Second-Chance Sweet Shop

Kiera pointed to the box. “She gave me samples of chocolate desserts. I was going to leave it in the break room until I remembered Miss Chambers is on a diet and doesn’t want to eat anything with sugar, so I’m going to take them home for Gram…” Her words trailed off when her cell phone rang. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she stared at the phone. “It’s Miss Sasha. She said she would email me if she wasn’t going to hire me.”

Dwight pointed to Kiera’s death grip on the small instrument. “Are you going to answer your phone?” He noticed her expression of apprehension when she put it to her ear. Her expression changed quickly as she covered her mouth with her free hand. “Yes. My dad is here with me.” Kiera extended the phone to him. “Miss Sasha would like to speak to you.”

He took the phone. “Hello.”

“Dr. Adams, this is Sasha Manning. Your daughter applied for a part-time position at my bakeshop. Although I told her that I’m waiting to interview other folks, I’ve decided to hire her, and I would like to talk to you because I need your reassurance that her hours won’t conflict with her schoolwork.”

Dwight smiled. His priority for his daughter was maintaining her grades so she could gain acceptance into at least one or two of her colleges of choice. It was apparent Sasha was of like mind. They discussed the details of the position. Dwight agreed to let her take the job but warned that if her grades slipped, she’d have to quit.

“I understand that, Dr. Adams. If it’s all right with you, I’d like her to start tomorrow. I’m going to need a copy of her immunizations because she’ll be working in what we call food service, and her Social Security number.”

“I can get those to you later this afternoon after my last patient. What time do you close?”

“I draw the shades once I close at six, but I’ll be here later than that. Does that work for you?”

Dwight nodded although she couldn’t see him. “Yes.” He was scheduled to see his last patient at 5:30. Then he would have to go home and get the documents Sasha needed to place Kiera on her payroll. “I’ll probably see you after you close.”

“I’ll be here.” There came a pause before Sasha’s voice came through the earpiece again. “Thank you, Dr. Adams. I hope you don’t mind my saying, but your daughter is a delight.”

Dwight stared at Kiera staring back at him and winked at her. He had to agree with Sasha. There was never a time when he did not enjoy spending time with his daughter. And now that she was living with him, they had grown even closer. “I know I sound biased, but I have to agree with you. She is pretty special.”

“I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes,” Dwight confirmed.

“Dr. Adams, can you spare a few minutes of your time when you come because I’d like to talk to you about something other than your daughter’s employment.”

He paused, wondering what it was Sasha wanted to discuss with him. “Yes,” Dwight repeated, now that she had aroused his curiosity. He ended the call and handed the phone back to Kiera. “It looks as if you’re hired.”

Kiera clasped her hands together in a prayerful gesture. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Instead of the bus dropping me off at the house, I’ll get off with some of the other kids on the other side of the tracks.”

Dwight nodded. The railroad tracks ran through the downtown business district. “What about lunch?” He knew Kiera left school early because lunch was her last period of the school day.

“I get out at twelve and by the time the bus drops me off it will be about 12:30. Instead of going home to eat, I’ll ask Grammie to help me make lunch and I’ll eat it here before walking down to the bakery.”

He smiled. “You have it all figured out, don’t you?”

“Daddy, aren’t you the one who told me to have a strategy before I execute a plan?”

Dwight managed to look sheepish. “Yes, I did.” He’d lost track of the number of forewarnings he’d given his daughter over the years, and it was apparent she remembered most of them because she could repeat them verbatim.

Dwight found a parking spot behind the bakery and walked around to the front. He’d dropped Kiera at home and told his mother not to plan for him to eat dinner with her and his daughter. He had no way of knowing how long his meeting with Sasha would take.

The woven shade on Sasha’s storefront had been pulled down, as had the one covering the front door.

Dwight tapped lightly on a square of the door’s beveled glass insert, and seconds later he saw Sasha as she pushed aside the shade and then opened the door. He was just as shocked as many in the town at the word that Sasha Manning was back in town, and without her superstar country-artist husband. She’d kept a low profile until the town council approved her opening a bakeshop in the downtown business district. Questions about her marriage were finally answered when a photographer captured photos of Grant Richards with a woman who was purported to be his new girlfriend. And when reporters asked Grant about his relationship with Sasha, he’d admitted it was over.

Smiling, Sasha opened the door wider. “Please come in.”

Chapter Two

Sasha successfully smothered a gasp when she greeted Dwight Adams. He was more than gorgeous. He was beautiful. His balanced features in a lean sable-brown sculpted face, large dark penetrating eyes and dimpled smile were mesmerizing. His buzz-cut salt-and-pepper hair was a shocking contrast to his unlined face. Dressed entirely in black—sheep-lined leather bomber jacket, pullover sweater, jeans and Doc Martens—he was unequivocally the epitome of tall, dark and handsome.

Six years his junior, she’d had little or no interaction with him when growing up. By the time she entered the first grade Dwight was already in middle school. Even if they had been the same age, they might not have traveled in the same circles. Wickham Falls, like so many small towns, was defined by social and economic division. His family lived in an enclave of The Falls populated by those who were middle-and upper-middle-class professionals and business owners, while she had always thought of her family as the working poor, because her father always said he was one paycheck away from the poorhouse. Despite Harold’s claim they were poor, Sasha never felt as if they were. Her parents owned their house, there was always food on the table and, as the only girl, she hadn’t had to wear hand-me-downs.

She’d overheard some of the girls that were in her brothers’ classes whisper about how gorgeous Dwight was, but talking about cute boys or fantasizing about teen idols with her girlfriends had not been reality for Sasha. She’d never wanted to host a sleepover, because what happened in the Manning house stayed within the Manning household. Neither she nor her brothers ever publicly spoke about their parents’ toxic union.

What she had never been able to understand was why her parents had married in the first place because they could not agree on anything; and yet they’d celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Two days later her father passed away from a massive coronary. He was only forty-nine. That was seven years ago, and the first time Sasha had returned to The Falls since leaving at eighteen.

“Congratulations, Sasha. You managed to add some class to The Falls,” Dwight said as he glanced around the bakeshop.

She forced a smile she did not quite feel. She had spent more than a year planning to open a bakeshop, several months awaiting the town council’s approval, and then even more time until the contractor finished renovating the space to make it functional for her to furnish it with prep tables, sinks, industrial ovens, mixers, blenders, deep fryers, food processors, bakeware and utensils.

“You don’t think it’s too fancy?”

Dwight turned and met her eyes. “Of course not. It’s charming and very inviting.” He smiled. “And I like the alliteration of Sasha’s Sweet Shoppe.”

She nodded. “It took me a while to come up with a catchy name. My first choice was Sasha’s Patisserie, but changed my mind because I didn’t want to have to explain to folks what a patisserie is.”

Dwight walked over to the showcase and peered at the colorfully decorated and labeled pastries. “All they have to say is ‘I want one of these and two of those.’ By the way, how was your grand opening?”

Sasha moved over to stand next to him. “It went well enough. I gave out a lot of samples, and hopefully it will be enough to induce folks to come back again.”

Dwight gave Sasha a sidelong glance. He had been more familiar with her brothers than their little sister. It wasn’t until she had become a contestant in a televised baking competition that he, like most living in The Falls, tuned in to watch and remotely cheer her on. The camera appeared to make love to the tall, slender pastry chef with a wealth of red-gold curls, sparkling green eyes and an infectious laugh. Although she did not win the competition, her appearance was enough to make her a viewer favorite. Her star continued to rise when she became the personal baker to several celebrities and married a popular country singer, and then without warning walked away from the bright lights to come back to her place of birth.

It only took a quick glance for Dwight to notice lines of tension around Sasha’s mouth. As someone responsible for managing his own practice, he suspected she was apprehensive about making her new business a success.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I ate a piece of your chocolate-and-pecan cheesecake and wanted more.”

Sasha flashed a relaxed smile for the first time. The gesture softened her mouth as her eyes sparkled like polished emeralds. “I’ll definitely put that on my cheesecake list.”

Dwight reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out an envelope. “I brought you a copy of Kiera’s immunizations and her Social Security number.”

Sasha took the envelope. “Come with me. I’m going to scan both and then give them back to you. The less paper I have to file, the better.”

He followed her to the rear of the shop, where a spacious immaculate commercial kitchen was outfitted with industrial appliances. His gaze was drawn to a built-in refrigerator/freezer, and then to dozens of cans and labeled jars of spices stacked on metal shelves that spanned an entire wall. Sasha had set up a desk with a computer, printer and file cabinet next to the exit door leading out to the rear parking lot. Bills and invoices were tacked to the corkboard with colorful pushpins affixed to the wall above the desk.

“So, this is where the magic happens.”

Sasha nodded, smiling. “Disney may take offense, but this is my magic kingdom.” She sat on the office chair in front of the computer and patted the straight-back chair next to the workstation. “Please sit down.”

“When did you know you wanted to be a baker?” Dwight asked, as he sat where Sasha had indicated.

She swiveled on her chair to face him. “I never wanted to be a baker.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “But don’t you bake?”

“Bakers make pies, while pastry chefs make desserts.”

Dwight inclined his head. “I apologize and stand corrected.” Sasha’s low, sensual laugh caressed his ear.

“There’s no need to apologize, Dr. Adams.”

He gave her a pointed look. “It’s Dwight. I’m only Dr. Adams at my office.”

Sasha paused and then nodded. A beat passed. “Okay, Dwight. I suppose you’re wondering what else I wanted to talk to you about?”

Dwight, sitting with his hands sandwiched between his knees, watched as Sasha inserted a thumb drive into a port. “I must admit I am curious.” The seconds ticked as she saved what she’d scanned and handed the papers back to him.

“How difficult was it for you to set up your practice here in The Falls? And how long did it take before you knew it would be viable?”

Her query caught Dwight slightly unawares. He thought Sasha would’ve established a detailed business plan before deciding to open the shop. After all, she was selling goods that relied on supply and demand, while he offered a specific service.

“Well, it was somehow different for me because there was no dental office in The Falls. I remember my mother complaining about having to drive to Mineral Springs and sit for hours to be seen because the office was always overcrowded and overbooked. And once they added an orthodontist it became bedlam in the waiting room with kids falling over one another. Once I decided I wanted to be a dentist I knew beforehand that I would set up a practice here.”

“How long have you had your practice?” Sasha asked.

“This coming October will be eight years.”

“Did you know the first year that you would have enough patients to sustain your practice?”

“I knew that only when my patients returned for their sixth-month checkup. My mother was semiretired, so she filled in as my receptionist until I was able to find a permanent one, and after I hired a hygienist, I didn’t have to micromanage, and everything fell into place. A couple of months ago I added a dental assistant to our staff who performs some of the duties the hygienist had assumed. Initially, most of my patients were kids who needed to have their teeth checked for school, a few for sleepaway camp, and then after a while I was able to sign up their parents.”

“What about your hours?”

“At one time they varied because I was in the reserves and had to serve one weekend a month and two weeks during the summer. I resigned my commission last summer once Kiera came to live with me. Currently, I’m open Mondays and Fridays nine to six, and Tuesdays and Thursdays from one to seven. Even though I no longer go on maneuvers for the two weeks, I still close the office.”

“What happened to Wednesdays and Saturdays?”

“Wednesday is designated golf day for doctors even though I don’t golf,” he admitted, smiling, “and because I have two late nights, I can spend Saturdays and Sundays with my daughter.”

Sasha inhaled a deep breath, held it before slowly exhaling. “I debated whether to close for one day, and then decided on two because I don’t have an assistant. Mama had a mild heart attack last year and her cardiologist has cautioned her about overtiring herself. She’s been working nonstop helping me to get this place ready, but by afternoons she’s so tired that she must get off her feet. Most nights she’s in bed by the time I get home. I wanted to wait to see how many more would apply for the part-time afternoon position before I made a decision, but because Kiera was the first to come in, I decided not to prolong the process.”

“What time do you come in?” Dwight questioned.

“I get in around six and I’m usually here a couple of hours after closing.”

He whistled softly. “That’s a long day.” Sasha nodded. “I really understand your apprehension, but this isn’t the first time you’ve gone into business for yourself.” He wanted to remind her that she had earned the reputation as a celebrity chef.

“That’s true, but the difference is I’d worked out of my home and only when I was commissioned to design cakes for special occasions. I’m not questioning my ability as a pastry chef, but whether folks in town are willing to spend money on freshly made baked goods.”

Dwight curbed the urge to reach out and take Sasha’s hand when he noticed its trembling. “You’re experiencing what every other start-up business faces. We don’t know how it’s going to turn out except that we must take the risk and hope we’ll be successful. I had to withdraw money from an annuity to buy machines and equipment to set up the office, and it took me three years before I was able to put it back.”

Sasha suddenly felt as if she was being a Negative Nelly. Unlike Dwight, she didn’t have to borrow money to set up the bakeshop. She’d earned enough money from designing cakes for A-list celebrities to become financially comfortable, and she’d also inherited a small fortune from her former employer. Luckily, she’d signed a prenup before marrying Grant with the stipulation he wasn’t entitled to her earnings, just as she wasn’t entitled to what he’d received from his recording contracts. She’d had Adele Harvey to thank for the advice as to how she should protect her money.

“I’m sorry to bend your ear about…”

“Stop it, Sasha,” Dwight said softly, cutting her off. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re not the first and won’t be the last person to experience preopening jitters. I’m willing to bet you’ll have a line out the door like the ones in Brooklyn when folks order cakes from Junior’s for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

Her expression brightened noticeably. “You know about Junior’s?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Dwight chuckled softly. “One of my army buddies was a native New Yorker and he knew every popular eating spot on Long Island and the five boroughs. The first time he took me to Junior’s for dinner and suggested I try the cheesecake, I was hooked. I try to visit Junior’s at least once every time I go to New York.”

“Do you go often?”

“I used to go back three or four times a year when Kiera lived with my ex-wife.”

The mention of an ex-wife had Sasha wondering if Dwight had remarried, despite his not wearing a wedding band. However, his marital status was of no import to her at the moment. Her sole focus was making a go of her patisserie.

“After I graduated from culinary school, I took a two-month break and treated myself to trips to DC, New York and Boston to visit a number of restaurants who’d earned a reputation for their signature desserts. Junior’s was on my list for cheesecakes once I got to New York City. Everything I’d heard or read about their cheesecakes could not accurately describe what I’d eaten. I’d become so obsessed in attempting to duplicate their recipe that I gave up and now use a basic recipe and slightly tweak it to make it my own.”

“Your cheesecake is spectacular.”

A rush of heat suffused her face. “Thank you.”

Dwight stretched out long legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can count me as a regular customer if you send me an email whenever you bake bagels, ciabatta, focaccia, cinnamon raisin or Irish soda bread.”

Sasha felt a rush of excitement for the first time since sitting down with Dwight. She was looking forward to foot traffic for special-order items. “I’ll definitely add your name to my mailing list. I plan to alert everyone on the list of the day’s special.” She pushed to her feet, Dwight rising with her, and extended her hand. “Thank you for the pep talk. I left a pad at the front of the shop for you to put down your contact information.”

Dwight took her hand, his larger one closing over her fingers. He went completely still. “Why is your hand so cold?”

“I’ve always had cold hands.”

“Cold hands, warm heart?” he teased.

“You’ve got it,” Sasha countered.

Once her marriage soured and she felt comfortable enough to disclose the details to her mother, Charlotte had accused her of loving with her heart rather than her head. She didn’t want to tell the older woman that she did not want a repeat of her marriage, where every day was filled with hostility, so she’d bitten her tongue in order to keep the peace. However, in the end she knew she could not continue to put up with a man who was continually threatened that her popularity was surpassing his, as he constantly reminded her. It had taken more than six months for her to finally tell Grant it was over and that she wanted out. Much to her surprise, he agreed, and less than a year later they went their separate ways.

Dwight increased his hold on her hand, his thumb caressing the back and adding warmth not only to her fingers but adding a rush of warmth through her whole body. Though undeniably innocent, the motion elicited shivers of sensual awareness coursing through her. Sasha could not believe she was reveling in the feel of a man holding her hand.

“May I please have my hand back?” A teasing smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

Dwight dropped it as if it was a venomous snake. “Sorry about that.”

I’m not, Sasha thought. She wasn’t sorry because it had been much too long since she’d found herself affected by a man’s touch. Now that she looked back on her relationship with her ex-husband, Sasha knew she had been in denial when she refused to see what had been so apparent from her first date with Grant. He was a narcissist. It had to be all about him.

Despite what she’d felt when Dwight held her hand, Sasha knew there was no way she could allow herself to be swayed by romantic fantasies. Her sole focus was making certain she remained in business. She had invested too much time and money in the bakeshop to have it fail. Dwight stared at her, and suddenly she felt like a specimen on a slide under a microscope.

Without warning, a wave of exhaustion washed over her as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “It has been a long day, and as soon as I let you out, I’m going to head home. I’d planned to put up a batch of dough for bread, but that’s something I’ll do when I come in early tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait and walk you out.”

Sasha shook her head. “Thank you for offering, but I believe I can find my way to the parking lot rather easily.”

“I’ll still wait and walk you to your car.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

There was something in Dwight’s voice that indicated no matter what she said she wouldn’t be able to dissuade him. She showed him where he could put down his contact information before returning to the kitchen to turn off lights and retrieve her tote from the lower drawer in the file cabinet. Dwight met her as she armed the security system, opened and locked the rear door behind them.

Sasha pointed to the van parked several spaces down from the bakeshop. The parking lot was brightly lit with newly installed high-intensity streetlamps. A rash of burglaries and break-ins had prompted shopkeepers to get the town council to approve improved lighting to protect their businesses.

“The white van is mine.”

Dwight walked her to her vehicle and waited for her to unlock the doors. “Do you want to give me a hint about tomorrow’s special?”

“Red velvet cheesecake brownies. I’ll put aside a few and give them to Kiera when she comes in. One of the perks will be she will get samples of the day’s special.” Dwight’s dimples reminded Sasha of the indentations in thumbprint cookies when he smiled.

“That sounds like a plan.”

Sasha got in behind the wheel and started up the van. “Get home safe,” she said before closing the door. Dwight hadn’t moved as she put the vehicle in Reverse and drove out of the lot. Talking to him had offered Sasha a modicum of confidence that she could have a successful business offering the residents of Wickham Falls fresh baked goods.

Ten minutes later, she maneuvered into the driveway of the three-bedroom house where she’d grown up, and where her mother still lived. It wasn’t until she’d returned to The Falls and moved back in the house that she’d realized how small it was. Eleven hundred square feet was a far cry from the six-thousand-square-foot home she’d shared with her husband in Nashville’s tony West End neighborhood. Sitting on three acres of prime real estate, the house was so large the builder had installed intercoms for her to communicate with Grant whenever they were in opposite wings of the mansion.

Sasha had given all of it up—the guitar-shaped in-ground pool, the horses she’d loved to ride, and rubbing shoulders with Nashville’s country royalty—in order to control her destiny. The first night she crawled into the bed in her childhood bedroom, she slept for twelve uninterrupted hours and woke feeling as if she had been reborn. It took two months for her to put together a business plan to start over in a town she’d fled fourteen years before. Not only had she changed; the family dynamics had also changed. Her father was gone, and her brothers were lifers in the military, which left just her and her mother.