Page 102 of Meet Me at the Fudge Shop

Declan strode down Main Street, turning up Jonathon Boulevard, waving at neighbors as he sped toward his parents’ house. He heard voices in the living room but raced up the stairs to his room, digging in his desk for the fudge shop contract the town had given him.

Sitting in the chair, he skimmed the contract language until he confirmed what he’d been looking for.

He smiled to himself and smacked the edge of the stapled document against the palm of his hand. “Thanks, God.”

Then he put the contract back in his desk and made his way down the stairs quietly, managing to avoid the squeaky third and tenth steps.

But somehow, Mom heard him.

“Declan?” She popped out from the kitchen, her glare finding him on the stairs. “Family meeting. Now.”

He groaned. This wasn’t when or how he’d wanted to tell them his plans, but Declan was learning that he wasn’t in control of everything. Never had been.

Sending up a prayer for fortitude, he rounded the corner into the living room, where Mom and Dad sat on the couch, Isaac on the love seat—and Grandma Kelley in the recliner.

Oh, man.

Flicking on a smile, he went to her, leaned down and kissed her paper-thin cheek. “Good to see you, Grandma.”

“You too, young man. I haven’t even seen you since the festival.” Her eyes shimmered. “Haven’t been able to thank you for everything you did to save my home.”

“I did my best.” He swallowed, glanced at Mom and Dad, who watched him with accusatory expressions. Isaac sat, arms folded, mouth pinched.

“Sit, Declan,” Dad said.

“I’ll stand. What’s going on?”

Dad opened his mouth to speak, but Mom placed her hand over his. “Declan, I was very surprised to hear that there was a meeting of the town council today. One I wasn’t invited to. Do you happen to know what that was about?”

He didn’t want to fight. But he had to do what he knew was right regardless of his desire to keep the peace. “I asked the council for a private meeting that would remain confidential.” He cleared his throat. “I told them about the sabotage.”

Isaac shot forward and turned in his seat. “You did what?”

“What were you thinking?” Dad yelled.

He looked up. “I was thinking that I couldn’t live with myself if I went back to Chicago knowing the truth.”

“And what is that?”

“We don’t deserve that fudge shop.”

His words shut down the room.

Grandma looked at him, something he couldn’t place in her gaze.

“You’re going back to Chicago?” Mom asked.

“That was always the plan. You know that.”

“I know, but…” Her nose wrinkled. “You’re still here. I figured you’d decided to stay.”

He shook his head. “I asked Ned for an extra week. He was gracious enough to give it, but Ihaveto be back by Monday at the latest or my job is definitely gone.”

“But you don’t need that job. You can run the shop.” For the first time, Mom’s voice shook with emotion—one that wasn’t anger.

Maybe Isaac had been telling the truth. Maybe Mom reallyhadmissed him.

But that wasn’t enough. “I can’t, because it isn’t ours to run.”

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