Sugar Rush (13 page)

She couldn’t wipe the smile from her lips as Nick stared. “Oh, uh, she doesn’t dole out candy praise all that liberally,” she said, shrugging.

“Well, you must have quite a recipe there, then,” he said, nodding toward the box.

“But shit, what am I going to do? She already ate one. I need four for the judging.”

Nick nodded. “Okay, well, maybe one is salvageable from the batch in my room.”

The hope on Dulcie’s face was almost too much for Nick to bear. If there wasn’t at least one in the smashed box, her hopes would be crushed as easily as the box had been.

“Do you think the judges have ever accepted an entry with three samples?” she asked, chewing her lip.

Nick didn’t know the answer, but feared it was a resounding no. “I’m not sure. But I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

Dulcie looked like she might throw up. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, almost as if she were perfecting some sort of weird butt exercise.

Not that she needed it, in Nick’s opinion.

He swallowed the laugh that threatened as the elevator dinged. That was all he needed, to make an even bigger ass of himself in front of her. This girl he couldn’t stop thinking about, couldn’t stop picturing as a big part of his life.

They hurried to his room. Nick already had his key card out, shoving it into the reader.

The green light lit up just as the door next to his started opening.

Nick swung his door wide and shoved Dulcie inside in one motion, half closing the door behind her, hoping the way her head had swung back as her body moved forward was not as extreme as it seemed from his angle.

Shit.

“Just heading in now?” his father asked.

“Yup, went for a walk to wear off a little nervous energy,” Nick said.

“Did I hear you in there talking to someone earlier?”

Nick tilted his head, like he was thinking. “No, I don’t think so. Unless someone said hello in the hallway when I came in earlier. I really can’t remember.”

His father leaned in close. “Well,” he said, “I saw you with that Candy Land girl downstairs, you know.”

Nick’s heart beat fast, excuses whirring through his mind.

But the excuses weren’t necessary, he realized, as his father clapped him on the back. “Great job, son! You’ve finally taken some of my advice—just the kind of initiative the leader of How Sweet It Is needs. Stay close to her. You never know when you’ll get your chance to take them down.”

Nick stood in stunned silence as his father beamed.

“Well, have a good night,” his father said, disappearing into his room.

Nick stood slack-jawed for another moment, appalled that his father thought he would actually sabotage Dulcie’s entry, and worse, that he was
proud
of him for it.

And that was when he remembered Dulcie was a few feet away, listening to the whole conversation.

He slipped into the room.

“Are you okay?” Nick whispered. “I didn’t mean to push you so hard. I just kind of…reacted.”

Dulcie nodded gingerly. “I’m fine.”

Her arm twitched and Nick wondered if she was trying not to rub her neck in front of him.

Damn.

“Have you checked the chocolates?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Sorry I was kind of…eavesdropping on your conversation with your father. I was afraid he might be on to us.”

Double damn.

“Look, my father is ridiculous,” he said, starting to pace. “He came to me right after I met you and told me I should spy on you. Try to sabotage your entry if I got the chance.”

“Uh huh,” Dulcie said, looking over at the crushed chocolates.

Nick’s eyes widened. “But I never would have done it!”

“And yet, my entry is destroyed.”

Nick opened his mouth but had nothing to say.

“Look, I just want to get my entry in,” Dulcie said, obviously skeptical. Nick sent another quick little prayer out to the Universe.

Dulcie picked up the smashed box, which, to Nick, appeared as though it had been through a car crusher. Okay, not quite that bad, but it was definitely not good.

Dulcie sighed, letting the sad little thing dangle on her fingertips.

She did not look hopeful.

She flipped open the first flap, then sort of had to pry open the other flap as it stuck to the chocolate. Apparently, whatever flavor she’d made was something very, very sticky.

Nick’s stomach rolled as if he’d eaten a vat full of whatever the sticky was.

Please let one be okay, please let one be okay
, he said in a silent plea.

Dulcie peered over the edge of the box, into the gooey contents.

She gasped.

Nick’s heart beat faster, hoping beyond hope it was a good gasp.

“I think…,” Dulcie said, tearing down the side of the box. “Yes, I think this one might work.”

She raced to the little hotel room table and balanced on the edge of one of the ridiculous easy chairs. Nick never could figure out why hotels often put easy chairs at a dining height table. He shook the thought out of his head, and though he felt a little silly, he crossed his fingers. Behind his back, of course, so Dulcie wouldn’t see.

By now she had the entire box laid flat, having ripped the sides all the way open, sort of like a deranged flower that had been run over by a car, all splayed out with goo oozing from the middle.

“This one’s intact,” she said, more to herself than to Nick. “But it’s got nougat on it. If I could just…” She ripped off one of the sides of the already torn box, scraping nougat away from what actually did seem like a whole chocolate.

The cardboard was too flimsy for the job, but Dulcie was determined, and soon she had it almost as good as new; a bit glossier than the good ones in the other box, but all in all, the judges probably wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. She placed a few bits of some sort of decoration carefully on top of the chocolate.

Dulcie picked up the restored candy and set it in the empty spot in the other box. She let out a long, slow breath as she resealed it.

“I think it’s going to work.”

Nick hadn’t realized how tense he’d become watching her fix the fallen chocolate. “Do you want me to come down to the conference room with you?”

She shook her head. “I’d rather do it myself. I just want to get some sleep and start fresh in the morning.”

She didn’t believe him.

Nick nodded, his heart sinking. “Okay, I’ll see you then,” he said.

“Oh, I should get rid of this,” Dulcie said, folding the gooey box into a somewhat box-like shape again and taking it with her, holding it close, like she was protecting it.

“Good luck tomorrow,” Nick said as she left.

“Thanks,” she said, and walked out without saying it back.

Chapter Thirteen

The competition, the somewhat less than pristine chocolate in her box of samples, and the suspicion over whether Nick was genuine or not weighed on Dulcie’s mind all night. Of course, Grams’s snore fest didn’t help the sleep situation, so by the time Grams flung the curtains open, singing an old boy-band song, Dulcie was not at her best, to say the least.

“Good Lord, didn’t you sleep? You look awful,” Grams said.

Super.

“No, I did not, thank you very much,” Dulcie said, her tone a bit more grumpy than she meant.

Her mother had never missed getting through the preliminary round in the history of Candy Land Confection’s entries, but the last time Dulcie had been to the competition, with the watermelon/dirt concoction, was as vivid as if it were yesterday. She’d been able to hold off the thoughts of dread until last night, not having had time to focus on anything besides Nick and the smashed chocolate fiasco.

Grams, of course, didn’t seem to notice, and Dulcie wondered how she could be more like her grandmother. Not letting someone else’s reactions bother her in the slightest.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Grams said. “It’s quite a big day, you know.”

Gee, thanks for the shrewd assessment
, Dulcie thought.

“I know,” she said, and quarantined herself in the bathroom for the world’s longest shower.

“Good God, I thought you’d died in there,” Grams said when she emerged.

“Thank you for your concern,” Dulcie said.

She did feel a million times better though, and thought she might even make it through the stress of the day.

Of course, the words
dark chocolate
and
watermelon
would not leave her alone.

But each time they popped into her mind, she sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding herself this was Mom’s recipe, not hers. She had nothing to worry about.

But then she thought about Nick, and her stomach rolled uneasily.

Grams and Dulcie went down for breakfast. It was torture trying not to look at Nick, who was sitting across the room with his father and trying to catch her eye. Her mind waffled between his guilt and innocence. She thought she knew him, thought he’d never do anything to hurt her. Then again, he’d flat-out admitted his father had suggested the idea, and he’d been raised mostly by his father.

Dulcie decided to pretend he just wasn’t there.

Which naturally meant she glanced over at least eight hundred times.

He even chews cute
, she thought, then shook the observation from her head.

“What’s wrong?” Grams asked.

Dulcie cut her waffles vehemently. “Just thinking about the contest. I can’t wait until this stress is over.”

“It’ll be exciting. If only your mother were here,” she said, clearing her throat and stuffing a huge bite of omelet into her mouth.

Dulcie found herself having to clear her throat as well. “I wish she were here, too. I feel a little like an imposter entering in her place when it’s her recipe and everything.”

Grams shrugged. “You’ll have your own chance to shine soon enough.”

Dulcie sighed. “You can’t accept that I’m not a designer, can you?” She wondered if Grams was so intent on her creating because it might be the only way the shop would survive. Can’t have a candy shop without new products for people to try.

“Nope, sure can’t,” Grams said as easily as if the conversation were about the weather. “You’re already doing it. You just need to find the guts to put it out there.”

A line formed between Dulcie’s eyebrows. “Grams, I am not. There is a world of difference between imagining what might taste good and actually making something good.”

“Not really,” Grams said, going to town on the omelet. “It’s a matter of taking what’s up here,” she said, pointing at her head, “and getting it out there.” She gestured wide with her arms.

“Right. I guess it’s just that simple,” Dulcie said.

Except for the little issue of the paralyzing terror.

The time had come. Judging was about to begin.

The lights beat down, and even though she was standing with dozens of other competitors, Dulcie felt exposed, like she was doing something wrong.

A single bead of sweat snuck down the middle of her back, tickling her and settling uneasily under the waistband of her skirt. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, then opened them to gaze around the room, awed all over again that so many talented chocolatiers were ready and willing to give it their best try. All of them knew it would be a long shot; only ten finalists made it to round two and there had to be at least a hundred competitors standing proudly behind their covered creations.

How did they all do it, realizing the odds stacked against them? Sure, she was confident in her mom’s recipe, but nine out of ten people would go home empty handed.

The humiliation was too much to comprehend.

“Don’t you just love this?” the lady standing beside Dulcie in front of her own food cover asked.

Dulcie blinked. “I’m a little nervous, actually.”

“Oh”—the lady swatted her shoulder playfully—“don’t be nervous. This is fun. I mean, I don’t expect to win or anything… I just love to come here for the ideas, the creativity. To meet like-minded candy people.” She smiled. “Like you!” She held her hand out. “I’m Rita, by the way. Came all the way from Florida. Got myself a little candy shop in Orlando.”

“Orlando,” Dulcie said, amazed. And this woman didn’t even care about winning? “That’s a long way.”

Rita nodded. “I love it here, though, being surrounded by all this talent. It’s always a nice little trip to Boston, and an amazing vacation for the imagination. Gets those creative juices flowing.” She winked.

The strangest part was, the woman seemed completely sincere. She’d spent all that time and money to get there, and all she wanted was the experience. Heat crept up the back of Dulcie’s neck at how single-minded she had been about the competition.

Of course, that only calmed her nerves the slightest bit.

The room quieted as the judging began and the first contestants unveiled their creations. Dulcie couldn’t see what they were from so far across the room, so there wouldn’t be much sizing up the competition.
Not that I want to size anyone
up
, she thought, trying to take a cue from the lady who was mostly there for creative inspiration.

She did, however, have an excellent view of Nick, who stood with his father six stations before her, just where the tables turned the corner of the
U
they were set up in. It was far too close for comfort, especially with Nick trying to get her attention every five seconds, although she was anxious to find out what How Sweet It Is had designed. In all the excitement over her mother’s recipe, she had forgotten to obsess over what the Sugarmans might show up with.

She wondered if they stuck with something lemony.

Time dredged to a standstill as the first hour passed, Dulcie’s high-heeled feet begging her to sit, which of course was out of the question. She had no idea how she was going to survive the wait until tomorrow for the results to come in. With so many entries, the judges always took their time to deliberate.

She began to regret the second cup of coffee at breakfast.

Another fifteen minutes later and the judges were almost at Nick’s station. Dulcie bounced a little, almost as much in anticipation as for her bathroom situation.

Three more…two more…she swore the judges had even slowed down the speed they wrote on their little clipboards…one more.

And Nick pulled the cover off his father’s creation with a flourish, announcing the name of their design.

“Judges, I give you the Salted Caramel Apple Confection!” he said, banging the cover down on the table and practically shooting out a round of jazz hands.

Dulcie’s heart stopped.

Nick stared at her, a mischievous smirk crawling its way across his lips like a worm. The same one as the first night in the jazz club, the one she’d nearly fallen all over herself for.

That night it had seemed so boyish, so knowing. But now it only seemed…cocky.

A noise, something between a gasp and a scream, lodged in her throat.

She felt like she might choke on it.

Her stomach seized and her bathroom issues went from too much coffee, to something more in the area of throwing up.

She glanced from Nick’s face to his chocolates to his face again.

The cocky grin did not disappear.

Dulcie turned toward Grams sitting with the rest of the competitors’ families. She hadn’t been close enough to hear the name of the How Sweet It Is entry.

But Dulcie had.

That God damned bastard. How could he?

She took a step back from the table, suddenly dizzy, pacing behind the other entrants. She should have known. Nick had been playing her all along, getting close to her just like his father had said.

He’d stolen her mother’s last recipe.

There was no other explanation. The only people who knew about it were Ava, Constance, Jess, and Grams. It was far more likely Nick got ahold of the samples when he was at the shop.

She squinted, still pacing. That first day at the market. Had he been following her? Trying to weasel his way into her secrets even then? Her stomach lurched. She’d fallen for the whole thing, hook, line, and sinker. Even letting him taste test those first competition hopefuls right along with her friends.

She sucked in a long breath and let it out through her nose, trying her best not to snort like a bull. That asshole had been in her kitchen.

You do not mess with a woman’s kitchen.

Someone cleared her throat. Loudly.

“I think they’re waitin’ for you, hon,” the woman from California said, tapping Dulcie on the shoulder.

Shit.
The judges stood in front of her station.

It was her turn to reveal.

“Goddamn it,” she said under her breath. One of the judges gave her a questioning glance.

Her instinct was to grab her Salted Caramel Apple Enchantments and run out of there as fast as her stupid feet in their stupid high heels would take her. But this was her mother’s legacy. That bastard had stolen her mother’s recipe and Dulcie intended to find a way to prove it.

She took a deep breath.

“It’s called the Salted Caramel Apple Enchantment,” she said under her breath.

“I’m sorry, what’s that, dear?” the lone female judge asked.

She cleared her throat. “The Salted Caramel Apple Enchantment
.
”

“Oh, um…” The judge seemed to be at a loss for words.

They all stared at her, no one even motioning to sample her chocolates or write anything down on their clipboards.

“It would appear my entrance recipe has been stolen,” she said, still glaring toward the How Sweet It Is station.

The short, round judge cleared his throat. “Well…that certainly is unfortunate. What do you have to say?” the man asked, turning toward Nick and his father.

But it would seem Nick had already made a clean exit.

Dulcie seethed. The bastard couldn’t even stay long enough to watch what happened. Left his father to clean up his mess. Cripes, he probably didn’t even tell his father where the recipe came from. God, what if Mr. Sugarman thought Dulcie had copied
them
?

Her heart beat faster as Mr. Sugarman stood there like a deer caught in headlights. “I’m sorry,” he said, tilting his ear toward the judges. “What was that now?”

“She claims you stole her recipe for the Salted Caramel Apple”—he glanced down at the cardboard title that sat on the plate of Dulcie’s chocolates—“Enchantment
.
”

Mr. Sugarman looked taken aback. “My goodness, that’s ridiculous. Ours is clearly called the Salted Caramel Apple Confection
.
” Dulcie sneered at the last word, obviously one more dig from Nick, having a word from the name of her store in his entry.

Last night when they were in his bedroom, he’d already entered his candy. Her thoughts moved a mile a minute. He’d crushed her samples. Shit, he tried to make it so she couldn’t even enter. Probably trying to cover up what he’d done so his father wouldn’t find out and would still hand him the reins to the store. Then he went running all over the hotel with her, probably hoping she wouldn’t scrounge up an entry.

She wanted to stomp her feet and throw a tantrum like some spoiled kid, but instead she watched Nick’s father.

“That’s not possible,” he said. “We kept everything under tight wraps.” He gasped. “But she knows my son. My God, she was in my shop! She must have seen the recipe when she was there! Nick! Where are you?” Mr. Sugarman looked around, apparently for his son, as if he would clear everything up.

“None of that is true. His son has been in
my
shop a dozen times the past few weeks. He stole my recipe. My mother’s recipe!” she said, the last words rising in volume.