Rochelle Alers - Second-Chance Sweet Shop

Dwight increased his hold on her hand, his thumb caressing the back and adding warmth not only to her fingers but adding a rush of warmth through her whole body. Though undeniably innocent, the motion elicited shivers of sensual awareness coursing through her. Sasha could not believe she was reveling in the feel of a man holding her hand.

“May I please have my hand back?” A teasing smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

Dwight dropped it as if it was a venomous snake. “Sorry about that.”

I’m not , Sasha thought. She wasn’t sorry because it had been much too long since she’d found herself affected by a man’s touch. Now that she looked back on her relationship with her ex-husband, Sasha knew she had been in denial when she refused to see what had been so apparent from her first date with Grant. He was a narcissist. It had to be all about him.

Despite what she’d felt when Dwight held her hand, Sasha knew there was no way she could allow herself to be swayed by romantic fantasies. Her sole focus was making certain she remained in business. She had invested too much time and money in the bakeshop to have it fail. Dwight stared at her, and suddenly she felt like a specimen on a slide under a microscope.

Without warning, a wave of exhaustion washed over her as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “It has been a long day, and as soon as I let you out, I’m going to head home. I’d planned to put up a batch of dough for bread, but that’s something I’ll do when I come in early tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait and walk you out.”

Sasha shook her head. “Thank you for offering, but I believe I can find my way to the parking lot rather easily.”

“I’ll still wait and walk you to your car.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

There was something in Dwight’s voice that indicated no matter what she said she wouldn’t be able to dissuade him. She showed him where he could put down his contact information before returning to the kitchen to turn off lights and retrieve her tote from the lower drawer in the file cabinet. Dwight met her as she armed the security system, opened and locked the rear door behind them.

Sasha pointed to the van parked several spaces down from the bakeshop. The parking lot was brightly lit with newly installed high-intensity streetlamps. A rash of burglaries and break-ins had prompted shopkeepers to get the town council to approve improved lighting to protect their businesses.

“The white van is mine.”

Dwight walked her to her vehicle and waited for her to unlock the doors. “Do you want to give me a hint about tomorrow’s special?”

“Red velvet cheesecake brownies. I’ll put aside a few and give them to Kiera when she comes in. One of the perks will be she will get samples of the day’s special.” Dwight’s dimples reminded Sasha of the indentations in thumbprint cookies when he smiled.

“That sounds like a plan.”

Sasha got in behind the wheel and started up the van. “Get home safe,” she said before closing the door. Dwight hadn’t moved as she put the vehicle in Reverse and drove out of the lot. Talking to him had offered Sasha a modicum of confidence that she could have a successful business offering the residents of Wickham Falls fresh baked goods.

Ten minutes later, she maneuvered into the driveway of the three-bedroom house where she’d grown up, and where her mother still lived. It wasn’t until she’d returned to The Falls and moved back in the house that she’d realized how small it was. Eleven hundred square feet was a far cry from the six-thousand-square-foot home she’d shared with her husband in Nashville’s tony West End neighborhood. Sitting on three acres of prime real estate, the house was so large the builder had installed intercoms for her to communicate with Grant whenever they were in opposite wings of the mansion.

Sasha had given all of it up—the guitar-shaped in-ground pool, the horses she’d loved to ride, and rubbing shoulders with Nashville’s country royalty—in order to control her destiny. The first night she crawled into the bed in her childhood bedroom, she slept for twelve uninterrupted hours and woke feeling as if she had been reborn. It took two months for her to put together a business plan to start over in a town she’d fled fourteen years before. Not only had she changed; the family dynamics had also changed. Her father was gone, and her brothers were lifers in the military, which left just her and her mother.

She parked the van beside Charlotte’s brand-new Corolla. Sasha had purchased the vehicle as a birthday gift a week after returning to The Falls, because her mother’s car had spent more time in the garage than it had on the road. She ignored Charlotte’s complaint that she didn’t need a new car, now that she was retired, and that a used one would suffice. Sasha had had to remind the older woman that she was entitled to own a vehicle that hadn’t belonged to someone else first.

She got out, unlocked the front door, walked into the house and was met with mouthwatering aromas wafting to her nose. “Mama, I’m home,” Sasha called out as she dropped her tote on a bench seat and left her shoes on the mat inside the door.

Charlotte came out of the kitchen wearing her ubiquitous bibbed apron. Sasha could not remember a time when her mother did not wear an apron when cooking. “I thought you were coming home much later.”

Sasha ran her hand through the curls falling over her forehead. “I changed my mind.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

She registered the concern in Charlotte’s voice. “I’m just a little tired.” The apprehension coupled with euphoria she’d felt earlier that morning had dissipated like air leaking out of a balloon. “I’m going to eat with you, then take a long soak in the tub before going to bed.”

“Did you talk to Dr. Adams?” Charlotte asked.

Sasha smiled. “Yes. He gave me the papers I need to put Kiera on the payroll. I asked him about him setting up his dental practice, and he gave me some good advice. He also promised to become a steady customer if I bake some of his favorite breads.”

Charlotte wrapped an arm around Sasha’s waist. “Come. We’ll talk in the kitchen. I still have to whip up the mashed potatoes.”

Sasha sniffed the air. “You made meat loaf.” Her mother nodded. Charlotte knew meat loaf with mashed potatoes was her favorite comfort food. There had been a time when as a wife and mother Charlotte made it a practice to make her husband and children’s favorite dishes once a week. For Sasha it was meat loaf. Fried chicken for her brother Philip, grilled pork chops for Stephen and beef stew for her father.

“Yes. And it’s time I take it out of the oven.” Reaching for an oven mitt, Charlotte opened the eye-level oven and set the hot pan on a trivet.

“I’m going to wash my hands, and then I’ll finish the potatoes,” Sasha volunteered.

“Are you sure?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes. Sit down and put your feet up.”

She did not want to remind her mother that she had been up before dawn and needed at least eight to ten hours of sleep to keep up her stamina. But Sasha hoped things would change with her new hire. Now Charlotte would be able to leave the shop midday and return home to rest before starting dinner.

“I’m not an invalid,” Charlotte argued softly, as she opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl of Greek salad and a cruet with dressing.

“I know that, Mama. But remember what the doctor said about overtiring yourself. You have a follow-up medical checkup next month and I know you’re looking forward to good news.”

“I am. But I feel more like a toddler than a grandmother having to take naps in the afternoon.”

Married at eighteen, Charlotte had delivered Philip at nineteen, and he, following in his mother’s footsteps, married within days of graduating high school. He made Charlotte a grandmother before her fortieth birthday.