© 2013 By Melissa Brayden. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-000-3

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: November 2013

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Cindy Cresap

Production Design: Susan Ramundo

Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

By the Author

Waiting in the Wings

Heart Block

How Sweet It Is

Acknowledgments

I’ve never lived in a small town. Not one like this. But there’s something about the concept that drew me in and made me want to write about it. Applewood, Illinois, is a fictional place, but it charmed me and made me want to stay awhile. I hope you’ll feel the same way.

As with any creative project, there are a lot of working parts. There were so many people who had a hand in bringing this novel into existence, and as always, I’m in awe and I’m grateful. Here are some thoughts:

Family plays a big role in this story, and that’s a reflection of how big of a role it plays in my life. I’m the youngest of three sisters and my parents have been married for forty-five years. No family is perfect, but mine is pretty close. I’d like to thank them for giving me the best foundation possible as well as tons of laughs along the way.

Sometimes when you’re close to a story, it’s hard to see the forest for the trees. Thereby, I was lucky to have my editor, Cindy Cresap, be my eyes on this one and offer perspective when I didn’t have it. This book is stronger as a result.

Len Barot, Bold Strokes Books, and everyone associated with it have been nothing but friendly, warm, and encouraging to me since we first started working together. I feel at home here and that’s everything.

People do judge books by their covers. It’s just a fact of life. I’m lucky in that my cover artist, Sheri, is top-notch and can somehow mirror the stories as I see them. This cover is certainly no exception.

Inspiration is an important component when it comes to writing. In good news, Alan inspires me daily. Whether it comes from silly jokes, softball pep talks, or long discussions over a bottle of red, it’s always there.

As much as I love to write, to create worlds in my head, it can feel a little bit scary to send those stories out into the great abyss when I’m done. However, the readers of lesbian fiction have made that part of the process so much easier for me with their e-mails, tweets, and Facebook messages. Thank you so much for reading, for spending a few hours of your life with me, but also for stepping out from behind the book and reaching back.

Dedication

For my sisters

Chapter One

There’s just something about chocolate.

It’s enough to cause a person to abandon the rest of the world in favor of complete immersion in the power of its taste. Few things in life compare. Molly O’Brien knew this as clearly as she knew the sun was going to rise the next day. It was an inarguable fact of life.

She concentrated, biting her bottom lip, as she folded the ribbons of dark chocolate in the pan once, twice, and a final time before sampling her work with her index finger. She closed her eyes in surrender. Perfection. Next, she checked the thermometer in the pan. An even ninety-one degrees.

Showtime.

One by one, she bathed each truffle in the dark chocolate coating before rolling it in the cocoa powder that would offer a nice contrast to the amaretto in the truffle. Finally, she placed the last truffle on the wire rack with a slight twist of her wrist. She set the timer and took her spot on top of the stepladder nestled in the kitchen’s corner and waited in anticipation for the required twelve minutes to creep by.

She felt good about things this time. She’d used a tad too much heavy cream in the ganache on the last go-round, and the hint of coconut she’d added this time might be the missing link to bridge the flavors.

The kitchen was quiet while she waited, the morning just getting started. Distantly, she heard the bell in the front of the shop, but ignored it. She checked the clock again. It was time. Biting slowly into a truffle, she closed her eyes and allowed the flavors to play in her mouth as she assessed. It was closer this time. She was on to something, but the recipe wasn’t quite there yet. Damn it. Just a hint too sweet. It lacked balance.

The bell. A second time.

Where was Louise? With an exaggerated sigh, she abandoned her project and made her way from the kitchen to the front of the bakeshop.

Mr. Jeffries, one of the regulars, scowled deeply at her. “Well, it sure took you long enough.” It was nothing new. Sort of his thing. He harassed her daily and she smiled through it. The man was pushing eighty-five and pretended to hate the world. The problem was he didn’t and everyone knew it.

“Good morning, Mr. Jeffries. Sorry about the wait. Just taking care of a few things in the back. Your usual?”

Mr. Jeffries eyed the display case suspiciously. “What are those?”

She followed his gaze. “Caramel apple cinnamon rolls. Made with cream cheese frosting. My father’s recipe.”

He studied her skeptically. It was rare for him to deviate from his standard blueberry muffin. He was a staunch creature of habit. “Are they fresh?”

“Made this very morning.”

He rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t stand another minute of her. It was part of his charm. “I’ll take two and a cup of joe. Regular, not decaf .” He scowled deeper. “Don’t you think you should write it down, for heaven’s sake?”

She grinned patiently. “Two cinnamon rolls and a cup of coffee. I think I got it.”

“Good thing you can bake or you people would run this place into the ground. Your father never used to keep his customers waiting. Where’s Louise?” He scanned the area behind the counter for any glimpse.

“Around here somewhere, I hope.” Louise, her elderly employee, was MIA but happened to be the one person Mr. Jeffries seemed to tolerate. Which meant he was hot for her.

Molly prepared his order as she did every morning, and as he headed off to his regular table by the window, she turned to her next customers, a young couple smiling brightly, a toddler at their sides. In fact, one of the most adorable toddlers she’d ever seen. “Morning, guys. Welcome to Flour Child. What can I get for you?”

“Well, you’ve already sold us on the cinnamon rolls, I think,” the man said. “And an orange raspberry muffin too. The lady at the inn said we have to try those.”

Molly nodded knowingly as she rang them up. “That’s Alice. She’s a fan.”

The wife smiled. “She insisted we stop by. Said you had pastries sent by God himself. The best in Illinois.”

“Well, Alice leans toward hyperbole, but they are pretty good. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

“Are you the owner?”

Molly nodded. “I am.”

“It’s such a cute little place. So much character.”

Molly looked around, taking in the bakeshop through new eyes. Checkered tablecloths, lots of framed art, photos from over the years. “Thanks. My father opened the place not long after I was born.” She pointed to Flour Child’s logo on the wall affectionately, zeroing in on the little girl with the halo of flowers in her hair. “And that’s me. My dad’s retired now, but he’s left us all his great recipes, and hopefully, I’ve added a few decent new ones.” She handed them their plates. “Enjoy and come back and see us.”

“We definitely will.” The family picked out one of the five tables in the shop and sat down to enjoy their breakfast. As she wiped down the counters, Molly’s gaze drifted back to the couple and she watched as they fed the toddler, encouraging her to taste the cinnamon roll and laughing when she grinned back at them in lip-smacking approval. She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how she and Cassie would have laughed with their own child, if they’d had one. With so much warmth and adoration. She’d like to think so.

She shook herself out of it.

Cassie’s commuter plane had gone down four years ago.

Actually, four years, two months, and a handful of days, but somehow it didn’t seem that way. It felt like yesterday that Cassie was teasing her or whispering sweetly in her ear each morning.

It was easier now, thinking about Cassie. But it was moments like these that Molly wondered if she’d ever get a chance at a family of her own someday. She wanted that. Kids, someone to share it all with, the whole deal. And other than the debut of her first two gray hairs, the ones she’d hastily plucked from her head that morning, it seemed she was still capable of having them.

She sat on the stool.

Time was marching on, and sometimes she felt like it was marching on without her. Thirty-two years old was still young…kinda. She wandered back into the kitchen and did what she always did when something was on her mind. “What do you think, Cassandra? Is it time for me to get back on the horse?”

Silence. As there always was when she talked to Cassie.

But there were times when she felt Cassie’s presence in her life; she was sure of it. The number eight had a way of showing up a lot, and she suspected strongly that Cassie had something to do with it. It had been her favorite number if for nothing else than the Magic Eight Ball she consulted for all important life decisions.