Page 62 of Meet Me at the Fudge Shop

Frowning, Lily side-glanced at Declan.Just breathe, he mouthed.

Right. Yes. Breathe.

“All right.” Mr. Mercer stood in front of them, his hand poised over his notebook, which he held in the air. He studied them with that hawkish gaze. “I want to sit down with you both and ask lots of questions, but first, the fudge. It’s why we’re all here, yes?”

“Absolutely!” Lily’s falsely bright voice grated on her own ears.

“We’ve created two fudge flights for you.” Declan lifted his box of boring, albeit delicious, fudge samples. “I recommend you start with our dark chocolate and move toward our sweetest fudge, the double-milk chocolate rocky road.”

“Okay.”

Lily lifted her box from the counter. “And, for a real treat, I’ve selected my favorite offerings.” She wanted to make note of the order he should eat them in, but really, it didn’t matter. Hers were all too different to organize in any order. But she’d slaved over them, agonized over which flavor profiles to feature. In the end, she’d chosen four: blueberry lavender, caramel salted peanut, dill pickle, and—her signature—bergamot.

“Thank you.” He took the gift box from her hands.

“You’re welcome to eat them at the window bar, but with a day this nice, we recommend the sidewalk seating.” Declan pointed out the window to the small café table with two chairs he’d set out earlier this week for this express purpose.

The man should get a taste not just of our fudge, but of Jonathon Island as a whole. And what better place to do that than on iconic Main Street?

The guy really was a business genius.

“That sounds perfect.” Grabbing up his coffee, Mr. Mercer excused himself. With Declan holding the door for him, he navigated through a few incoming customers, weaving his way back to the sidewalk and settling down at the table with his two boxes of fudge and trusty notepad.

“The flowers are a nice touch,” Declan said. The fresh lilacs cascaded over the lip of the broad vase Lily had placed them in, adding fresh summer ambiance to the table. “But, I’d say if you get any closer to the window, you’re going to leave a nose print.”

“Hush.” She waved him off but vacated her spot nearest the window.

Lily returned to the counter and helped a couple customers, catching glimpses as Mr. Mercer drew Declan’s first slice of fudge to his nose. Inhaled. Then studied the texture, turning it over in his hand, before taking a bite.

Considering it against his palate.

Lily licked her lips. She could almost taste it too. She might tease Declan about bland and boring, but, in truth, his fudge was anything but. Sure, they were classic flavors, but he was a classic kind of guy. They were still melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness that could put someone into a sugar coma in blissful delight.

The door closed behind the last customer and then both she and Declan were back at the window in seconds.

“I can’t tell if he likes them or not.” Declan was so close to her, Lily could feel his breath against her ear.

“Guess I’m not the only one who wanted to spy,” she teased. “And of course he likes them. He’s going to give us both rave reviews.”

“And then I guess we’ll have to let the customers decide who wins.”

She squeezed his elbow. “Can we not? For just a minute, can we revel in the joint victory here? This article is going to be great for Jonathon Island. And for whoever wins.”

And if that was Declan, so be it. After last night…

He nodded, bumped her shoulder with his. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Ooo, is it my turn to make a fake announcement to the empty room?” She swung a smile his way. “Declan Kelley agrees with me, everyone!”

They both laughed before settling into silence, watching Mr. Mercer make notes on his paper pad as he ate each one of Declan’s samples. For many long minutes, the man hovered over Declan’s box of fudge, as if he were consuming a five-course meal. Taking polite bites, slowly chewing, making notes on his pad of paper. Pondering—clearly even relishing—the fudge flavors.

“He takes his job very seriously,” Lily said, her toe tapping against the tile floor. “What, does he fancy himself a food critic or something?”

“Maybe. Or could be he’s just enjoying the benefits of his job. Free travel, free stay on a beautiful island, free fudge. And who doesn’t love fudge?”

Finally, Mr. Mercer took a drink of coffee and opened the second box.

“I hope he starts with the bergamot. That’s my personal favorite.” She’d put her whole heart and soul into this batch. It was special. And Mr. Mercer was about to find out.

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