Chapter 9 #2
They both laughed before settling into silence, watching Mr. Mercer make notes on his paper pad as he ate each one of Declan’s samples.
For many long minutes, the man hovered over Declan’s box of fudge, as if he were consuming a five-course meal.
Taking polite bites, slowly chewing, making notes on his pad of paper.
Pondering—clearly even relishing—the fudge flavors.
“He takes his job very seriously,” Lily said, her toe tapping against the tile floor. “What, does he fancy himself a food critic or something?”
“Maybe. Or could be he’s just enjoying the benefits of his job. Free travel, free stay on a beautiful island, free fudge. And who doesn’t love fudge?”
Finally, Mr. Mercer took a drink of coffee and opened the second box.
“I hope he starts with the bergamot. That’s my personal favorite.” She’d put her whole heart and soul into this batch. It was special. And Mr. Mercer was about to find out.
The man withdrew a sample and lifted it to his nose, as he had every other sample. His brow lifted and he turned it, likewise, studying the texture, as he’d done with Declan’s.
From here, it appeared to be the green fudge. “Oh no.”
“What?”
She touched the glass. “That’s the dill pickle fudge. It’s a really yummy blend, but it does take a certain adventurous spirit to enjoy it. Oh, maybe I should have told him to start with the caramel one. But I wanted to stand out.”
“That’ll stand out, all right.”
She elbowed him, and he grunted out a laugh. “Come on, Lil. If he doesn’t like that one, he’ll love the rest, and he can chalk it up to individual taste. We’ll make sure of that.”
We.
Like they were on the same team instead of…
Oh, her heart. So many what if s. Things she couldn’t think about right now.
After considering the fudge for longer than Lily liked, Mr. Mercer finally took a bite.
Made a face. Took a long draw of coffee.
Made a note on his notepad, shaking his head, and then reached for what looked like the bergamot.
To anyone else, it looked like plain fudge, but Lily knew Mr. Mercer’s world was about to change.
She grabbed onto Declan’s sleeve and hopped on her toes. “Here goes…”
His chuckle went straight to her heart, but instead of looking up—and inevitably getting lost in his crystal blue eyes—she kept her gaze trained on Mr. Mercer, who bit into the fudge.
And stilled.
“Why is he not chewing?” Lily whispered.
“I’m sure he’s just letting it melt in his mouth.”
Mr. Mercer lifted a napkin to his lips, covering his mouth. Lily watched in horror as the man politely and ever-so-discreetly spat the fudge into the napkin and deftly wrapped it into a wad before grabbing his coffee.
“Good grief, does he have to chug it?” Lily’s hand dropped, making a fist at her side.
“What?”
“His coffee.” Lily pressed a hand to her forehead. “This is awful.”
“What?”
Lily covered her face, leaving room between her fingers to watch the horror unfolding before them. “He just spit it out.”
“He did not.”
Except, even Declan couldn’t deny what was so very clearly visible to Lily.
Mr. Mercer stood, then looked around before dropping the wadded-up napkin along with Declan’s empty box into the nearby trash can.
Replacing the lid on Lily’s box, he straightened the collar of his shirt and walked toward the front door, but not before taking another long drink of coffee.
Lily scurried away from the window and toward the counter. Declan smoothly did the same, much less panic in his movement. His hand found hers, wrapping her with the kind of comfort she wanted to wholly cling to, despite every good sense that she shouldn’t.
The door opened behind them, and they turned to face Mr. Mercer as he walked in. “Thank you for letting me taste that very…interesting combination of flavors, both of you.”
Lily pasted a smile on. “Of course. So happy you enjoyed them.”
Mr. Mercer set Lily’s box on the counter. “Would you mind if I used your restroom before we proceed with the interview?”
“Of course not.” Declan flashed Lily a look of sympathy. “It’s just down the hall. I’ll show you the way.”
When they were gone, Lily turned and opened the box.
There sat the half-eaten slices as well as the two undisturbed pieces of fudge—he hadn’t even bothered to try the caramel or lavender, probably because he’d hated the first two so much.
She understood he might not be a fan of the pickle, but the bergamot? Come on !
Maybe, well, it was possible something had gone wrong with the batch. She rarely tried her creations once she got the recipe down. She never needed to. But perhaps her ego had been her downfall.
Snagging a fork from the dispenser on the counter, she sank the tines into the opposite end of the bergamot fudge and shoved it into her mouth.
A terribly bitter, overly salted taste filled her mouth, and she raced to the trash can to spit out what had once been her pride and joy. Her signature creation.
Lily turned and stared at the open box. How…?
But there was only one answer that made sense. Only one explanation.
Once again, she’d allowed herself to get so distracted—this time by Declan Kelley—that she’d somehow ruined this batch of fudge.
And, in the process, probably her reputation too.
* * *
If anything could make this day better, it was Mom’s famous chili fries.
Declan flipped the fudge shop sign to Closed, gave one fleeting look at Lily—who had been polite but distant for the last three days, ever since Kent Mercer’s visit—and locked up behind him.
It couldn’t have been that bad. But even he’d wanted to cringe when Kent Mercer left with another box of his fudge, and a tight smile and handshake for Lily.
Something had gone terribly wrong, and Lily knew it. Hence why she’d barricaded herself in the kitchen, whipping up another batch of signature fudge.
She might want to spend all of her Saturday evening obsessing over ways to win this competition, but Declan needed air.
Needed to figure out what to do next. As in, what to do if he won. Because, if Mercer’s article was any indication…
He should start looking for a manager.
He waited on the porch while a few evening cyclists toured downtown, then stepped into the road and crossed to Martha’s on Main, which was hopping if the line out the door and wrapped all the way down past the public library was any indication.
A breeze kicked up off Lake Huron, and clouds gathered in the distance. Perhaps another storm on its way.
But Declan could only handle so many, and the one inside him raged on.
He nodded at the people waiting, many of them perusing menus, and pushed his way inside, where the smells made his stomach grumble.
He’d eaten nothing but a couple fudge samples today, thanks to a stream of customers. More than a few held the article and wanted to take home the double-milk chocolate rocky road that Mercer had raved about.
Thankfully he’d called ahead and had Mom prep a to-go container. Nothing sounded better than plopping down in front of his parents’ TV and catching tonight’s Tigers game.
Martha’s was always a bastion of busyness, especially on Saturday evenings, and tonight was no exception.
The booths along the right wall and all the tables scattered throughout the cozy diner were filled to capacity.
The upbeat rhythm of rock oldies, Mom’s favorite, mingled with laughter and the low hum of conversation.
A table of older gentlemen pointed at him.
“Declan!” Seventy-something Lyle Graves waved a copy of the Detroit paper in the air. “Wanna sign my copy? Great job, boy.” Beside him, Dad flashed Declan a thumbs up.
Whoa. He hadn’t seen his parents since the article had released this morning, but apparently it had earned him some respect among his family.
“Maybe later, Lyle,” Declan called back across the room.
Next Declan passed Mia and Cody and her two kids, and another few tables of locals, each one with one of those stupid newspapers sitting beside their plates of meatloaf and bowls of potato soup.
He wasn’t surprised. Dani had pre-ordered five hundred copies so she could hand them out all over town and at the Tourism Bureau.
Of course, upon reading Mr. Mercer’s assessment of Lily’s fudge, she’d been just as dismayed as Declan—and Lily, who’d rushed to the bathroom with “something in her eye” and had returned with red, puffy eyes—but since the paper also had great things to say about the rest of the revitalization efforts, Dani had felt bound to distribute them.
He squeezed past his old Sunday school teacher, Vera Graves—Lyle’s wife—who was carrying a large platter of food toward the back corner booth. “Hi, there, honey. Good to have you home. You make us proud.”
And he couldn’t deny the words found a crack in his heart, filling it up with warmth. “Thanks, Mrs. Graves.”
The kitchen door beside the booth swung open, and Isaac walked out with his busboy bucket. His little brother wore his work uniform of dark jeans and white button-down shirt. He started to bus an abandoned table.
Declan just wanted to get in, get out, and get home so he could relax and think.
About ways to capitalize on the good business about to flood his way.
Ways to make his processes more efficient so he didn’t spend so many hours at the fudge shop—the long hours and days were starting to wear on him, and would on any employee he left in charge.
And then there was Lily. He needed to think about her. About their situation. Did they even have a situation?
There was no better way to think than greasy food and baseball.
He finally approached the wooden bar, where a blonde woman sat on a stool chatting with a brunette waitress cleaning glasses behind the bar.
Jordi Chamberlain, the pastor’s middle child, flashed him her winning beauty-pageant smile that was more friendly than flirtatious.
“Well, Declan Kelley. Hi, there. Look, Holland, it’s our local celebrity. ”