotten someone else to MC.”

  No kidding. Bailey and Brandon were only a year apart in age. When she was a kid she’d had a terrible crush on him and had given him her treasured rock collection. When they were in high school she’d given him her virginity. After high school he’d moved on to bigger game but the damage had been done. Bailey’s heart was locked up and Brandon still held the key.

  Samantha could see her sister blush even down where she sat. Bailey kept her cool. “That’s a pretty big promise,” she said. “Are you sure you can live up to it?”

  In response, he moved closer. “Want a demonstration?”

  Of course, the audience did. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Well, I’m not the judge,” Bailey said, trying to step away.

  She stepped a little too quickly, though, and lost her balance. The crowd let out a gasp of pleasure as he caught her and said, “Put in a good word for me.” Then he dipped her dramatically and laid a kiss on her that was hot enough to melt the contents of all those little pink boxes they’d handed out at the door. A collective sigh rose from the audience and Samantha growled.

  Once he released Bailey she stood there in a stupor, forgetting her MC duties.

  No one seemed to notice. Half the women in the room were in a stupor, too.

  “Oh, my,” his embarrassed mother said faintly.

  That broke the spell and the women came back to life, tittering and clapping.

  Olivia didn’t know all the details of Bailey and Brandon’s past (a good thing for all concerned) but she did know enough to be embarrassed. Her wild boy wasn’t, however. In fact, he didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. He covered the mike with one hand and leaned over and whispered something in Bailey’s ear.

  She frowned at him and moved away, reclaiming the mike and her dignity. “Thanks, Brandon,” she said, dismissing him. “And now we’re down to the final contestant. Joe Coyote.”

  Joe limped out on stage, and Lauren and the rest of her posse hooted and clapped. Even though an accident on the job had taken him out of construction, he’d kept his construction-worker body. Caramel-colored skin and midnight-black hair added to his charm. From a distance it was hard to see the scar that marred an otherwise pleasant face.

  “So, Joe, why should you be our first Mr. Dreamy?” Bailey greeted him.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know that I should.”

  “Yes, you should!” Lauren called from three rows back, and her friends all clapped.

  “If you don’t think you should be our first Mr. Dreamy, then why did you enter?” Bailey asked.

  Some of the men had been lured by the prizes or they’d entered on a dare or, like poor Joe, who resembled a deer that had wandered into a hunter’s campsite, because their girlfriends had suckered them into it.

  “Well, Lauren asked me to,” he said, looking over to where she sat, “and I’d do anything for her.”

  Sentimental sighs rose from the audience. Then clapping. And then Joe got a standing O.

  “There’s o
ur Mr. Dreamy,” Cass said.

  Obviously.

  Mr. Dreamy was duly crowned and the two runners-up, Enrico Vargas, one of Icicle Falls’ finest, and Brandon Wallace, ski bum, each received a free month at Bruisers Fitness Center—rather a joke, considering the fact that both men were already members. The contest over, attendees and contestants mingled and slowly drifted out of the hall to take the party over to Zelda’s or Italian Alps Pizza. Or, in the case of many of the couples, somewhere more private.

  “I’d say this is definitely going to become a yearly tradition,” Cass said, complimenting Samantha.

  “We just might make it one,” Samantha agreed. If everything else turned out to be as successful and as popular this weekend, she was going to be a happy woman.

  “Anybody want to go get pizza?” Cass asked.

  “Yes,” Cecily said. “I’m starving.”

  What else was new? How her sister kept from weighing two hundred pounds was a mystery to Samantha.

  “Are you up for getting some pizza?” Cecily asked Mom.

  “I don’t think so. You girls go on and have a good time.”

  Mom’s smile was looking strained now. How silly this must all seem after grappling with death and loss.

  “You sure?” Cass asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Mom said. “I’ll see you later.” She kissed her daughters and gave Cass a hug, then slipped past the remaining celebrants and out the door.

  The three women stood watching her. “It can’t be easy, what she’s going through,” Cass said sadly. “Divorce, death, somehow we always end up alone.”

  “Not always.” Cecily frowned. “You shouldn’t close yourself off. I’ve got a feeling—”

  Cass held up a hand. “Oh, no. I’ve heard about your feelings. I’ll pass, thanks.”

  Cecily made a face and Samantha couldn’t help chuckling. “You’re not in the business anymore, remember?”

  “Yes, and now I remember why,” Cecily said. “I’ll go get Bailey.”

  “Good idea.” Bailey was talking with a couple of women but Brandon Wallace was moving toward her like a shark toward a pair of tempting legs dangling in the water. She was relieved to see Cecily sweep their little sister away. Safe from Jaws, for the moment, anyway.

  The pizza place was already filling up when they arrived. The aroma of garlic and oregano and tomato sauce that greeted Samantha had her taste buds clamoring for instant gratification. She distracted herself by looking around to see who was there. She waved at a few people she knew while waiting to place her order, then began threading her way through the crowd to their table. She was halfway there when she realized who was at the table next to theirs.

  Oh, come on. Yes, Icicle Falls was a small town but really, did she have to keep running into Blake the Snake everywhere she went?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A woman can go through life just fine denying some things (like the fact that she’s aging or that she’s gained weight), but she won’t have a life worth living if she denies love.

  —Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman’s Journey

  Why hadn’t she seen Blake when she first came in? Then she could have gone right back out. I’ll just walk past and pretend I don’t see him, Samantha decided. Which was, of course, ridiculous since she’d have to be blind not to. There he sat, big as life, sharing a pizza with Jimmy Robinson, the produce manager from Safeway, and Tennessee transplant Bubba Swank, who owned Big Brats, a favorite lunch haunt of both locals and tourists.

  Still, the last thing she wanted was to talk to him. She was almost at his table and picking up her pace, determined to speed right past, when he called her name. Okay, so she would be blind and deaf.

  But was that smart business? This man’s bank held the note on her company. It was in her best interests to remove her porcupine suit and play nice, something she should have done from the beginning. Ugh.

  He stood politely, a wall of muscle hiding under jeans and a sweater. If he’d been up onstage in Festival Hall tonight, she’d have seen him without his shirt.

  You don’t care about seeing him out of his shirt, she reminded herself, you just want him out of your hair.

  She said a well-mannered hello to his pals, wished all three of them bon appétit and was ready to move on.

  Before she could, Blake said, “I hear your contest was a success. Congratulations.”

  She donned a smile even Cecily the diplomat couldn’t top. It wasn’t an easy fit. “Thanks. I’m sure all our other events will do as well. We’ve already brought in a big chunk of money and I expect to make a lot more before the weekend is over.”

  It probably wouldn’t be enough to pay off what they owed, but surely it would be enough to melt his hard heart and convince him and his evil boss to work with her. After all, wasn’t that what business was about, people working together? Banks worked with Donald Trump all the time and he was the king of credit.

  “I hope you make a fortune,” Blake said.

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you? Really?”

  “Of course. Believe me, I don’t like the position we’re in any more than you do.”

  “Well, that’s comforting to know,” she said, and moved away. Hypocrite.

  “That looked like a fairly calm encounter,” Cecily commented as she sat down at the table.

  “It was,” Samantha said. “I can be diplomatic.” Sort of.

  “I wouldn’t mind having diplomatic relations with him,” Cass said.

  Cecily shook her head in mock disgust. “Dirty old woman.”

  Cass shrugged. “What can I say? Seeing all that beefcake tonight gave me an appetite.”

  “I bet Cecily could find you someone,” said Bailey, who’d missed their earlier conversation.

  “I really don’t want a someone,” Cass said. “I already have enough aggravation just dealing with my ex-someone.”

  “But don’t you get lonely?” Bailey asked. “Don’t you ever feel the urge to merge?”

  “Yes, but all I have to do to lose it is think about Mason,” Cass replied.

  The conversation turned in a new direction, but Samantha was still stuck on the corner of Urge and Merge. What would it be like to meet Blake Preston on that corner?

  Oh, no. Not going there. Not now, not ever.

  * * *

  Downtown Icicle Falls on Saturday was a mob scene, with people spilling out of shops and restaurants and perusing vendor booths. Children darted through the crowd, clutching elephant ears and cotton candy. Lots of people clustered around the Bavarian Brews booth, which was selling hot chocolate and doing a brisk business, and Cass’s booth was selling out of cookie jewelry and cupcakes.

  But Cecily was happy to see that the busiest booth of all was the Street Dreams one. Celebrants were lined up to purchase white-chocolate-dipped apples, chocolate mint candy bars and their little pink four-seater boxes of chocolate heaven. And of course, to meet Mr. Dreamy, who was posing for pictures, mostly with middle-aged women.

  Joe appeared about as comfortable as a man buying tampons for his wife when one woman asked him to pretend he was feeding her a chocolate, but he obliged. Of course, that opened the floodgates of inspiration and soon Joe was kissing wrinkled cheeks and picking up women and posing like he was a caped superhero about to fly off with them while the cameras snapped.

  Cecily watched him struggle to lift one portly customer. Poor Joe. She hoped
he didn’t get a hernia. And if he did, she hoped he wouldn’t send the medical bills to Sweet Dreams. Samantha would kill her.

  Samantha didn’t look ready to kill anybody today, though. She was smiling, chatting up the customers as she took their money.

  She and Bailey were running the booth for the morning shift, along with Elena, who had offered to pitch in. Cecily and Mom would take over in the afternoon while Bailey took charge of the chocolate tea at Olivia’s B and B. Then, that evening, they’d all be at the chocolate dinner and ball.

  Samantha had seen her now and waved, and Cecily went to the side of the booth to check in.

  “How does the hall look?” Samantha asked.

  “Gorgeous, I can hardly imagine how stunning it’s going to be once all the candles are lit.”

  “So it’s all done?”

  “Almost. Mom’s gone home and I just left Kevin putting the final touches on the centerpieces.”

  “Great.”

  Bailey handed white-chocolate apples to two teenage girls. “Enjoy,” she told them. They didn’t waste time replying, just bit into their apples and wandered off. “Awesome, isn’t it?” she said to Cecily, indicating the milling crowd.

  Cecily nodded. “I’d say we’ve got a hit on our hands.”

  “We’re going to need more apples,” Bailey said.

  “I can’t believe we’re almost out. Guess we should’ve doubled production on those yesterday.” Samantha looked speculatively at Cecily and Cecily knew what was coming. “Can you get some more apples and run over to the kitchen and make another three dozen?”

  Cecily had hoped to take a few minutes to check out the booths before coming on duty, but she nodded and said, “No problem.” This was an all-hands-on-deck weekend, after all.

  “I can help,” said a deep voice behind her.

  She turned to see Luke Goodman standing there with his daughter. Little Serena was bundled up in leggings and a skirt topped with a pink parka with faux-fur trim. She looked like a cross between a snow baby and the Sugar Plum Fairy. In short, she looked adorable. Her dad didn’t look so bad himself in his jeans, flannel shirt and winter jacket.