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Authors: Bonnie Blythe

Tags: #france, #chocolate, #entrepreneur, #christian romance, #belgium, #surfer, #candymaking

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BOOK: How Sweet It Is
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Leone rose from the couch and tugged on his
wife’s arm. “Come, dearest. Only see how fatigued our daughter is
from her journey. We shall let her rest.”

Once they’d left the living room, Delphine
collapsed onto the rocker. She clutched her head in despair,
blinking back useless tears. Though her parents had always been
unwise with money, they’d never done anything like this before.
Since she’d started working and had taken control of the finances,
life had stabilized somewhat, and she’d assumed her parents would
no longer be tempted to make rash monetary decisions.

How could I have been so
wrong?
In the last several years, it seemed
as if she and her parents had changed places. She’d become the
parent, and they, the children.

And the money. How would she ever pay back
Mr. Larsen?

Money, money, always
money
. She was sick of her financial
troubles. What had seemed like a good business move going to Europe
was nothing more than an extravagant folly.

How could she blame her parents when she’d
spent so much more on her trip?

Delphine stood, grabbed her luggage, and went
into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. The small
room contained only a twin bed covered by an old-fashioned
crocheted bedspread, a nightstand with a small lamp and clock
radio, and an old wooden rocking chair, one of the last few
remnants of her childhood. The floor was bare wood with a small
oval rug at the bedside.

Delphine pushed back the sheer curtains and
lifted the shade over the window. Sunlight leaked into the room,
highlighting the Spartan quality of the décor. She hoisted her bags
onto the bed and unzipped them. As she began to sort through her
clothes, she struggled to rein in her anger at her parents.

Her dream of opening
a
chocolaterie
had
been her one motivation. Making chocolates here in her parents’
kitchen, with the perpetual smells of cooking and cigarette smoke
in the air, wasn’t an option. She needed a small shop if she wanted
to succeed, and obtaining training by French-Belgian masters had
seemed so important to that success. She’d saved little by little
for
years
for the
opportunity.

Now it all seemed fruitless.

Delphine had only one hope left. Earlier in
the month, she’d applied for special financing through the Small
Business Administration to lease a shop and buy equipment. Surely,
she’d get that loan. Once she started selling chocolates, she could
begin earning the money to settle her debts. Her current job at a
local bakery barely covered monthly expenses.

The small business
loan
had
to come
through. If she was denied it, she’d be denied a future—which would
make her just another gambler.

No better than Maman and
Papa
.

 

****

 

By the end of the following week, Delphine’s
mood had not improved. She stepped off the city bus and walked the
remaining block to the bakery, already tired before she started her
day. Getting back into the routine of work was harder than she’d
imagined.

Although her trip to Europe had been
technically work, she couldn’t deny it had been a whole lot more
enjoyable travailing over exotic chocolate confections than getting
up at four in the morning to work in a little run-down bakery in a
rough part of town.

She entered by the back door of the building.
After storing her purse, she slipped on the well-worn apron. Again,
she found herself depressed by the exposed heating ducts, wiring,
plumbing, and the sight of rust and chipped paint. Old warehouse
light fixtures hung down from the ceiling, their bulbs surrounded
by cloudy coronas from the perpetual flour dust in the air.

While cleanliness and order was at all times
enforced, the place looked so dismal, she could only wonder if the
gloomy interior manifested itself in the baked goods. She
considered the quality only so-so.

Even the lobby was devoid of all charm, the
décor tending toward stark utilitarianism. Delphine often thought
even a small attempt at homey decorations would encourage customers
to linger and possibly purchase more products. As it was, the
majority of the customers simply popped in to make their daily
purchase, leaving the small Formica-topped tables for the most part
empty.

Delphine began her chore of removing the day
old bread and baked goods—to be donated to a local homeless
mission—then restocked the shelves with fresh product. All the
racks and fixtures were metal or white wood, anemically illuminated
by the same kind of lighting that was in the production area.

Trying not to sigh aloud, she set her mind to
the task at hand. If an image of Brad Larsen managed to infiltrate
her consciousness, she worked that much harder to banish it.

 

Four

 

 

Brad felt like a caged
tiger. It had been a week since he’d returned home from Europe, and
he hadn’t been able to get the pretty French girl out of his
mind.
Despite
the
fact his mother had grilled him relentlessly on everything he knew
about Delphine, he still wanted to see her. He paced in the den of
his family’s home wondering what he should do next.

He had to be careful to figure out a way to
see her without his mother’s knowledge—because if she knew he
planned to seek Delphine out, she’d undoubtedly start planning a
wedding.

Finally, his parents decided to go visit some
friends. Brad marshaled his courage and decided to drive to
Delphine’s home and see if he could speak to her. He jumped in his
red VW Jetta and headed for Glendale. Forty-five minutes later, he
turned down her street and soon came to a stop in front of her
apartment. Feeling oddly nervous, Brad paused for a moment.

Glancing at his reflection in the rearview
mirror, he combed his fingers through his hair. Then he peered down
at what he wore. He hadn’t even thought to check before he left the
house. Hopefully faded jeans and a cotton hooded pullover would
suffice. He noticed a brown spot on the front of the pullover and
grimaced. It was evidence of his chocolate binge earlier that
morning.

Brad gave a snort of disgust
at his preening.
I’m just going to see a
girl, that’s all. Nothing to get all worked up
about
. He hit his forehead on the door of
the car when he got out. Rubbing the sore spot, he made his way to
Delphine’s apartment.

After rapping on her door, he looked around
at the surroundings. He hated to be judgmental, but he didn’t like
the idea of her living in such a neighborhood. The door swung open
and a small woman with large brown eyes peered up at him.


Qui
êtes vous?

Must be Delphine’s
mom
. He opened his mouth to speak, but
suddenly heard a voluble stream of French coming from inside the
apartment. He recognized Delphine’s voice—and she was apparently
upset about something.
Temper,
temper.

Remembering he’d had a taste of that temper,
he stifled his amusement and summoned his most charming smile. “I’m
Brad Larsen, here to see Delphine D’Arleux.”

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and a
smile curved her lips. Without taking her gaze from him, she called
for her daughter.

A moment later, Delphine appeared at the
door. Her dark eyes widened when she saw him.

Brad caught his breath. She looked even
lovelier than he remembered, especially with flushed cheeks and her
hair piled carelessly on top of her head. Several strands framed
the sides of her face.

He smiled. “Miss D’Arleux,
we meet again.” Brad released an unsteady breath.
Nice remark, Larsen. Real suave. You hardly bumped
into her by accident while standing on her doorstep!

His frozen smile faltered when Delphine
continued to stare at him as if he’d grown a second head.

Her mother stood aside and
opened the door wider. “
Monsieur
Larsen,” she said in heavily accented English.
“Pleeze come in.”

Avoiding Delphine’s gaze, Brad stepped into
the apartment and looked around. The small living room boasted a
loveseat and upholstered rocking chair, both draped in brocade,
shiny with wear. The other pieces of furniture, though rough around
the edges, looked like antiques. Beaded floor lamps sent out prisms
of color into the rather dim room. A faint smell of garlic and musk
hung in the air.

Rather
Bohemian
.

Beyond the living room he
could see the kitchen counter and backsplash of multi-colored
tiles. A braid of garlic hung on one wall above stacked copper pots
and pans on the counter.
Delphine’s
candy-making cookware, no doubt
. Feeling
her gaze upon him, Brad turned around and smiled at her.

“This is a great place.”

“If you’re here to collect the airfare I
owe, I—”

He put up his hands. “No way. I’d totally
forgotten about that.”

Delphine crossed her arms over her chest and
raised a brow. “So, what brings you to this part of town then?” she
asked, her tone flat.

“Why, to see you, of course.” He turned to
the smaller woman. “You must be Mrs. D’Arleux.” Brad took her hand
and kissed the back of it.

Delphine’s mother batted her eyelashes. “You
may call me Clarice.”

“Only if you call me Brad.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Delphine
roll her gaze to the ceiling. A moment later, a man emerged from
the kitchen. Spotting Brad, he stopped. Brad went to him and held
out his hand.


Mon
chèr
,” Clarice said, “This iz
Delphine’s
ami
Brad
Larsen. Monsieur Larsen, this iz my Leone.”

Leone shook his hand.

Bienvenue
, er,
welcome! Come and sit and tell us all about yourself.”

“Didn’t Delphine mention me?” Brad asked,
lowering himself onto the loveseat.

Clarice suddenly clapped her
hands together. “
Tiens!
You must stay for dinner! You can tell us all about yourself
then. Delphine, you must entertain our guest. Leone! Come help me
finish preparations in the kitchen!”

Suddenly he and Delphine were alone in the
living room. Brad looked up at her. She stood shifting her weight
from foot to foot.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked in a
low voice.

For the first time, he noticed a sheet of
paper in her hand. As if aware of his interested gaze, she folded
the paper and tucked it into a front pocket on her apron. She
removed the apron and draped it over the back of the rocking chair
before perching herself on the edge of the cushion.

“Delphine?”

“I just didn’t expect to see you again—so
soon,” she said, her hand reaching up to smooth back a wayward lock
of hair.

“Would you like me to leave?”

She offered him a stiff smile. “Of course
not. But if you will excuse me, I would like to change.”

Before he could respond, she
hurried from the room. Frankly, he hadn’t noticed what she’d been
wearing. His gaze slid to the apron on the chair. However he
had
noticed that piece of
paper, a letter by the look of it. And moments before he’d arrived,
she’d been upset about something—maybe something in that
letter.

Brad’s conscience gave him a
powerful jolt, but he knew Delphine would never tell him anything.
He looked around the loveseat past the dividing wall, noting her
parents were busy in the kitchen.
What to
do, what to do?
It would be so shameful to
snoop, but what if it was a problem he could solve? Maybe it would
make Delphine more open to his friendship.

The little clock on the wall ticked loudly.
Any moment she would appear. If he was going to find out what was
in that letter, he had to be quick. Stifling the knowledge he was
behaving disgracefully, he rose and took a couple of steps to the
chair. With his back to the kitchen and a glance toward the
bedrooms, he slipped the paper from the pocket of the apron and
unfolded it.

Brad raised his brows at the
letterhead.
The
Small Business Association?
Scanning
the letter, he let out a low groan. It referred to a loan Delphine
had applied for, obviously to start her candy making business. The
word
DENIED
jumped
off the page.

“What are you doing?”

Brad jumped at the sound of Delphine’s voice.
He turned around to face her, knowing he looked every inch a guilty
schoolboy. He hid the letter behind his back, his mind racing to
explain his actions.

Delphine’s dark eyes burned like coals. She
marched around him and twitched the letter from his fingers. “You
had no right!”

Brad puffed up his cheeks, hoping for
inspiration to excuse his grubby behavior. He noticed Delphine had
changed into a rose-colored dress. He blew out a breath, deciding
to try diversion. “You look very pretty.”

She crumpled the letter into a ball and threw
it at him. It missed, which only seemed to infuriate her more.
Delphine crossed her arms and opened her mouth, obviously preparing
to unleash a scalding lecture upon him.

Brad crossed to her side and put his hands on
her arms. He tipped his lips into a smile, desperately hoping to
diffuse the situation. “Poor Delphine. Nothing’s working out for
you, is it?”

BOOK: How Sweet It Is
6.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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