Page 1 of One Sweet Match Up

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Donovan Foster knewhe’d hit an all-time low when his Monday night consisted of hanging out with a dozen manly dudes in the only bakery in Buttermilk Falls, waiting for vanilla cake batter to point him in the direction of his next lay.

Or true love as the pretty redhead, who’d talked him into hanging out for a bit after his shift, insisted, but, c’mon. What guy here didn’t have sex on his mind?

He slid onto the pink vinyl stool next to his pal, Adam Reed, setting down his frosting-covered apron on the matching shiny pink countertop. When he was done partaking in tonight’s Batter Up event, he needed to find the nearest library because he’d be checking in his man card.

Abby Swift, the aforementioned redhead, stood behind the counter, her trademark hair swept up in a high ponytail and eyes closed tight while she stirred her cake batter with a shimmering pink mixing spoon.

There once was a time when her shut eyes would have been an invitation to move his lips in, but that ship had sailed years ago. Now, her husband and father of one child and one on the way sat next to him. From what Donovan could tell from his short time back in town, Brandon Swift was a pretty cool guy.

So much had changed in the last couple of years. While he’d been running a successful upscale, fine dining restaurant in Denver, his friends back home were busy doing the things that most people do but he’d never had time for—falling in love and starting families.

Brandon leaned across the counter, addressing his wife. “You know, Red, how much this part turns me on.”

“You never say that when I’m doing the spell,” Adam quipped, putting his hand over his heart. “Dude, that hurts.”

Brandon snickered. “I would if you had long, red hair and a cute bu—”

“Shut it, you two,” Abby ordered with her purple eyelids closed. “I’m trying to concentrate and wrap this up so we can all make it home in one piece.”

Donovan cracked a smile, rather enjoying the light banter among his friends. He glanced over his shoulder, out the bakery’s window. The impending snowstorm that was about to blanket all of Buttermilk Falls had been the only talk among today’s customers.

Though it wasn’t supposed to start for a few more hours, large white flakes signaled that the meteorologists might have been a bit off in their timing. Still, they predicted a whopper of a snowstorm when all was said and done, with blizzard conditions for the area.

After a long day on his feet in the kitchen, he was looking forward to hunkering down at his place, settling next to a warm, crackling fire, and uncorking a nice bottle of red wine.

Or he should say his sister’s place. He was currently crashing with his twin, Rachel, living out of two large suitcases in her—way too floral for his taste—guest bedroom.

His life was in a bit of flux since he’d decided two months ago to sell his half of the restaurant and up and move back home.

It had been an impulsive decision—he’d admit that. But it had felt incredibly right at the time. He’d been working his hands to the bone night after night at the Rocky Top, the Denver restaurant he’d purchased ten years ago with his business partner, Marc. Together, they’d made it into a successful five-star bistro.

And they both had become quite the local celebrities along the way. Both were known around the city for being sought out bachelors.

Sure, an outsider might see his life as one worthy of envy. After a decade, he had a solid reputation in the culinary industry, a fat paycheck, and a steady stream of beautiful women moving through his condo’s revolving lobby door.

So, yeah, he used the sexy, single, chef persona to his advantage to help make a name for himself. He worked hard and played hard, and damn, those earlier yearshad beena lot of fun.

But something changed. For a while he’d dismissed it as being in a brief lull. However, as the months went by, he started to realize he was idling doing the same old thing—living the same old life—and that feeling sucked. He wanted more than the fast lane he’d accelerated on for so long.

When he came home for the holidays and saw that all his friends had settled down and were now having kids, he started to question his carefree, playboy existence. He’d been on the single, career track for so long that he’d forgotten to stop and pick up a wife and kids along the way.

Convinced he was missing out, he decided to slide into the conductor’s seat and take charge of his life. The plan was to sell his portion of the restaurant to Marc and open up a new one in Buttermilk Falls.

A new start. A clean slate. While opening his next restaurant, he’d also make finding a Mrs. Foster an equal priority.

Simple.

Yeah. Not so much.

His plan started out well. Marc accepted the offer to buy him out. That gave Donovan a substantial sum to turn around and open a restaurant in Buttermilk Falls. The paperwork to sell his portion was whipped up within days, and Donovan had packed up his belongings, put his condo on the market, and moved home shortly after the ink was dry.

But then the problems began—the first being he was having a hard time finding a place for his new restaurant. Adam’s girlfriend, Bethany Wilson, had snagged the last vacant space along the small town’s Main Street, which probably wouldn’t have worked for him anyway, unless he wanted to open up a small coffee shop.

He’d thought he could take Brandon’s lead and open a restaurant on Buttermilk Lake and had cruised the lake’s perimeter more than a dozen times with no luck. He had yet to find a vacant space that could easily be converted into a restaurant.

Even if he found a place, there was another, much bigger, issue—he had no clue what kind of establishment he wanted to open. He’d always prided himself on modern, fusion cuisine, but the truth was he’d gotten bored of the dishes he was known for and his techniques.

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