Better Than Chocolate. Sheila Roberts

and dug out her wallet. “I have to pay for chocolate from my own company? This sucks.”

      “Welcome to my world.”

      “Keep the change,” Cecily said, and handed over a twenty.

      “Thanks. I will.”

      “It really is bad, isn’t it?”

      “No,” Samantha said firmly. Maybe if she said it enough she’d believe it.

      As a little girl she’d loved hearing the stories of how Great-grandma Rose started the company in her kitchen, of the recipes that literally came to her in her dreams, how she and her husband, Dusty, used their life’s savings to buy this piece of land and build a modest shop back when Icicle Falls was nothing but a rough-and-tumble collection of mismatched buildings. Sweet Dreams wasn’t just a company. It was a family legend. It was also a source of income for thirty families and she was going to pull them out of this tailspin no matter what it took.

      Cecily leaned on the counter and gave her an assessing stare. “Are you lying to me?”

      “Yes, but things could be worse. We still have inventory.” Samantha stowed away the money, then opened the box, pulled out a truffle and popped it in her mouth. It hit her taste buds like a drug and she let the sweetness travel over her tongue. She could almost feel a troupe of endorphins doing a happy dance through her body. A girl could bite off even the biggest challenge if it was coated in chocolate.

      “So what are we going to do besides eat the inventory?” Cecily asked.

      Cecily had been the one dissenting voice way back when they’d talked about taking out a loan and expanding the company, ignoring both Samantha’s charts and Dad’s confidence. At the time Samantha had accused her of a lack of vision.

      That was both ironic and stupid, she now had to admit, since Cecily had uncanny instincts. In high school she could always sense a surprise quiz lurking around the corner, and she knew when her sisters were going to break up with their boyfriends long before they ever had a clue. After Dad died, she’d predicted Mom would be remarried within the year. She’d only been off by a few months.

      But when it came to business Samantha had prided herself on her expertise and bulldozed over all objections, dreaming big and ready to gamble big, and Dad had backed her. Now, between her ambition and the disaster that was Waldo, she was in danger of losing big. Her father’s confidence had been sadly misplaced. Suddenly the box of truffles was looking all wavy, like they were underwater. She blinked and a tear dropped on the counter.

      She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay,” Cecily said. “You’ll sort things out. I know you will.”

      Samantha rolled her eyes. “Do you really believe that or are you trying to make me feel good?”

      “A little of both. Meanwhile, though, maybe you could talk to Arnie over at the bank, see what he can do?”

      “Arnie’s on his way out.”

      Cecily blinked. “What?”

      “I heard Cascade Mutual is bringing in a new manager. I have no idea what that person will be like.” Maybe he’d turn out to be as nice as Arnie. She could hope. But realistically, she suspected that the good old days of having a community bank that cared were gone. Arnie had cared a little too much, which had a lot to do with why the bank was under new management.

      Cecily twirled a lock of blond hair. “Maybe I could get a loan.”

      “No,” Samantha said. “We could be on the Titanic here and if we are, I don’t want you going down with us.”

      “We’re family and this is a family business. We stick together. Remember?”

      “Thanks.” Her sister’s words were comforting, but when it came right down to it, Samantha was both captain and crew of this ship and steering clear of disaster was going to be her responsibility.

      “I’m sure I could come up with something,” Cecily insisted.

      L.A. was not a cheap place to live and do business, and Samantha had no intention of saddling her sister with a big chunk of debt. Anyway, Cecily would never be able to come up with the kind of money they needed. “I’ll manage.”

      “You always do, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this alone. After all, I still owe you for stealing your diary,” Cecily said with a smile.

      Samantha couldn’t help smiling, too, at the memory of finding her sister reading her deepest twelve-year-old thoughts to her friends. Pretty darned funny now. Not so much at the time. “You were lucky you lived to see middle school.”

      Cecily sobered. “I want to do something to earn my share of the profits when they start coming in again.”

      “If I think of something, I’ll let you know,” Samantha told her, but they both knew she didn’t really mean it. She’d already had one person—Waldo—“helping” and that was enough for a lifetime.

      Cecily reopened the box and bit into a truffle, then offered another to Samantha. “I know things will turn around.”

      “I hope you know as much as you think you know,” Samantha said. Otherwise… Oh, no. She wasn’t going down that rocky road. Not yet, anyway.

      Chapter Three

      Always stop and think before you act. This is the first rule of good relationships and good business.

      —Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love

      It was Monday, and all was quiet now that the girls were gone. In a way Muriel relished the solitude. It gave her a chance to grieve freely. But the house seemed so empty and she felt so alone. Her daughters had lives of their own to return to, though, and she couldn’t blame them for running off. It certainly wasn’t any fun being with her. She hadn’t even made them breakfast before Samantha took them to the airport.

      Muriel poured herself a mug of tea and padded barefoot over to her picture window to gaze at the winter scene outside. Fir and pine trees shook off a thin blanket of snow too wet to stick. The houses on her block sat empty and unlit, waiting for their owners, who all had lives, to return. A truck sloshed down the street, making only a momentary dent in the smothering silence.

      Okay, she’d seen enough. She got her tea and went back to bed, placing the mug on the nightstand for easy access. Even though she was wearing a sweater over her favorite silk pajamas the bed still felt cold. Both her husbands had been bed hogs, especially Waldo. He not only slept diagonally, every time he rolled over he pulled the covers with him like a giant ebb tide. It used to irritate her no end. No ebb tide now.

      Hot tears pricked her eyes. Hard to believe she had any left after the past week. She wiped them away and took a determined sip of tea. “You can’t just stay in bed all day,” she told herself.

      And then argued back. “Why not?” Who cared whether she stayed in bed or got up?

      She was alone again.

      Oh, stop, she scolded herself. Waldo’s sudden death was a blessing. Would you have wanted him to suffer?

      The answer, of course, was no.

      With that settled in her mind (for today, anyway), she drank some more tea and surveyed the room like a pioneer checking out new territory. What to do in this new territory? Where to start?

      Normally by ten o’clock in the morning she’d already be hard at work on her next book for Mountain Crest Publications, a small Pacific Northwest publisher. She hadn’t made much money as a writer but she’d enjoyed the experience. It held no appeal for her now, though, not when she was back in this dark place.

      Those months after Stephen died had been a nightmare, even worse than losing either of her parents—and she’d thought nothing could top that. Widowhood went beyond loneliness. It cut off half your soul.