“Yes Ruby, that’s exactly what I said. We’ll be tearing down the candy kitchen and placing more shelving space for packaged candy. Stock it with old standards like Peeps, Twinkies, and Candy Corn, to name a few.”
My mouth drops open in astonishment.
“But, but… that’s what makes our store so popular. People come from miles around to watch the candy being made and then end up spending money. What’s encouraging people to visit us if we are the same as any other candy store? And anyway, Mr. Whitmore Sr assured me I’d always have a position here at this store.” I say to him.
A knowing grin comes over his face. “Well yes, Dad was always a dreamer, but in this economy, we just can’t afford to pay you the wage he was paying you. You still have a job, but I’m afraid you’ll be just a salesgirl from now on, not a ‘candy artisan,’” he says, putting his fingers up in quotation marks, the sarcastic bastard.
My stomach drops, and tears fill my eyes. Mr. Whitmore Sr has only been gone a week. A sudden unexpected heart attack and he was just gone. Nothing could be done. His funeral was only yesterday. How can a man be so heartless? How can he be making so many drastic changes? I straighten my spine. “I was under the impression that Mr. Whitmore Sr stipulated in his will there were to be no changes to the store. He said he had made arrangements for my job security.”
At this, his sly grin grows further across his face. “Ah yes, Ruby, but there’s a caveat. If the store is in financial trouble, changes are allowed. And since the store is now in dire financial straits, I can do what I want with it.”
“Dire financial straits?” I question. “But business is booming. My fudge line popularity is at an all-time high, I’m always being asked to make new flavors. The new image candy is flying off the shelves, not to mention the future wedding orders I have. The taffy line is also highly requested. I was thinking about employing someone to help with the making. Inquiries on the Facebook page and email are skyrocketing in with referrals and word of mouth. We couldn’t be in better shape.”
“Cancel them,” he demands, “It’s too much work. We just don’t have time, nor will I be hiring someone to help.” He waddles off towards the back rooms.
I stand there, absolutely stunned. Did he just tell me to cancel the orders? What the fuck? It will kill the store. I look sadly around the shop. The clean white lines of the candy kitchen are sparkling despite the smoke still lingering in the air from the burned batch of fudge. The display area is a riot of color, displaying all the taffy and picture candy. The display cabinet has blocks of fudge presented appealingly, waiting for people to order and be cut to size. Jars of colorful candy line the walls.
Mr. Whitmore Sr took all my prior knowledge and channeled it into different avenues of creativity. He sent me to master confectioners to learn various techniques. He installed the kitchen for me to drum up more interest. Showing our clients how their candy was made, as well as free tastings, were ways of expanding people's tastes. Then hopefully, they would buy more. He was a tremendous mentor to me. Without him, the thought of being here just wasn’t the same, it wasn’t home anymore.
With that thought of home, a burst of incredible energy floats through my body, like a current of electricity racing through my limbs. A shiver runs down my back, my hair stands on end, and goosebumps break out over my skin. All of a sudden everything is so much clearer. Smells are stronger, sounds crisper, and my mind feels like it's operating on all cylinders again. It’s like I was in a fog, and now everything is clear and focused. I shake my head.
Home! What was I thinking? This isn’t home, nor has it ever been. It’s a temporary stop on my journey. Home is the Candy Connection back at Morbank, and my family; family I haven’t seen for over eighteen months. I could go and stay with my brother. I’ve been such a bad aunty and sister just recently. My poor motherless niece and nephew could probably do with some female influence. One that wasn’t their grandma, anyway. I really don’t know why I hadn’t thought about this before.
I don’t have many close friends here, except for Mr. Whitmore. All the girls that I count as almost sisters are scattered throughout the country, some even the world. No boyfriend to speak of, only a few one-night stands here or there. Certainly, no one I’d bring home to my mother.
Reality has jumped up and smacked me in the face, this isn’t where I belong. I’m going home. Frowning, I wonder why it’s taken me so long to realize this. I can’t actually remember having any conversations with my parents, brother, or girlfriends in a long time.
Decision made; I stalk back into the kitchen. Gathering my recipes and designs, there is no way I’m leaving them behind to be binned, or worse, sold. I gather together all my own flavorings. I always bought small samples when trying new things. No point in Mr. Whitmore buying industrial size flavors if they didn’t sell. Shoving them all into the backpack I carry to work. Moving out to the floor, I grab some samples of all the things I’ve made. I want to show my mom and dad some new ideas for the shop. I then slice a few pieces of the different flavored fudges I have created, placing them in a sample box. All of these get put into my backpack as well. Lucky it didn’t have much in it but my keys and phone.
The store phone starts ringing, and the bell above the door chimes as a few customers walk in. I ignore the phone and tell the customers someone will be with them in a minute.
I can hear Junior prattling on in the backroom. I take my backpack and move towards the sound. I find him there, talking to someone on the phone while perusing the inventory.
“Ah, excuse me, Mr. Whitmore?” I say to him.
He turns around and faces me, mobile phone in hand, “What is it Ruby?” he asks impatiently. “I’m on a call?”
“You can take this job and shove it up your ass. I quit!” I tell him, leaving him standing there with a shocked look on his face and a voice shouting at him through the phone.
Turning, I walk out of the back door, to the nearby metal staircase. It runs up to the second-story apartment above the store. Mr. Whitmore Sr allowed me to live there as I sometimes worked late into the night, filling orders or stocking up if we were running low. It wasn’t much, but it was rent free, and I could come and go to the store as needed.
My steel cap boots clatter against the stairs as I run up the stairs. It came furnished, so I basically have only my personal items to pack. I open the door, throwing my backpack onto the bench and run to the closet next to the bed, pulling down two suitcases.
Throwing all my clothes into one of the cases, I then go to the bookshelf and grab the few novels I have, as well as my spell books. They are glamoured to look like recipe books. Even though not many people came up to my apartment, if they did, they would never have guessed I was a witch.
I haven’t done many spells since leaving Morbank Island. Every time I tried, they either failed, or I lost interest. Something to talk to my mom about when I see her. If she’s not too angry at me. God, I am going to be in so much trouble. Family first is my mother’s favorite catchphrase, and I haven’t been living by that motto.
All the books go in with my clothes. As do the few pieces of jewelry I own, made by one of my friends and the homemade quilt off the end of my bed. Zipping it closed, I start on the other case. Into that, goes my shoes, personal items from the bathroom, and the few other witch items like my mortar and pestle. That too gets closed. Running down the stairs to my old beat-up Mustang convertible, parked behind the building, I throw my bags into the trunk.
Running back up the stairs, I empty the litter tray into the trash, give it a rinse and dry it out. I reach into the overhead cabinets and pull out the tins of cat food, the bag of dry food, and the portable water bottle I have and place them in the tray. Opening another cupboard, I pull out the cat carrier and look at the window seat. Sitting there is my Seal Point Ragdoll cat, Sugar. She never moves far from the window; she likes to overlook her domain like a queen surveying her subjects.
“Come on Sugar,” I say to her, picking he
r up and rubbing my face against her lovely soft fur. “Let’s blow this joint. Time to go home where Kadir and Kady will give you all the loving you can take.”
Placing her into the carrier, I close the door. Sitting down at the table, quickly opening my laptop. I shoot a group email to all of my future orders explaining the situation. I tell the ones who have paid a deposit to contact Mr. Whitmore Jnr personally and attach his mobile phone number. I give everyone my personal details and phone number and let them know I am relocating and will be able to fill orders again in two weeks. Fingers crossed I will be able to keep the majority of clients.
Luckily, I have nothing on order for the next two weeks. That will give me time to find somewhere to stay, set up, and talk to my mom and dad. Closing the laptop and shoving it in its bag, I throw it over my shoulder. I look around to make sure I haven’t missed anything. Picking up my backpack and phone off the bench, I grab the cat carrier. Pulling the door closed behind me, I jog back down the stairs.
Mr. Whitmore comes jogging, well jogging for a short little fat man, around the corner. “Ruby, where are you going? What am I going to do without a salesgirl?” He asks with a whine in his voice. “Who’s going to run the store and talk to customers?” His face shrivels up at the thought of this.
“Well Mr. Whitmore, I suggest you call one of the actual salesgirls in. I’m the candy maker, not the salesgirl.” I say to him, placing my backpack, laptop, and stuff on the passenger seat. Pulling the driver’s seat forward, I put Sugar on the backseat. I turn to look at him.
“But Ruby,” he starts, and I put my hand up.
“No Mr. Whitmore, just no. I’m done.” I get in my car, cranking the engine. Music blasts out of the speakers, and with Queen singing about biting the dust, I tear out of the alleyway, throwing my hand out the window, flipping him the bird. A billow of smoke blasts from the exhaust, leaving a lasting impression.
I laugh as I watch his face in the rearview mirror. It screws up, turns red, and he starts coughing and waving his hands around, trying to clear the exhaust. Karma is a bitch.
As I leave the city, it’s like a weight has left my body, my mind is light and genuinely joyful for the first time in as long as I can remember. I’m on my way home; I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner.
Chapter Two
Ruby
The return to my hometown took two days. A few rest-stops for both me and Sugar and an overnight stay in a seedy little roadside motel. Something that looked like it could’ve been out of an episode of CSI, but it was a bed, and I was tired.
The trip was full of contemplation. Why had it taken me so long to return to my home? I was always very close with my family, and the town was a bustling hub of tourism, so never monotonous. There was no reason for me to stay away, but something always seemed to distract me or come up when I thought about returning.
Morbank Island is located in the Thousand Islands area between America and Canada, on the Canadian side. It’s also the location for the portal which connects this continent to the supernatural realms. It’s an excellent place for it to be located because it’s only accessible by boat. This makes it safer for the supes who live there and the ones that use the portal to travel between the realms. It also makes it easier to regulate human tourists that come and go. Supes were outed to humans a few years ago, and there were some bumpy patches, but these days; although mostly civilized, humans are still curious, as supes tend to keep to themselves.
As we make the final leg of our journey, I watch the calm waters of the Saint Lawrence river pass by as the ferry makes its way to the island. The wildlife is in abundance, with birds nesting on the banks and can be seen on some of the neighboring islands. The occasional splash of water can be seen from hungry fish.
One of the largest islands in the area, we support a substantial town with a thriving tourist industry. Morbank is based on quaint medieval architecture, and the Manor, which my brother and I inherited from our grandparents when they decided to retire, is the premier accommodation spot for the town.
My brother is now in charge of the resort and staff, and as much as I love the place, I never wanted to be involved. I always wanted to run my parent's Candy store. Hopefully, they will forgive me and allow me to continue that dream.
My heart is beating a million miles an hour as the ferry docks. Driving my car off it, I head towards town. Main Street is lined with oak trees. In-between each are wrought iron, old-fashioned lamp posts. Most are automatic, but a few around the town center get lit by a town lamplighter. The tourists get a real kick out of it.
Tourists aren’t allowed to bring their cars into the town. They must be parked at the dock in secure parking. They are then transported around town by horse and carriage—another thing they get a kick out of. Townies are allowed to drive around.
Turning away from the main commercial precinct, I head towards the resort. The entry is blocked by a large wrought-iron gate that’s activated by driving over a strip. The entrance, at the moment, is closed and I can see a well-built man working on it as I drive closer. An anti-flash mask is covering his face, and the welder in his hand sends sparks shooting as he welds a piece of the gate. I slow the car to a stop, put on the hand brake, and get out. Shielding my eyes as I walk towards the man.
He is leaning over, but I can see he’s tall and has broad shoulders. He’s covered head to tail in overalls, so I can’t make out anything else. I wait patiently for the noise to finish and look up just as he lifts his face shield. He drops the welder handpiece and bends down to grab a bottle of water sitting next to him, off the ground. He opens the top and pours the liquid down his throat. I can see the muscles in his neck, working as he swallows. He then lifts the bottle and dumps the rest of the water over his head before turning to face me.
Holy shit. Maddock Crane. My brothers’ best friend and a onetime major crush of mine.
His dark tousled hair is plastered against his head. Trickles of water run down his chiseled jaw, which is covered in stubble, then drip off his chin. His dark eyes are cold, and his lush lips are set in a straight line. A wrinkle appears between his eyes and across his forehead, as it’s set in a deep frown.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” he says with a sarcastic drawl. “Whatever could’ve happened to drive you back here, Miss Ruby, to live with the unsophisticated plebs?”
Damn, it seems like Maddock may be pissed. This doesn’t bode well for the reactions I’m going to get from my family. “Hey, Maddock.” I wave sheepishly. “Long time no see. Something wrong with the gate?” Ignoring the sarcasm spewing from him.
“Nope, just doing some repairs Regan asked for. Does he know you’re coming? What about your parents?” He asks, no warmth in his voice.
I stand there awkwardly, swinging my body back and forth before clasping my hands in front of myself. “Nope, spur of the moment action. Something made me realize I hadn’t been home in a while. Decided a trip home was needed."
A skeptical look flares in his eyes, and his eyebrows raise before he smooths out his face, and he says. "I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you. Just give me a moment, and I’ll get the gate open." He turns to clean up his gear, and my stomach drops at the cold, impersonal reaction from him. We used to be friends; good friends. I guess me staying away has damaged something else as well.
I get back into my car, muttering to Sugar. "The bastard’s still as hot as ever, pity he’s as prickly as a cactus." She just continues to lick her butt. I laugh and watch as he moves his gear. Not able to see much, his overalls make him look like a blob. Maybe he has a beer belly under there. He’s good friends with Joshua Woods, and his family are the local beer brewers and run the local tavern.
"What do you reckon Sugar, is there a beer gut under there?" She just ignores me continuing her hard work. "Slow down, Sugar," I say, wrinkling my nose. “You’re going to sand that butt hole down to nothing."
Maddock moves his gear to the side of the gate, where I can s
ee a pickup truck standing behind the wall. Watching as he pops the buttons on his overalls and peels them down. His torso is naked underneath. Hot Damn! His body is fine. His broad shoulders lead to a wide chest, with defined pectoral muscles and bulging biceps that tapers down to a very flat stomach.
"Why, Sugar?" I complain. "Why couldn’t he be fat?" I check in my rear vision mirror to make sure no drool has escaped my mouth.
With a wave of his hand, his warlock powers activate the gates, and they start to swing open. I put my car into drive and with a nod to him, drive up to the manor.
“No distractions.” I say to Sugar, “who needs a man when we have a BoB and candy?"
Not sure she believes me, but butt licking definitely takes priority over my personal dramas.
Putting the Mustang into park in front of the manor, I look up at the old girl. She’s been in our family as long as the portal and village have been on this island. A regal looking stone building covered in copious amounts of variegated green ivy. Its various wings, sending afternoon shadows over the circular cobbled driveway. Its towering decorative spires and plenty of darkened windows lending an almost sinister look to an otherwise elegant building.
I take a deep breath and grab Sugar's carrier and my backpack, easing out of the Mustang. With a start, I realize a blonde teenage boy is waiting for me to get out. One I don’t recognize, which is unusual in this town. "Oh, sorry I didn’t see you there," I say to him breathlessly.
He puts his hand out and smiles patiently at me. "No worries, if you give me your keys, I’ll park the car for you," he says, holding out his hand.
"Valet service?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Since when do we have a valet service?" I wonder out loud.
"Well, Ma’am, I’ve been working here for the last eight months," he says gently. I gape at him in stunned silence. He just smiles again and slides behind the wheel of my car, starts it and drives it away behind the building. Smoke belching out as he goes around the corner. Hmm, I really need to get that looked at. Damn! My luggage! I’ll have to grab it later.
Candy Conniptions (Arbor Vitae Coven Book 1) Page 2