Molly sat hard. “Huh. Okay, that’s interesting. So you’re thinking savory.” She was lost in concentration and Jordan watched as she bit her bottom lip in a move that was so alluring she had to glance away momentarily. What exactly was happening to her here? Whatever it was, it was powerful.

Finally, Molly brushed the hair off of her forehead and caught Jordan’s gaze. “You know something? It could actually work. But it wouldn’t have to be a lot, just a hint of peanut butter so it doesn’t overwhelm, but rather accentuates.” There was a determination in her stare now and she was off, scurrying behind the counter, clearly in project mode and excited about it. “If this works, I owe you big time,” she called over her shoulder.

“I like the sound of that.”

And then from the recesses of the kitchen, “Come by the house whenever you’re free. The shutters miss you. Plus, I hear there’s complimentary lemonade.”

“I can only hope the rumors are true,” she called back.

Left alone in the cozy bakeshop, Jordan let out a slow exhale. Alone was good. It was safe. She could do alone.

*

It was close to midnight by the time they were ready. Her third batch of the night. Molly stared at the tiny tray of individual chocolates and sent up a small prayer that this would be the time she got it right. “A little help here, Cas?” she whispered up to the air around her.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly brought a truffle to her lips and took a bite. And all at once, she knew.

This was it.

After weeks of tweaking and adjusting, tasting and accounting, she’d come up with the perfect balance of flavors. Her heart sped up and she raised one victorious fist in the air. There was no one there to see it, but she celebrated with her own silent happy dance through the expanse of the small kitchen. And she didn’t just dance. She got down. She turned it out. She was a rock star of the kitchen in the crunkest sense, but that wasn’t the point. This breakthrough was huge. Monumental. And it wasn’t just about creating a new menu item to grace the display case; this was about finding a signature item that could put Flour Child on the confectionary map. This was about saving the store, her family’s legacy, and for the first time in a long time, she thought she stood a chance at doing just that.

With the right marketing, that is.

She closed her eyes and sent a silent “thank you” Cassie’s way. But then she paused in recognition. Because it wasn’t Cassie who was responsible for the breakthrough, was it?

Jordan was the one who’d sent her down the path to success, and she was the one Molly should be thanking.

And she would.

In that moment, the hour late and her guard completely down, her thoughts floated to their exchange earlier. The image of Jordan smiling and tasting the chocolate bubbled to the surface, and a jolt moved through her. A powerful hit of something she didn’t care to name. Interesting. Where had that come from? It was an odd and very unexpected reaction that she refused to analyze any further.

But it had been there all the same.

Moving quickly past it, she split the remaining truffles into two separate stacks and packed them in the bakeshop’s signature pink box with a white ribbon. Knowing she would need to be back at work in less than five hours to prepare the next day’s menu items, she headed home for some much needed sleep.

Chapter Six

“I don’t care what the stupid doctor says; I don’t want that flavorless stuff masquerading as food in the dining hall.” Jack O’Brien stared hard at Molly, his arms folded across his chest in a manner suggesting he wasn’t going to budge. Her father was generally a pretty easygoing guy, but the stricter diet his doctor had him on was beginning to wear thin, as was his patience.

“So what exactly are you planning to eat instead?” It was close to lunchtime and she’d set aside time for them to eat together on her short break.

“I’ve ordered a pizza. It should be here any minute.”

She sighed. “A pizza? Dad, that’s hardly within the realm of the list of foods your cardiologist outlined for us.”

Maybe it was the worried expression on her face, or the fragile tone of her voice, but in that moment, he seemed to soften considerably. In fact, he even looked a little sad, which broke her heart for a whole separate reason. “I’ll just have one slice then. And maybe a little salad and fruit from the dining room.”

He was trying to make her happy, even in the midst of his frustration. Molly met his eyes and took in his labored breathing. It seemed worse today. “I guess one piece wouldn’t hurt. Maybe some rest after that though, don’t you think?”

He nodded quietly, resolute now. “Maybe so.”

In attempt to elevate the mood, she changed the subject. “So I think you’re going to be proud of me. Or at least, I’m hoping so.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Explain yourself, child of mine.”

“Well, you know how you always taught me to never give up when it came to generating new recipes? Keep those creative fires burning. Give up sleep if you have to.”

That earned a partial smile. “Of course I remember. Never stop working at it, until it’s just right. That’s our motto.”

“Exactly. Well, I did a little of that. I listened to your advice and it took a little time, but I came up with this.” From her bag on the floor, she produced the small pink box. “Try one of these.”

He gently tore the ribbon and took a small bite of the truffle. She waited, almost ready to come out of her skin in anticipation of what he might say. “So? What’s the verdict?” she asked nervously. Her heart was racing now because his opinion mattered to her more than anyone else’s. It just did. He wasn’t just her father, he was her mentor. He taught her everything she knew, and if he was underwhelmed, it was probable that she’d missed the mark she thought she’d hit and…well, that would be quite a blow. “You’re not saying anything. Why aren’t you saying anything? Be honest with me. I can take it.”

He took another excruciating moment. “I’m just trying to figure out how to explain to you that this is probably the best piece of chocolate I’ve ever tasted.”

The smile that slipped onto her face started slowly and took a minute to get going. “Really? You’re not just trying to be the supportive father, because I could handle it if you were. You can just admit you’re being supportive and then tell me if something’s missing or too overpowering or—”

“Haven’t I always told it to you like it is?”

He had. Always. She blinked. “Yes.”

“And this is what it is. You’ve got something great here. I assume you’re going to roll these out at the shop?”

“I’d like to. The plan is to have several different flavor varieties, but this one would be our signature.”

“Smart girl. Have you thought of a name for them?”

“I guess Molly’s Kickass Truffles might be a little much for our younger customers.”

The twinkle in his eye was back. “I think it might. What about naming them after you? MollyDollys.”

MollyDolly was the nickname her father had given her when she was little. She moved it around in her mind. “Maybe. You know, that could actually work. It’s cute and personal, and it would be a way to have my own stamp on them.”

“True.”

She smiled at him. “And they’d make me think of you.” A lump arrived in her throat as she reflected briefly on his failing health, not a concept she allowed herself to think about too much. Congestive heart failure was a terminal diagnosis. There was still time left, but the days weren’t exactly infinite and she felt them flittering away. He was the only parent she’d ever known, as her mother had passed from stage four leukemia when Molly was two and a half. The concept of life without him was a little more than she was willing to consider.

His eyes warmed and he squeezed her hand, clearly picking up on the direction of her thoughts. “Don’t you go getting all misty on me. I’m a tough old guy, you know. Not getting rid of me any time soon.”

She laughed and swallowed the lump. “I wouldn’t dare presume.”

A nurse poked her head around the corner into his room. “Mr. O’Brien? A pizza was delivered for you.”

He slapped his hands together. “And the day just got even better.”

*

That afternoon at Flour Child brought with it four orders for delivery and a last-minute order of chocolate chip cookies for the clinic to be held for pickup. Molly set the cookies out to cool as Eden packed up the last of the deliveries. For the first time in quite a while, they had their hands full, and Molly liked the adrenaline rush the time crunch brought with it.

She lived for busy. It kept things interesting and gave the cash register a workout in the process. And right about now, dollar signs were her friends.

Her delivery guy, Damon, strolled in casually and consulted the clipboard on the counter. He’d worked part-time for Molly for the past two years and had slowly become part of the Flour Child family. She enjoyed his easygoing rhythm and the rapport he seemed capable of establishing with the clients. So he wasn’t the fastest delivery guy on the planet, but many an old lady fell victim to his boyish good looks and placed an extra order or two, just so he’d deliver it. Not exactly bad for business.

However, there was one woman immune to his charm and noticeable biceps, Eden. The two of them went together about as well as oil and water on their most compatible day. They were like Batman and the Joker. Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. Madonna and Elton John.

Damon leaned across the counter and peered at the stack of boxes. “So what do you got for me?”

Eden glared at him. “That’s your greeting? ‘What do you got for me?’ Sugar, we’re busting our asses back here. How about leading with a good afternoon or a hello. Or were you not brought up properly?” Her accent had a way of adding a whole new level of intensity to an insult.