Better Than Chocolate Part 27

But there'd been so much to handle-mountains of paperwork to fill out, bills to sort through. She'd bounced checks right and left. Arnie had come over many a night to go over her bank account and straighten out the latest mess, trying to explain where she'd gone wrong. Here, Muriel. Just make out this check to P.U.D. 1 for ninety-two dollars.

She was still bouncing checks when she met Waldo and had been happy to let him take over. Don't you worry, honey. I'll take care of the bills. You just write. Looking back now, she realized she'd been like a person who couldn't read, never mastering the skill she needed but instead always finding ways to work around her deficiency.

"You'll get the hang of this," Pat a.s.sured her. "For now let's work with what you've got and see how we're going to divvy it up."

Two hours later they had Muriel's expenses listed on a spreadsheet. What was going out was definitely more than what was coming in. Even Muriel could see that. She'd have to sell Waldo's Beemer before it got repossessed, and the house would have to go on the market immediately. No surprise there. Still, she'd hoped for a little more time to get her feet under her.

"You probably won't come out with much," Pat said, "but you should wind up with enough to tide you over until you can finish your next book."

Would there ever be another book?

Putting the house on the market was a big enough emotional hurdle for the moment. One step at a time, she told herself as she called Mountain Meadows Real Estate to set up an appointment with a Realtor.

The conversation was encouraging and after she hung up she felt she was moving in the right direction. Now she had a plan and a spreadsheet, and that was encouraging. She felt as if she could master anything. Ah, Stephen, you never thought I could do this, but it looks like I can.

And if she could cope with the unpleasant ch.o.r.e of money management she could certainly cope with helping to put on a chocolate festival. Bring it on.

Bailey arrived at Sea-Tac Airport the Wednesday morning before festival weekend, lugging two suitcases and her carry-on. "I'm here, let the games begin!" she declared, falling into Samantha's arms. Literally. Not watching where she was going, she tripped over a fellow pa.s.senger's carry-on.

"And so is half your house," Samantha observed, righting her.

"It's all stuff for the dinner and the tea, Sammy," she said, pus.h.i.+ng her chestnut curls out of her face. "I found all kinds of decorations at the dollar store. I know we haven't been able to draw from the business, but can you maybe reimburse me? I'm a little short on cash till my next catering job."

Bailey had been "a little short on cash" since she was twelve. Like Mom, she was math-challenged. Samantha was already dreading the bill. Even at the dollar store she suspected her sister could rack up the dollars.

"Give me the receipt and we'll reimburse you," Samantha said as she took a bag. Somehow. With everything they'd had to buy for the various events, expenses were mounting and at this rate she'd be paying Bailey in foil-wrapped chocolate coins.

"I can hardly wait to see," Cecily said, taking the other bag.

That left Bailey with just her carry-on and free to link an arm through her big sister's. "This is going to be so much fun."

Fun, that was the code by which Bailey lived. Even starting her catering business had been more play than work, with Dad generously bankrolling her. Samantha wasn't jealous, though. She wouldn't trade her experiences at Sweet Dreams for anything. She'd worked her way up from selling goodies in the shop to building the company, and that was something to take pride in.

"It will be fun," Cecily agreed, "now that the crisis is averted," she added, referring to the rockslide.

Well, one crisis, anyway. They still needed money. But thanks to a new ad in the Seattle paper encouraging travelers to brave the pa.s.s and the Northwest Now TV segment, it looked like they were going to override the earlier panic. Reservations were starting to come in at the B and Bs once more and shop owners were feeling hopeful. The whole town had worked hard to pull this together in record time and visitors were bound to fall in love with Icicle Falls and, of course, Sweet Dreams Chocolates.

Still, Samantha wouldn't rest easy until the weekend was over. She felt like a juggler, trying to keep a dozen flaming torches in the air, all while doing an Irish jig on a high wire. In heels. She'd chewed her fingernails down to the nubs and gained six pounds due to her chocolate consumption, but if the festival was a success, it would be worth every moment of stress and every extra pound.

"I've got the best dessert recipe for the chocolate dinner," Bailey bragged. "Chocolate truffle trifle, using our chocolates, of course."

"That sounds decadent," Cecily said. "It'll be a miracle if we don't all die from a chocolate overdose this weekend."

Samantha could identify with that. She was already halfway there. Was there such a thing as Chocoholics Anonymous? If so, she was going to have to join it.

"Oh, and I have more good news, the best news of all," Bailey continued.

"You found a millionaire who wants to give us money," Samantha cracked. If only.

"Almost as good. I catered this baby shower on Sunday and you'll never guess who I met."

"Mimi LeGrande," Samantha said, piling on the sarcasm. Cecily had managed to get the name of Mimi's producer, but her emails had gone unanswered.

"I met the cousin of her producer," Bailey crowed. "I told her I'd bring her some samples after the festival."

Samantha stared at her baby sister, hardly able to believe her ears.

"Oh, my gosh," Cecily gushed. "Way to go, sis!"

"You can say that again," Samantha said.

Going the friend-of-a-friend route was always a long shot, but this was one well worth taking. The festival was a go and now they had a possible in with Mimi LeGrande. Mom always said, "Every good thing comes to she who waits." It looked like Mom was right.

They drove away from the airport, Bailey still chattering happily, Samantha watching the road and seeing a future filled with success.

It was nice to see their mother taking an interest in life again, Cecily thought as she went to the office to check the goody boxes for the Mr. Dreamy contest. She had left Mom and Bailey talking recipes; they'd been so engrossed they barely noticed her departure. Yes, there was still sadness in her mother's eyes and she often slipped away to bed early, but that was understandable considering how fresh her grief was. In fact, considering everything she'd gone through, it was amazing to Cecily that she could cope at all.

What would it be like to have two men who were devoted to you and lose both? Cecily couldn't imagine. She couldn't imagine having a good man, period.

They were out there; she'd matched up a few in her brief career as a matchmaker. But they sure seemed to be few and far between.

She got to Sweet Dreams just as Luke Goodman was approaching from the other end of the street. Here was one of the good ones, a man fortress.

"Hey, there, we've got your gift boxes ready," he greeted her. "Want to see?"

"That's why I'm here," she replied, and followed him into the warehouse. Walking behind Luke Goodman was like walking behind a wall. A woman could feel safe with a man like him.

Did she know any woman who'd be a match?

You're not in the business anymore, she reminded herself.

Still, old habits died hard. Maybe Bailey? Except, good as he'd be for her, Cecily couldn't see her little sister with this man. Bailey was still a kid herself and Luke already had one child to raise.

"I wish you'd come by about an hour earlier. I could have used your help shopping," he said.

"Oh? For what?"

"A dress," he replied, deadpan.

"Probably hard to find one in your size."

He grinned. "For Serena. I had to give my expert opinion. Mom took her to Gilded Lily's to get one for the tea and they had it narrowed down to two."

Shopping, one of the fun aspects of having a little girl. Little girls, babies-Cecily became suddenly aware of a tick-tick-tick at the back of her brain.

She quickly took a mental hammer to the culprit. A ticking biological clock wasn't a good enough reason enough to jump into a relations.h.i.+p. Not these days. Biology and culture didn't always mate well; the high divorce rate was proof of that. It seemed people rarely got together with the idea of staying together anymore.

Even Icicle Falls wasn't immune to the big D. She thought of Ca.s.s Wilkes and Charlene Albach, both great women who should've been living in Happily-Ever-After Land. And she'd heard rumors that her old pal Ella O'Brien, who ran her mother's shop, Gilded Lily's, was having problems. She hoped the rumors weren't true.

Ella and Jake had been high school sweethearts, her first successful match, in fact. Ella hadn't said anything when they'd gone to lunch a couple of weeks back. Still, they'd been out of touch for the past five years and that probably wasn't information you blurted out the first time you saw an old friend, especially the old friend who got you together with your husband.

Cecily and Luke were in the warehouse now. She grinned at the sight of all the inventory building up. This weekend the town would experience a veritable avalanche of chocolate. Cecily s.h.i.+vered, as much from cold as excitement, and rubbed her arms. He took off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders-more perfect-man points for Luke Goodman-then led her to where several cartons stood stacked in a corner.

He opened one and took out a little pink box wrapped in gold ribbon and sealed with the gold medallion bearing the company logo, a slumbering quarter moon with long, girlie eyelashes and a smile. The box was what they called a four-seater, holding four different chocolates: salted caramel, a white-chocolate-lemon-cream truffle, a dark chocolate truffle with chocolate ganache filling and a mint chocolate-four of their most popular flavors.

He handed it over for her to inspect. "Perfect," she said.

"I guess you're going to have a crowd at your pageant," he said, looking at the cartons.

"We're sold out," she said proudly. Samantha had balked at the idea, and now Cecily took secret delight in proving that her big sister didn't know everything. Everyone she'd talked to was excited about the event. Actually, everyone was excited about the whole festival and she was really enjoying the antic.i.p.atory buzz that had taken over the town. Promoting chocolate was considerably more fun than finding matches for unappreciative customers.

"These should be a hit," he predicted as she returned the box to the case. "Let me know how they go over."

"You're not going to come and see for yourself?" she asked. "It should be quite a show."

"Not interested. My mom's trying to convince me to go to the ball, though. Support the company."

"You should, Prince Charming. You might find a princess there."

He leaned against the wall and looked at her speculatively. "Think so?"

Oh, dear. Now she'd just led him on. "Well, you never know," she said lightly. "I might put on my matchmaker's hat one more time and see if I can find her for you."

"Is that how it worked for Prince Charming?" he countered.

"Well, in a way, if you count the fairy G.o.dmother."

He shook his head. "She just provided the clothes and the ride. The magic was up to them. Kind of like real life."

Cecily pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're a romantic."

He shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that. I believe in magic."

She'd believed she had, too, but the magic never lasted.

"Anyway, you never know what can happen at a ball. If you keep an open mind," he added, giving her nose a playful tap.

"I'll remember," she said.

As she left the warehouse for the office, she realized she was feeling all warm and happy inside, as if some of that magic they'd talked about had slipped into Luke's finger when he touched her. He is a nice man, she told herself. And what woman in her right mind didn't want a nice man?

Up in the office she found Jonathan Templar getting ready to leave.

"This man deserves a medal," Elena said. "He has saved us once again."

Their hard-drive hero pushed his gla.s.ses up his nose. "Slight exaggeration."

"No, no. It is no exaggeration, believe me," Elena said. "You are the king of the computer."

"That's me," he said with a smile as he zipped his jacket.

"So why are you here, chica?" Elena asked Cecily.

"I have to do a little work on the Mr. Dreamy contest," Cecily said.

That produced a frown on Jonathan's face. He hid it quickly but not quickly enough.

"I don't think Jonathan approves of our contest," Cecily teased.

"Hey, if it's bringing in money," he said diplomatically.

"But it's beneath you, right?"

"I'm not exactly Mr. Dreamy material," he said.

"Oh, I don't know," Elena said, looking him over. "Lose the gla.s.ses, go to the gym a little. You have potential. Doesn't he?"

"Absolutely," Cecily agreed.

Now Jonathan's face was turning red. "Uh, I've gotta get going. You guys have a good day." And with that he was out the door.

"Poor Jonathan," Cecily said. "We embarra.s.sed him."

"He needs a better self-image," Elena said. "You should find someone for him."

"I'm not doing that anymore," Cecily told her. "Anyway, there's only one woman he wants, and that's Lisa Castle."

Elena gave a snort of disgust. "That one. He'll never get her. Why do so many men want women who don't even see them?"

"Misplaced loyalty? Insanity? Who knows? It's another one of love's mysteries." And why were so many women attracted to the wrong kind of man? If she could solve that mystery, her own love life would take off.

With a sigh, she sat down at the spare office desk and got to work finalizing details for the Mr. Dreamy contest. That done, she went on to check her email.

Before they'd left to pick up Bailey, she'd sent notices to all the Mr. Dreamy contestants, reminding them of the walk-through scheduled for that night at Festival Hall. Most of them had responded cheerfully.

Have the crown ready, Bill Will had written. And how about going kayaking with me when I win?

Good old Bill, the picture of confidence. But his compet.i.tion was going to be stiff. There were some great-looking guys entered.

A picture of Todd Black popped into her mind. With his swarthy pirate face he was probably a shoe-in. Talk about a hypocrite-entering the contest at the last minute after mocking her so thoroughly. The prize package had obviously been too sweet to resist.

And speak of the devil. Here was an email from the black pirate himself. I didn't enter this.

She typed back. Really? I have your picture and entry form right here at the office. You barely made the deadline.