Page 2 of Christmas Candy

“Olive.” Candace pulls her oversized shirt away from her body, trying to increase the ventilation beneath the fabric. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” My voice is strangled, tight. I watch as Mrs. Reed laughs at something Hank said. Something I bet wasn’t even funny. But I’m sure she’s only doing it to be nice. She’s the mayor’s wife, has to keep up appearances and all. Surely that’s the only reason.

“Oh god, does this mean we have to do more planking?” Candace stares at Mrs. Reed and then looks back at me. “Isn’t she a diabetic?”

“Yes!” I hiss and cross my arms over my chest as Hank hands Mrs. Reed a bag of sweets and she pays him. “Backstabbing traitor. Of course she can’t eat any of that. She comes here to get healthy, and then that, that purveyor ofdeathsells her sweets that will kill her!”

Candace squints one eye at me as if what I said is ludicrous. “She’s probably getting some treats for her grandkids. Relax.”

I give Candace what I hope is a searing scowl.

She blinks and slings her workout bag over her shoulder. “I should get home. Ben is awful at getting the kids to bed without me. Hopefully, I can start coming to earlier classes next year.”

I pry my eyes away from Hank and the clearly unstable Mrs. Reed. “Sounds good. I’ll work you into whichever class you want.”

“Thanks.” She walks toward the door. “Are you going to close up? Want to walk together?”

“No.” I shake my head. I live right next door to Candace, but I have other ideas about how to spend my evening. “I need to clean up some and do a little bookkeeping.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow morning, then.” She turns and glances at the candy shop. “Don’t obsess. It’s not a big deal. Not really. It’s just candy.”

“Just candy.” I try to keep my voice steady, especially since Candace is well aware of my weight struggles in high school and college. It wasn’t until I began yoga and Pilates that I finally got a handle on my body. I eat right, avoid sugar, and definitelydo notlust after sweets the way I used to. Not at all. I grit my teeth.

“Okay, you’re doing that weird stare thing again, so I’m going to go.” She squeezes my shoulder. “See you for coffee first thing. Oh, and then we have to do that Christmas fundraiser thing over at the senior home at nine. Don’t stay too late obsessing over Hank the hottie and all his treats. You have plenty of other things to worry about, including a handsy Grampa Barnes.”

“I don’t even know whose grampa he is.” I cringe at the memory of wrinkly hands patting my butt. “And don’t worry.” I try to smile. “I’m not obsessing, and yes, I’ll be over for coffee in the morning.”

“Good.” She opens the door, and a burst of chill air cuts through the studio. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I relent and give her a real smile.

“Better.” She grins and lets the door close before turning left and walking toward home.

I spend another hour in the studio, cleaning the floors and organizing the workout gear. At nine, I hit the lights and stare at the candy shop. Hank is inside wiping the counter. I watch him work for five minutes until he turns off the glowing candy sign and the inside goes dark. Only the case along the front window remains lit.

Waiting five more minutes, I scan the store for any movement. Nothing. He must have gone up to his loft above the shop. I shrug on my navy pea coat and yank my ponytail free. Then I press on a knit cap and toy with the idea of sunglasses. Overkill. I decide that if anyone sees me, I’ll pretend to just be walking on his side of the street—not staring into his shop. Nope.

I step out into the frigid air, my boots crunching on the slushy snow right outside my studio. After clicking the lock, I look up and down the street. No cars at the moment.

The decorative stars along the street lights give an extra glow to the snow piled along the curb. I step over a low, slushy bank and into the road. The town Christmas tree peeks out from behind the gazebo down the street in the square.

I hustle across the pavement and jump the other snow pile as my breath comes out in a puff of white. Once I gain the opposite sidewalk, I press myself against the brick wall next to the sweet shop’s door. A car turns onto Main Street and I inspect my shoes as it passes. No honk, no nothing—I haven’t been recognized.

I get a whiff of something fruity and intoxicatingly sweet as I ease toward the glowing case. I close my eyes and take a breath, sampling the full taste of my enemy as I approach his lair. The glass gleams bright, the treats within luring me closer—bonbons, caramels, hard candies, candy canes, sugared nuts, and a row of chocolate chip cookies that make my mouth water.

“Strong, be strong.” I’ve come here for recon, not to fall prey to Hank’s sweets. I force a frown onto my face and shoot negative thoughts at the sugary confections.

Everything seems to be going well—I’m hating on Hank and the sweets he creates—until the shop’s door opens. I freeze.

Hank smiles and leans his lanky body against the door frame. “It tastes even better than it looks.”

Hank

Iwatchedher scurryacross the street, her legs looking killer in a pair of tight yoga pants. She tried to play it cool, hanging around next to the door, but then the light from the case against the window drew her in. I stood in the dark, only a few feet away from her, but she couldn’t see past the glare.

Her eyes—the big blue ones I remembered from high school—widened, and she licked her full lips. Did she have any idea what that simple movement of her tongue could do to a man? But then she’d frowned and I’d made my move.

Now she’s looking at me with a mix of contempt and guilt, as if I’d caught her in the middle of an illicit activity.

---