One Sweet Day by Kristin Miller Page A

an excellent “hit the moving duck” moment. Laney cocked back and let the chocolate fly. It hit with a thud, and then gooped down the glass.
    “Whoa,” a rumbling voice said from behind her. “Better tell the major league pitchers out there to watch out or you’ll be after their jobs.”
    Charlie Vonn, the thirty-something snowboard instructor who rented out the unit above the candy shop, was a sight for sore eyes. He always came in around ten a.m, and always ordered the same thing: a bag of peanut brittle. Since she’d assumed ownership over the candy shop five years ago, Charlie had lived upstairs. If business was slow, he’d come down to visit and make the hours on the clock race by. If the shop was bustling with customers, he’d take orders until she caught up.
    “I don’t play baseball.” Laney grabbed a bottle of Windex and a paper towel, and went to work cleaning the chocolate smear. “Never have.”
    “Your peanut brittle’s off the hook, but I’ve never seen you throw before. You should seriously reconsider your career choice.” Laughing, Charlie made his way through the shop until he was standing near the front display rack. “On the other hand, if you were aiming for the fluff ball on Meredith’s beanie, you missed the mark by two inches.”
    With the window sparkly-clean, Laney put her hands on her hips and blew layers of sandy-blonde hair out of her eyes. “The people of Blue Lake can’t wait to get rid of me.”
    His brow scrunched. “Why do you say that?”
    “When two people break up, everyone has to pick a side. If he’s in, I’m out.”
    “Ah, I see. This is about the infamous break up that’s on everyone’s lips.” He took the chair in front of the register, spun it around and straddled it backwards, his arms folded over the back. “If it makes you feel any better, he was an knob-job to end it the way he did. I’m with you.”
    “Thanks, but you might be the only one.”
    His full lips curved into a smile, summoning the Irish charm he was known for. Hazel eyes and dark hair. Amazing bone structure, strong jaw line. He was a total looker, there was no denying it, but she’d never once seen a woman leave his studio in the early morning hours. She’d often wondered why that was. Maybe women couldn’t get past his funky attire? He always wore a variation of the same ensemble: clunky black boots, blue jeans with holes in the knees—no matter the freezing weather that December brought with it—and flannel shirts with popped collars and sleeves rolled to the elbow. His style was an eclectic mix of backwoods country and All-American surfer-boy, though he seemed to pull it off effortlessly.
    If she hadn’t been planning out a future with Brian, she might’ve had a crush on him. Under the circumstances, her dating meter was broken.
    Laney replaced the cleaning supplies and scooted an empty box toward the back cabinets. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted this morning. Did you want me to grab your order of peanut brittle?”
    “No, not just yet.” He pointed to the boxes. “You remodeling?”
    She looked up into his almond-shaped eyes and hesitated telling him about the move, but he’d find out sooner or later anyway. If he took one step out the door, Meredith was liable to jump him and force him to listen to the horrible gossip. Better that he hear it from her.
    “I’m leaving town,” she forced out.
    His smile dropped. “Why?”
    She went back to work, shoving baking sheets and utensils into the nearest box. “I don’t belong here and he does. It’s better for everyone if I go back to San Francisco and try to open up a candy shop there.”
    “But you’ve made a life here.” His raspy voice echoed through the shop. “You belong here every bit as much as Brian does.”
    “No,” she said, shoving the box full. “He grew up here, went to elementary school and high school. His parents are involved in the town council. He has roots here. I’m just a big city