The Sweetest Ingredient (For the Love of Austen Book 1)

Chapter 1

“Mochi,if I could get a job as easily as you steal socks, we’d be living in a mansion by now.”

My mischievous Shih Tzu, Mochi, aka the sock bandit, darted beneath a chair with her cotton trophy clamped firmly between her teeth.

Sighing, I glanced at the pile of unpaid bills on the kitchen counter. “Mochi, can I have my sock, please? It’s cold in here and I can’t afford to turn on the heater.”

I was behind on the rent, and we were in danger of losing our two-bedroom apartment, a cozy space filled with mismatched furniture and colorful artwork. And as an unemployed graphic designer, if there was a contest for accumulating debt instead of money, I’d be holding the championship trophy.

Sure, we mainly survived on canned soup and PBJ these days, but it could be worse—we could have to eat lapsang souchong tea and stale crackers like the poor Dashwood sisters.

Erm, better not dwell on that now.

“Ruff!” Mochi scampered out from beneath the chair with the sock.

I snatched it from her mouth, lightly scolding her before putting it on.

She hopped on the sofa and curled up beside me. I lifted my tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice and sighed again—I loved this place. It was a hodgepodge of styles, with a vintage loveseat cozied up next to a modern coffee table that held stacks of sketchbooks and art supplies. My own vibrant creations adorned the walls, and the fragrance of apples lingered in the room, emanating from a potpourri-filled bowl on the table.

Just as I was about to read the part where Darcy proposes for the first time, and then scour the job listings again, there was a knock on the door. I set my favorite book aside and shuffled around the couch.

Opening the door, my best friend, Chantel Williams, smiled at me. Even though we were the same height, she was extra curvy, and I envied her dark-brown skin tone that accentuated her hazel eyes, while my skin freckled if I didn’t slather on enough the sunscreen. Chantel had woven her ebony hair into a braid, and wore a pretty bohemian dress.

“Hey, Kenzi.” She stepped into the apartment and shut the door. “I have stupendous news. It’ll help get you out of this funk you’ve been wallowing in.”

“Please tell me you’ve found me a job.” I crossed my arms. “Because if not, I’m going back to sock battles with Mochi.”

I raised an eyebrow and waited. Chantel could be overly dramatic, but her enthusiasm was always infectious.

“It’s even better—the perfect man!” Chantel grinned. “I’ve set you up on a blind date for this afternoon.”

From my sister’s bedroom, the mellow strains of a violin permeated the apartment, a sweet melodic sound.

I flopped onto the sofa. “I need a job—not a boyfriend.”

Chantel plunked down beside me, the hem of her dress flaring out. “Kenzi, you’ve been cooped up in this apartment for weeks, stressing over your lack of career. Trust me, a few hours away from all this”—with one hand, she gestured at my laptop and my battered paperback sitting on the coffee table—”will do you good.”

I examined my chipped nail polish and shrugged. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not interested. And I love my apartment. All my stuff’s here, and there’s nothing like chilling in my sweats and reading while listening to my sister play the violin.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Sometimes altering your routine and meeting new people gives you a fresh perspective on life.”

“Isn’t unemployment bad enough without adding blind dates to the mix?” I stroked Mochi’s fluffy head. “Besides, I’m busy.”

She reclined against the cushions. “Busy spending your Saturday fighting over socks with your dog and reading Jane Austen? Going out, getting dressed up, and socializing can give you the confidence boost that you need right now.”

I gave her a half-hearted smile. “I’m not sure I even remember how to socialize outside the realm of job interviews and artistic solitude.”

“Then think of this as a fun way to flex those social muscles, like a reintroduction to the world.”

All valid points, but dating required leaving my apartment and interacting with real live humans. Just the thought made me want to draw the blinds and go back to reading Jane Austen in the safety of my pajamas. I sighed, curling deeper into the soft cushions, wondering if I could train Mochi to fetch snacks, so I didn’t have to leave the sofa.

She patted my arm. “Did I mention you’re meeting him at that fancy bakery downtown in an hour?”

Nothing like a little sugar to numb the pain of unemployment.

“Tempting, but…” I shook my head. “This guy’s probably as weird as the last one you set me up with. I had to make an excuse to leave by saying my dog overdosed on nachos.”

Chantel raised an eyebrow. “Kenzi, just promise me if this date tanks, you’ll come up with a more believable exit strategy than your dog’s nacho crisis. Though, I must admit, it was creative.”

My dog hopped off the couch and wandered over to the window.

So what if my life had become a monotonous cycle of job applications and rejections? Maybe taking a break would improve my mood, even if it meant braving the outside world again.

Mochi returned with a toy in her mouth and dropped it by my feet. She barked once.

I leaned over to pet my dog’s head. “I suppose I can’t hide in this apartment forever.”

I sighed, already dreading the effort fashion would require. But hey, yoga pants were still real pants, right? I could make those work. And would it really be so bad to casually date? Other than the obligatory small talk and having to feign interest in his hobbies, what was there to lose?

“Okay. Fine.”

“Yes!” Chantel nodded. “And it’s not always about romance. Who knows who this guy might be connected to. He could have ties in the design industry or even know someone looking to hire.”

“You’re right. I’ve been stuck in a rut, and even if the date is a disaster, an afternoon out will lift my spirits.”

“You know I love you, right?” Chantel grinned. “As your best friend, I’m here to cheer you on, help you regroup, and even find you a nice guy to date.”

My sister’s door swung open, and Bree rushed into our cramped living room, a bright smile on her face. “Did I hear the word date?”

I marveled at how much energy was packed into that petite frame of hers. My thirteen-year-old sister bounced around in a bright yellow tee, jeans, and those sparkly pink sneakers she loved so much. We shared the same green eye color, but her freckled nose and straight brunette locks, twisted into a ponytail, were all her own.

“Yep, your sister’s getting out for a few hours,” Chantel said.

Bree narrowed her eyes, studying me as if trying to find any trace of a romantic bone in my body. “That’s a shocker. I thought she was turning into a couch cushion.”

“Ha, ha. Hilarious.”

“You need to change your clothes.” Bree plopped onto the overstuffed armchair.

I scrutinized my yoga pants and graphic tee. “Why? This is sort of stylish.”

“You have a ketchup stain on your boob,” Bree said flatly.

I glanced downward and frowned at a splotch of red on my chest.

“Is that the latest in foodie fashion? It adds character, but maybe too bold for a first impression.” Chantel poked me in the side with her finger. “Now, go get dressed.”

We headed to my bedroom. My best friend took a seat on my bed, a comfy mess of thick blankets and plush velvet pillows, while Bree lounged in the doorway.

Standing in front of my closet, I gazed at my bedroom. The light-green painted walls had funky art pieces I’d picked up from local flea markets. Above my dresser hung a vanity mirror I’d repurposed, and near the bed was a bookshelf filled with my favorite novels, including all of Jane Austen’s works.

Chantel crossed her curvaceous brown legs. “Try looking a little more chic.”

I rummaged through the clothes hanging in my closet. As we chatted about the date with my ‘future husband’—Chantel’s words, not mine—I found a vintage black dress and held it up.

“What about this?”

Chantel gave me an approving nod. “Perfect.”

Bree entered the room and stood beside Chantel, who reclined on my bed.

Peeling off my clothes, I slipped into the short dress that hugged my slender frame. Scrutinizing myself in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door, I admired how the dress made my legs appear longer and my waist smaller. My green eyes were outlined by thick lashes and my chestnut hair curled around my oval face.

I didn’t look half-bad. While I put on makeup in the mirror over the dresser, the reflection caught the earnest gazes of Chantel and Bree behind me.

Chantel leaned forward. “Here’s my best dating tip. Wear a flirty smile, not a forced one.”

Bree moved to my dresser, examining the perfume bottles. “And eye contact is key. You don’t want to come across as a distracted squirrel.”

Nodding, I set aside my mascara. “Solid advice so far.”

Chantel tugged down the hem of her dress. “And flirt, but not too much. Guys appreciate a touch of mystery.”

“And mention your art,” Bree said. “Who wouldn’t be impressed by someone who can create graphic magic?”

I smiled. “So, keep flirting to a minimum, no creepy smiles, channel my inner artist, and don’t squirrel out. Got it.”

Bree snatched up a perfume bottle and sprayed it on me before I could protest. The floral scent swirled in the air as my sister set the bottle on the dresser.

A hard rap on the front door made me flinch. We left the bedroom, crossed the living room, and I opened the door.

Mr. Perkins, our landlord, stood in the hallway with a sour expression. He was a short, balding man, with a few strands of gray hair stubbornly clinging to his head, and wearing an ill-fitting track suit.

“Miss Middleton,” he grumbled, handing me an envelope. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“Of course not, Mr. Perkins. Just heading out for a while.”

“Hopefully to a job. Because your rent is overdue.” He peered over my shoulder at Chantel and Bree as if they were accomplices in some grand conspiracy. “Here’s your eviction notice. You have thirty days to pay up or vacate the premises.”

I clutched at the doorframe with one hand, my knuckles turning white. “Is this because I brought that karaoke machine to the last tenants’ meeting? I promise, no more renditions of Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

My attempt at humor had no effect on the landlord.

“Have a nice day.” Mr. Perkins turned and waddled away.

I closed the door and leaned against it, staring at the eviction notice in my shaking hand, wondering if living in a tent wouldn’t be so bad. At least I wouldn’t have to duet with Gladys in 3B ever again.

“Kenzi, just breathe.” Chantel placed a hand on my shoulder, her voice as soothing as a warm mug of tea. “You’ve been in tight spots before and you always find a way out. You’re the queen of last-minute saves.”

“Chantel’s right,” Bree said. “We’ll get through this, sis.”

While I appreciated their support, it was like being handed a lollipop at the dentist—sweet, but not quite enough to take care of the looming rent-shaped cavity in my finances. My unemployment had stretched on longer than expected, and the thought of going on a date seemed absurd compared to the urgency of my financial predicament.

“I don’t think this is the best time for?—”

“No, you’re going, bestie,” Chantel said firmly. “Maybe this date will be the start of something amazing and you never know who you’ll meet.”

I laid the eviction notice on a stack of old art magazines. “Then I’m off to meet Mr. Darcy, or more likely, Mr. Collins.”

“Good luck!” Chantel said while Bree blew me a dramatic kiss.

As I hurried downstairs, a streak of midnight fur suddenly darted under my feet. Dodging the cat’s swipes, I dashed outside. Was this a bad omen? Crossing paths with a black cat?

So much for luck being on my side. This date was predestined for disaster.