Page 1 of A Perfect Match
CHAPTER ONE
PIPER
“Good morning, Mr.Beverly!”
The wizened man watering his nearly-dead petunias is the first thing I see as I step out onto the front deck of my second-story apartment.Past his small bungalow, the sparkling waters of Briggs Bay shine in the early morning sun.It’s seven thirty on this mid-September morning.That doesn’t stop Mr.Beverly from tending his summer plants, which are ready to give their last gasp.
He lifts a hand, a big grin crossing his face.“Morning, Piper!Don’t spend too much time on the commute, okay?”
His guffaw rings through the air, prompting my own giggle.
We’ve been trading these words for two years now, as long as I’ve lived in the apartment above my marshmallow and confectionary shop, Cloud Nine Confections.How cute is that?My commute is twenty seconds—thirty if I’m feeling sluggish—but I love the transition from cozy nested home space to carefully curated work space.
My footsteps pound down the worn wooden staircase hugging the back of the building.The last step feels like it might give out, but that’s a landlord problem, one that I’ve been trying to get on Mrs.Decker’s radar for the past several months.It’s hard to get her attention when it comes to upkeep on the building—she’s roughly two hundred years old and quite possibly lives in her native Germany—but occasionally she writes me an email with a promise to have one of her contentious sons look into repairs, so that’s nice.
My keys clang against the metal back door.I’m grinning already.I love my business; I love inhabiting the space above my shop like some sort of weird marshmallow gremlin; I love everything about my cute little lakeside hometown and all the marshmallow-hungry fiends I call my customers and friends.It’s my dream life.
Mostly.
I take a deep breath of the sweet scent of the back room, propping open the door to let some of that cool lake air drift in.I breeze through the shop, turning on lights, warming up the espresso machine, lighting ovens.It’s all second nature to me—I could do this with my eyes closedandasleep.Once all the lights are on, the cute confection-core theme of my shop is all I can see.I’ve curated every last inch of this space to be anexperience.One entire wall is a living moss backdrop (thanks, online instruction videos!); I installed a very small waterfall off to one side, which took me thirteen times as long as it would a professional, but dammit, I did it myself.Bulbous, cottony clouds hang by invisible wire from the ceiling.There are various spots along the moss wall where customers can sit at reclaimed wood tables, each one unique and paired with interesting chairs in a variety of bright colors.Illustrated marshmallows, cupcakes, suckers and more adorn the walls by way of framed pictures, neon lights, and wall decals.The entire place is a feast for the eyes, and there is an overwhelming amount ofpink.
Just as I prefer it.
I’ve unlocked the front door and just poured my first latte for the day, the soothing notes of today’s playlist pumping through the shop speakers—island reggae—when I spot someone darting across the sidewalk outside my shop.Thanks to her dark hair smoothed back into a low bun and crisply pressed white blouse set against high-waisted black slacks, I don’t need to see her face to know who it is.This woman is a local celebrity.
Hazel Daly.
She pushes into my shop, the bells jingling against the glass as she glides in.Hazel is Bayshore’s number one realtor, but she doesn’t make a habit of being a doorbuster at Cloud Nine Confections.She tosses me a bright grin, but it fades quickly.Something dark tugs at the edges of her features, and I immediately get a knot in my stomach.
“Why do you look like you aren’t here for s’mores and coffee?”I ask.
“Piper.”Hazel walks up to me, her heels clicking against the wood flooring.“I don’t love that I’m starting your day this way, but…”
“But?”I already have a high pitch to my voice.Hazel and I grew close after I catered her and Grayson’s wedding with a late-night s’mores station and other marshmallow infused treats.I’m not afraid to go screechy in front of her.
“I just found out something you need to know.”Her gaze drops to the countertop between us, and then she squares her shoulders.“This building has been sold in a secret sale.The deed was transferred yesterday.”
I blink once.Then again.I don’t even know how to make sense of her words.“Sold?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even know it was for sale,” I sputter.
“Me neither.I think we both would have been very interested in that information,” Hazel says with a sigh.
“Mrs.Decker never said anything to me.”I don’t add more when I realize she doesn’t usually say much to me anyway.
“From what I heard,” Hazel goes on, “the secrecy was a way to avoid some sort of family meltdown.”
I frown, finally feeling able to take a sip of my latte.It immediately churns in my gut.“That sounds about right.Her sons are not exactly what I would call easy to get along with.They fight over everything.But why didn’t she say anything to me?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Do you know who bought it or…what they plan to do with it?”I can hardly utter the last part of that sentence.A new owner of the building could mean a lot of things.And most of them aren’t great.
“All I could find out was that it’s an out-of-towner,” she says.“Their primary plans center around developing the empty side of the building.”
That tidbit feels like a kernel of hope.The empty side of the building—that’s all they want.I’ve always wondered about that unused storefront and distantly hoped to perhaps someday expand into it…if I ever gather the courage to expand my business beyond these four walls.
