The Deal Maker (Coastal Kisses)

1. Maggie

ONE

MAGGIE

Running a candy shop has to be the greatest thing to happen in my life. Owning it with my favorite cousin is even better.

“Did we order some more of the chocolate chip ice cream?” I ask Hope as she walks in, tying an apron around her waist.

She nods and says, “That got here on yesterday’s truck. I also ordered bubblegum and chocolate. I can’t believe we’ve gone through that much of it in the last two weeks.”

“It helps that there’s been a heat wave.”

“At least there’s been some variety to let you test out your ice cream theory.”

I roll my eyes at her before I begin a circuit around the store, checking the bins of bulk candy to see what needs to be refilled.

My ice cream theory is something I came up with as a bored teenager working in an ice cream shop. It rates people’s personalities with the kind of ice cream they choose. Hope is the only person I’ve ever told, and ever since we started The Candy Jar, she likes to bring it up at least once a week.

This business started as a fun game from our childhood, dreaming of recreating the house from Hansel and Gretel, sans the crazy witch. Hope and I practically grew up together in the summers when my parents sent me down to Willow Cove for a couple of weeks.

Did I think we’d be here fifteen years later? Nope. I’d been on the fast track to becoming my father’s protégé up in Virginia. I’d even been engaged to a guy who worked in my father’s accounting firm a year ago. It was too bad invisible red flags covered him. Well, they were only invisible to me.

When I showed up the morning of my wedding to find out that my fiancé scammed me and then ran off with the company receptionist, something in me kind of broke. Okay, everything broke. Time is a healer, but it seems like I got the turtle-slow version.

I write apple balls and chocolate-covered almonds in my notebook. I never would’ve guessed that some candies we sell would be gone so quickly. I’ll take the almonds by the cupful but nearly gag from the smell of the apple balls.

Thirty minutes until we open. That will be enough time to get everything ready. I hate it when things aren’t ready for the customers. We took out a business loan to start this place and I’m the one in charge of the books. Every sale is one step closer to less debt and more profit.

Hope is setting up the register for the day, and I walk into the back room in search of the refill bags.

There’s one bag with a pink foil covering that stops me in my tracks for a few seconds. The only thing that had actually arrived for my wedding had been the personalized chocolates I’d ordered from my favorite store. They had our names and the date printed on them and were to be a parting gift for people who came to support us during our nuptials.

I didn’t expect to be stopped by the sight of them this morning, but all the memories rush back.

A dam holding back tears that took weeks to dry up. My heart from knowing all I’d envisioned for my future wouldn’t happen. My sanity as I quit my father’s firm and high-tailed it down to Willow Cove, South Carolina.

It’s my haven, the perfect little beach town to lick my wounds. Hope and Aunt Daphne had been instrumental in keeping me away from the not-showering-for-days stage.

That all happened around eight months ago, and in my grief-stricken state, I swore off anything to do with weddings and dating. Sure, there have been a few romance novels that start out with a woman who’s sworn off love and then totally changes by the end of that, but I’m stubborn. Don’t add me to those statistics.

I’m now in a better place mentally, though.

Hope and I have our own little townhome we rent and, for the first time in my life, I’m in complete control of what happens to me. Some might appreciate the helicopter parents I had growing up, swooping in to fix every little thing. But there’s a freedom to knowing that it’s all on me.

Am I still terrified? Absolutely. What twenty-six-year-old woman living on her own merits wouldn’t be?

But after running all the reports and doing a ton of research, Hope and I knew that this would be a great business to start. My parents still aren’t thrilled that I “haven’t grown up,” but I can’t live in their shadow forever.

The Candy Jar opened nearly five months ago. That’s what happens when Aunt Daphne is a real estate agent and can get the ball rolling quickly. We’re in an outdoor mall along the coast, and I'm pretty sure this is heaven. Chocolate, sugar, and everything that goes with it. No one leaves the store with a scowl, and that's how I like it.

"Maggie Dean, did you refill the sour watermelons?" Hope asks me, when I walk back into the main area. She tends to call me by my first and last name, which most people think is my first and middle name. She always claims that it just rolls off the tongue better.

I nod, "Yep. I filled those last night. And the licorice and the gummy sharks. I'm surprised at how fast we've gone through those. Now I’ve got just a couple to refill and we’ll be ready to open."

Hope nods and smiles. “We’re off to a great start. How are the books?"

We’re conscious of the loan we took out, just like any up-and-coming business. But with how much traffic we get daily, I think we’ll be okay. Was I an accounting minor in college? Yep. And do I calculate the numbers nearly every day? Absolutely.

It goes a long way for my anxiety to settle when I do that.

"We'll be fine. Besides, if we need help, I'm sure your boyfriend would be happy to pitch in." I give Hope a knowing look.

It's a running joke between me and Hope that her boyfriend, Jason, will do anything for her. They met on a blind date a year ago. To be honest, I'm surprised they haven't moved onto the next step of life yet, you know, the move in together or get married.

I hope she’s not sticking around for my sake. Hope deserves to be happy.

Lately I can feel myself changing. I’m not so closed off to the idea of dating or relationships and my oath to be single for the rest of my days doesn’t have the same punch to it that it once did. Maybe it’s having to see the PDA from Hope and Jason that makes me wish I had that again. But will I be able to tell if he’s a total scumbag when I start to like a guy?

My track record at finding someone who’s halfway decent and won’t cheat on me with the nearest available gal kind of sinks that whole feeling. Is there somewhere I need to go to get my man radar fixed?

I unlock the front door and wave to two small children waiting there with a woman who’s on her phone. She lets them loose and they just start opening bins and taking out pieces of candy, stuffing them into their mouths like this is the first meal they’ve had in days. Hope is busy getting things ready by the ice cream station, so it looks like it's up to me to intervene.

I grab two bags and walk over, smiling widely. "Hey guys, what are your favorite types of candy?”

The little girl smiles at me with a mouthful of gummy something.

“Bears,” she says, opening her hand to reveal a few pieces of candy. Some of the colors have rubbed off onto her skin.

"Let me help you," I say, handing each of them a bag. If their hands are full, they shouldn't be able to grab at the candy. The woman is tapping furiously on her phone, and while I want to call her out for not helping the kids, I'm also trying to think of the reputation of our business. We don’t want one-star reviews posted everywhere.

But is she playing a game? I see the screen as I walk by and am surprised by the colored candies on the screen. Candy Crush? I can understand getting a little attached to the game, since I was once upon a time. But rein it in while in public.

Play the real life game while in our store. Maybe we should’ve called the store Candy Crush. I didn’t want to deal with the legal part of it though.

I follow the kids around, asking what they want in the bags. I show them how to use the scooper or the tongs to put a bit in at a time. By the time they’re done, the bags are bulging, probably close to the two-pounder mark. Each. It's going to cost a pretty penny for them.

Okay, we’re not that expensive. Candy was a luxury growing up and my six-year-old self would’ve loved to pick out this much at one time.

"If you'll just follow me, we'll ring you up for the candy," I say loud enough that I hope the woman will hear. She doesn't budge.

I look down at the children and say, "Will you let your mom know we can check out now?"

The little boy shakes his head. "That's not our mom. It's our aunt."

"Aunt Lina," the girl says, "We need to pay."

The woman finally glances up from her phone and stares at us, like she was in a trance and has to remember why she’s here.

Holding up the bags, I say, “The kids are ready to pay.”

She nods and says, “Oh, wow. Your mom is going to kill me for letting you get that much sugar.”

“But that’s why you’re the best aunt ever. You spoil us with all the good things.” The boy grins, showing off a sizable gap where his front tooth should’ve been.

I walk over and put the bags on the scale, ringing up the total. Lina pulls out a credit card, handing it over even before I've totaled the purchase.

It's weird that my gut reaction is to worry about people paying, but I forget there are people in the world who don't teach a lesson with each interaction. My parents are the king and queen of life teaching, and this much candy would never happen at my house growing up. Or houses. The disadvantage of being a child of divorce.

While I love them, I think selling candy is a mild rebellion of what they wanted for me. Okay, more like the spicy on the hot sauce scale. As women, we had to “keep the waistline slim” was what my mother always said. She lived along the lines of being an almond mom, where just a small handful of something would satisfy her hunger.

Maturing is realizing that life can be enjoyed through balance and not having to deprive myself of things. I should get a certificate for learning that one. Maybe an adult badge? That would be something to sell in the store. Stickers would work too.

Lina and the two children leave and I watch them go, surprised to see a group of people right outside our store.

"What's going on?" Taking a few steps around the counter, I try to figure out why there are so many people staring at the shop.

"What do you mean?" Hope asks, turning to look out the window. "Wow, that's a lot of people."

I don't recognize anyone, but I'm not even sure they'll be coming into the store. That would be amazing if they did. If everyone ordered a single scoop of ice cream on this humid summer morning, we'd hit our sales goal super early.

Am I a number nerd? I’ll claim that title. Numbers are fairly predictable, unlike the rest of my life.

Then again, the people outside have their attention focused on something to the side of the store. Has Prince Harry, the llama, escaped again? That crazy animal stomped on our outdoor sign a week ago. His owner, King, was embarrassed and replaced the sign without us saying anything about it.

Just another reason why I love Willow Cove. People do things because it’s the right thing and not because they’re going to get sued. Not that life up north is a whole lot different, but I’ve heard of some ridiculous reasons people would sue each other. Usually because they’re owed money.

Then again, Duke Jacobson, the annoying guy from next door, has been giving us grief about where the sign is placed, saying that it’s technically in his area and we need to move it. Where it’s placed helps people to see it, since there are a couple of pillars that would block it if it was back too far.

One woman walks over and opens the door to our shop, holding an envelope. "Is Hope Stevens here?"

Hope looks confused. “That's me."

"I've got something for you." The woman hands Hope the envelope and smiles before heading back outside.

I hurry over to Hope, curious about what could be in there.

She undoes the back flap and pulls out a small card. The script is beautiful and flowy, and it takes a moment for my brain to recognize what's on there.

It’s all for you. Come outside.

“What does that mean?” This could go one of two ways. I’ve been into mystery shows lately, so I can picture a stalker saying something like that. But Hope doesn’t have a stalker and the card is written in such a way that it looks more romantic. No blood-red, jagged font, so that’s a plus.

Maybe Jason is surprising Hope with a vacation? But the lack of clues here is killing me.

It’s possible it’s not from Jason. What if Hope has an admirer in town? Maybe Denny at the fishing dock? He’s always got a lopsided grin and a starry-eyed expression when he sees my cousin around town.

"The group is still outside. I think they’re here for you," I say, trying to puzzle through the note. Maybe it’s some birthday surprise a week late?

Hope shrugs and walks around the ice cream counter, untying her apron. I reach out and take it from her and then stand near the door, unable to curb the curiosity flowing through me.

She steps outside, holding the door for me, when music begins and the group dances. Grinning, the Bruno Mars song, Marry Me, plays through a large speaker as they all dance.

I scan the crowd, looking for anyone I know, until I spot Jason in the back, dancing his little heart out.

This is a proposal. For Hope.

My heart is ready to burst with excitement for my cousin, while trying to ward off the sadness that hits me at the thought of how I could’ve been married already. It’s almost been two years since my ex proposed to me, and close to a year since my planned wedding day. Memories of those times are now bittersweet.

The dancing continues, and the group parts as Jason walks over to Hope. I glance quickly at my beautiful cousin, who has tears in her eyes. These two are the perfect yin and yang.

Jason stands behind Hope, putting his hand over her eyes for a moment as several of the dancers stand in a line with umbrellas in their hands. They open then and turn around, black letters on white umbrellas that spell out Marry Me.

Did I just sigh at this? Who wouldn’t?

How long has Jason been planning this? I’m actually surprised that he didn’t let me in on the secret, or ask about helping him pick out rings, since Hope and I are so close. Maybe he was worried I would spill the beans, which he’d be right.

While Hope is focused on the lineup of dancers, Jason kneels on one knee behind her and pulls out a ring. I don’t hear what he says, but I watch Hope’s face once she turns around.

She puts her hands over her face and nods, her eyes filling with tears. Jason puts the ring on her finger and they seal it with a kiss. I feel like I’m watching the whole thing from a theater far away.

And then the bubble pops and I can hear the roar of the crowd as they cheer on the newly engaged couple.

Zander proposed to me at a nice restaurant. It was okay, but I guess the proposal was lacking. At the time, I was so excited to get engaged that I didn’t really notice the signs. Looking back, he just kind of pushed the ring over to me and said I would make a great Mrs. Martin. I cringe just thinking about it.

I wait long enough to give my cousin a hug before disappearing into the shop just as a bunch of our relatives surround us. The Stevens mob. That’s the great thing about my mom’s side of the family. They’re usually there for every event possible. But I’m going to have to get mad at Aunt Daphne for not warning me about this. Just a heads up to solidify my emotions are locked in a deep, dark vault within me.

My favorite cousin is getting married. I called it this morning. Well, I didn’t think the proposal would happen today, but I figured it was about time for the two of them to get hitched.

I walk back into the shop, mourning the death of the life I’d settled into with my cousin. Everything was going to change from here. I finish filling the few nearly empty bins, making sure everything is in order. It’s the only way I won’t break.