I Only Have Pies for You (Pumpkin Spice Life 1)

HER MOTHER WHISTLED.

“You’re going to break a few hearts tonight, honey.”

“I’m hoping to break a few wallets and stone hearts hardened against me being a part of the town,” she admitted honestly.

Her mother clucked her tongue. “The shop has been open for less than a week. Give it time.”

She glanced up at the ceiling and took deep breaths, exhaling in a count of four to slow her racing heart. “I’m afraid of not being proactive enough. We can’t survive indefinitely on such little business.”

“God hasn’t brought you this far to let you fail now. Have some faith.” Her mother squeezed her shoulder gently.

“I do, Mom. But I know actions have to go along with that.”

Her mother shook her head. “At least try to enjoy tonight? Take lots of pictures, please.”

“I will. I’m sure there will be something about it in the papers, too.”

“I’ll be saving those. Do a spin for me.” Rosaleen slowly did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. The off-the-shoulder red dress with cap sleeves stopped mid-thigh and made the most of her curves. Paired with a pair of three-inch black sandals and a mini black leather jacket she looked modern and edgy. She’d straightened her shoulder-length dark brown hair, and done a light make up with bronze theme. Her nude lip highlighted her plump pout without clashing with the bright shade of the dress.

“Perfection. You might end up with more than you bargained for tonight. An arranged date can end up being a blessing in disguise, you know?” Her mother grinned slyly.

“Maybe so, Mom.” Humoring her was better than working her up and having to defend herself.

Her mother took a step back, surprised by her response. “Would you be open to it?”

“Yes. I’m ready to start dating again. Seeing Ryan again today further convinced me of that. I’m over what I thought we had.”

“I’m glad. He played his part well for a time, but the truth always comes to light. Thank God that happened before you were married.”

“Agreed.” She twisted her lips in disgust, imagining the hell marriage between them would’ve turned into. Tossing her straightened hair around her shoulders, she stood tall. “Okay. I’m off. Wish me luck.” Blowing her mother a kiss, she walked out of the door and down the back stairs to the car. Nervous and excited, she drove to the community center wondering what Alaric would be wearing. I’ve never seen him dressed up.

After parking, she walked inside and found herself hustled to a green room in the back where she was given a number. Ms. Smith, the coordinator, a petite brunette with square, black-framed glasses, an oval face, and a no-nonsense air about her ran over the rules.

“It’s going to be easy, Ms. Plath. All you have to do is smile and answer the questions our M.C. poses. He’ll keep things light and fun. You’ll line up in numerical order and wait for your cue. Things will get started promptly at seven o’clock. Since your number twenty-five you have plenty of time. Relax, enjoy the s

nacks and beverages until you’re called.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The other women huddled around in small groups conversing. Scanning them, she headed toward the women who appeared to be about her age and had kind faces. The brunette with chic cat eyeglasses turned toward.

“Hi,” Rosaleen said.

“Hi. You look familiar.”

“She’s the bakery lady,” the blonde beside her exclaimed.

“Yes! I saw your interview.” The brunette snapped fingers, then held out her hand. “I’m Rachel.”

“Hi, Rachel, I’m Rosaleen.”

The blonde held out her hand. “Kristy.”

“And I’m Shannon.” The other brunette with a fringe of bangs shook her hand last and gave her a kind smile that reached her blue eyes.

“It’s so nice to meet you, ladies. Have any of you ever done this before?” Rosaleen asked.

They laughed. “Yes. Many a romance has come out as a result of the fall auction,” Rachel replied.