Stealing Taffy

  Tanyalee clapped her hands together. “That’s fabulous news!” She craned her neck to see around Candy. “Can you give me a tour?”

  “Of course.” Candy gestured for her to follow. “I know it’s pretty loud so forgive me if I’m screaming at you.”

  Tanyalee waved her hand. “Scream away.”

  Candy gestured into a room already being fitted with a walk-in refrigerator-freezer, a double oven and commercial range, two sinks, a dishwasher, and lots of stainless steel countertop surface. Several men who were laying tile looked up and smiled at the women. Tanyalee waved. Candy continued toward the large open area toward the front. “Now, I don’t know if you were ever in here when it was Jonesy’s insurance business, but this first floor was chopped up into tiny offices, so we took down all the interior walls. I envisioned one big, modern space for serving and seating.”

  Candy pointed to her right. “Over here against this wall will be the front counter and the bakery display case. We’ll have a coffee machine, an espresso maker, and a soft-serve ice-cream dispenser, plus a refrigerator case.” She gestured to her left. “Against the other exposed brick wall we’ll have bookshelves and a couple of sofa and chair groupings, then out here we’ll have about ten bistro tables.”

  Tanyalee was stunned. She knew that Candy and Cheri had flipped real estate in Florida and had been involved in some commercial properties, but she had no idea Candy had such vision. “This is going to be really special,” she said, mostly to herself. “Seriously—this place will singlehandedly bring Bigler into the twenty-first century.”

  Candy laughed. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

  Tanyalee looked around again and shook her head. “I’m really impressed.”

  “But surprised.”

  Tanyalee blinked. “What? No. Of course not.” She attempted to cover up her rudeness. “All I meant was that it was nice to see all the work going on here. I’ve had such a rotten morning, and I was driving home and—” She stopped in mid-sentence, feeling the sting of tears threatening for the second time that day, which had to be some kind of record. And that’s when it dawned on her—she would never be happy the way Candy was. Unlike Candy, she didn’t deserve another chance at love and a family of her own. She didn’t have the luxury of dreaming big. She wasn’t a sweet, funny, and genuine woman like Candy, who deserved a good, kind, handsome man like Turner. Tanyalee was the kind of woman who had wild sex with a dark and dangerous stranger in a hotel room on her way back from rehab!

  She was no dummy. She knew what people said. They said karma was a bitch—and so was Tanyalee Marie Newberry.

  “Tanyalee? Are you okay?”

  She offered up one of her fake smiles, expecting the result to be effortless, the way it had always been. But Tanyalee felt her face begin to fall under the weight of the lie. She needed to get out of there. Right away. She didn’t want Candy to see her like this, because surely she’d tell Cheri, and nothing good would come of that. “I’m fine, but I do need to go. I have a million and one things to do today. Busy, busy, busy!” She kissed Candy on her cheek. “I’m so happy for you! Thankyousoverymuch for the tour!”

  Tanyalee decided to brave the dust and debris and made a beeline for the front door. It would be quicker than going out the back. With luck she would have just enough time to get across Main Street and into Aunt Viv’s Cadillac before she lost it completely.

  The instant her heel hit the sidewalk, she felt Candy’s grip on her upper arm. “Tanyalee.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Please stay another minute. You seem very upset. Is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head, not looking at Candy. “It’s just … nothing seems to be going right since I got back. I can’t find a job. Nobody wants me as a volunteer and I have to get in two hundred hours! It’s like I have leprosy or something! And I made a horrible mistake on my way back from Arizona. I met this man on the plane and now I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  At first, Candy didn’t say anything. Eventually, she whispered, “Oh.”

  “I know.” Tanyalee hid her face in her hands. “It’s the absolute last thing I should have done. Now he’s stuck in my brain like a burr on stray dog!”

  “Maybe if the two of you talk, you can figure it out.”

  “Hah!” Tanyalee crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m no psychic, but I know for sure that’s never going to happen. Never, ever, ever.”

  “He’s not much of a talker?”

  Tanyalee chuckled, staring out across the street, knowing there was nothing left to say about Dan Carnes. She didn’t know if he was much of a talker. They hadn’t done much talking. She didn’t know what kind of music he liked or what kind of car he drove or what he liked to eat except enough room service to feed a whole family. She only knew two things about Dan Carnes: he was the most incredible lover she’d ever had and he was a complete mistake. An eight-hour mistake. And since that was less time than some energy drinks lasted, she shouldn’t be having this much trouble forgetting him.

  “It’s none of my business. Sorry.” Candy cleared her throat. “Tanyalee, I have a favor to ask.”

  She sniffed, managing to regroup enough to face Candy once more. “Sure. I’ll do my best to help you in any way I can.”

  “Would you work for me here at Candy Pants?”

  Before she could stop herself, Tanyalee burst out with a laugh. “Candy Pants? That’s the name of your bakery?”

  Candy nodded, a shy smile on her lips. “It’s the nickname Turner has for me. Long story.”

  Tanyalee blinked at her, trying to get this request to register. She wiped at her eyes. “You want me to work for you? Are you kidding me?”

  Candy laughed. “Don’t sound so shocked. I need full-time help at the counter running the register, answering the phone for catering inquiries, and making some local deliveries. I need someone with customer service experience—someone I can trust.”

  Tanyalee felt her mouth unhinge. Despite Aunt Viv’s voice in the back of her brain—“close your mouth, Taffy Marie. You’re letting in all the flies”—she couldn’t manage to snap her lips shut. Candy wanted her to operate a cash register? Candy trusted her? With a cash register? How could that be?

  “Please say you will. It would take a load off my shoulders to know I won’t have to advertise for help.” Candy rubbed her belly absently. “I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

  “Of course! Yes! When do I start?”

  Candy smiled at her. “Well, I can’t hire you full-time until a few days before we open, but if you’d like to get some part-time hours in right away, it would be great if you could help me with setup.”

  “Yes! I can be here tomorrow morning!”

  “That’s fabulous. Now, what’s the deal with volunteering? I can’t believe people don’t need help around here, with the economy the way it is.”

  Tanyalee rolled her eyes. “They need help, all right, but not from me. Maryvelle Spickler Wilcox over at the soup kitchen just turned me away because I was mean to her in kindergarten.”

  Candy smiled. “Well, Maryvelle might love Jesus but I hear she hates pretty much everyone else since Dale ran off with the Piggly Wiggly cashier.”

  Tanyalee began to laugh, but figured it would be unkind. But it was a relief to know that Maryvelle was nasty in general and not just to her in particular.

  “Do you like kids?” Candy asked.

  “Of course! Do you want me to babysit?”

  “You’d have to fight my mom for that job, but thanks.” Candy grinned and rubbed her tummy again. “I asked because I know they’re always looking for women to volunteer at the Girls Club of Cataloochee County. It’s mostly at-risk middle-school and junior-high girls who don’t have mothers. I know the volunteer coordinator over there, and I could call ahead and let her know you’ll be stopping by. It might be worth a shot.”

  Tanyalee suddenly felt a big ole ton of weight lifting from her heart and spi
rit. Candy was being so kind. It almost felt like they were friends, which she knew couldn’t be possible—could it?

  “I appreciate you hiring me, Candy, I truly do. And offering to help me get in my volunteer hours. But I have to ask—why? I know you’re Cheri’s best friend and I know she’s told you everything I did to her. I’m sorry for every one of those stupid, selfish things, but I know you can’t think well of me. So why go out of your way to be so nice?”

  Candy frowned and studied Tanyalee for a moment, then shrugged. “Look, none of us are perfect. I’ve made plenty of mistakes and have had to ask for another chance. I think we all deserve that. There’s only one thing I’ll ask you to do.”

  “Anything.”

  “You need to sit down and talk with your sister. She’s the one who needs to hear that you’re sorry for everything that happened in the past, not me.”

  Tanyalee nodded. “You’re right, of course, and I plan to call her right away.”

  Candy frowned. “But Cheri and J.J. won’t be back from their honeymoon for another week. Viv told you, right?”

  “Oh, shoot. That’s right.” Tanyalee gave Candy another quick hug. “See you tomorrow, and thank you!”

  As she made her way to Aunt Viv’s Cadillac, Tanyalee had to laugh. Technically, no one had told her about the honeymoon, which wasn’t particularly shocking, since the Newberry family’s communication style was made up mostly of rumor, denial, and eavesdropping.

  The truth was, Tanyalee couldn’t remember the last time a Newberry was direct about anything.

  Chapter 6

  Dante served himself a Styrofoam cup of bad coffee and cut it with a teaspoon of powdered carcinogenic creamer. He went to his usual spot on the room’s extreme left side toward the back. This allowed him to discreetly keep an eye on the door while staying somewhat hidden. He didn’t expect trouble, but DEA habits were hard to break.

  He sat down in the rickety folding chair and tried to get comfortable, as the room began to fill with people of every description, from bag ladies to business executives and PTA moms. Alcohol abuse didn’t pick favorites, and open meetings like this one were for anyone wanting to get or keep sober. Even people working other 12-step recovery programs came for support when their own meeting wasn’t offered. He’d been to AA meetings all over the globe, and they’d all looked a lot like this one in Asheville, North Carolina, in the basement of the First Baptist Church. Dante nodded to a few regulars he’d chatted with before he left for Quantico, then pulled out his smartphone to check e-mails. When the meeting began, he turned his phone off, sipped his coffee, and listened.

  There was something comforting about the order of AA meetings, and since he was no longer much of a churchgoer, this was as close to religious ritual as he got. Every gathering began with a reading aloud of the 12 steps and the 12 traditions, and then the predetermined topic of discussion was introduced. Dante stared into his coffee as a steady stream of stories began, and no matter who was doing the talking, there was always a common thread: the decline into madness, hitting rock bottom, finding AA, and working a recovery program. His breath slowed and his shoulders began to relax as one person after another shared for their allotted time. He loved the rhythm of it.

  He knew that with just a few word substitutions, any one of those stories could have been his. About five years ago, Dante had let the stress and isolation of his job get to him, and he used booze to wind down. Then he got shot in the back during a bust, and started drinking in earnest while on medical leave. When he was cleared for duty he was sure he could handle it, and promised his sister, mother, and father that his drinking was nothing to be alarmed about. Then his strong and healthy father fell terminally ill, and he made Dante swear on the family name that he’d stop drinking before he reached rock bottom. With AA’s help, he did.

  But no one in the room would ever hear the details of his story. Even if Dante was the type to spill his guts he still couldn’t discuss the details of his work. And though he was no longer undercover, he preferred not to draw attention to himself, and usually sat in silence, eyes on the contents of his coffee cup, just the way he was doing now.

  “Thank you for sharing.” The meeting leader looked around the room. “Anyone else?”

  In the silence that followed, the air crackled with a sudden invisible charge. Dante’s free hand instinctively went for his Glock and he slowly raised his eyes.

  “Hello, my name is Tanyalee Marie New—”

  “First names only, please,” the meeting leader cut her off.

  Dante’s mouth fell open.

  “Oh! That’s right! I am so sorry! Let me start over. My name is Tanyalee and I’m not an alcoholic, but I am here for a reason. I may not be a problem drinker, but I do have other problems. In fact, I got more problems than an eighth-grade algebra class.”

  “Welcome, Tanyalee,” the room chanted in unison.

  “Thankyousoverymuch.”

  Every hair on Dante’s body stood on end. His hand fell away from his service weapon while his spine went rigid and his jaw clenched. Dante’s fingers tightened around the Styrofoam until it cracked, sending a cascade of lukewarm coffee onto his shoe. Slowly, so very slowly, he sank down into his chair.

  She lives in Asheville? What the fuck? I thought she lived in Raleigh!

  “I do enjoy vodka, I’m not going to lie, but what I wanted to share about is that I just got out of treatment for other issues—codependency, compulsive spending, and kleptomania, and, well, my therapist says I have a problem with men, you know—love addiction.”

  Silence.

  “Can I keep talking?”

  The leader smiled kindly. “If you wish. Everyone gets three minutes, and we welcome you, as long as you’re working a twelve-step recovery program.”

  “Oh! I am! I have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself and am ready to make amends, starting with my own sister. I am definitely working the program.”

  Dante peered around the frizzy hair of the woman in front of him, just in time to see Taffy smile. That girl was so beautiful it knocked the wind out of him. Then she started talking again, and he ducked his head down.

  “For example, just today, I was shopping and I found myself holding up this really cute, silk-satin, three-piece Valentino lingerie set with a matching peekaboo robe for forty percent off! And for a split second all I could think about was how much I wanted it, how much I deserved it, and all the different ways I could walk out of there with it! But I closed my eyes and repeated in my mind my own special version of the Serenity Prayer—‘God, grant me the serenity to pay cash when I can, charge only in an emergency, and the wisdom to know the difference.’ And do you know what? I walked out of there without that lingerie set and matching peekaboo robe! Completely empty-handed! With my head held high! It was a first for me. I realized I didn’t really need that lingerie, though it will be a cold day in H-E Double Hockey Sticks before I ever find it at that price again. But the point is, I understood that my intense desire for that underwear was part of an old behavior, thinking I could cover up feelings of self-doubt with three tiny pieces of silk-satin! Can you imagine? Anyway, it’s so nice of ya’ll to let me come here tonight! As I was saying…”

  Dante pulled himself from the mental carnival ride of lust, memory, and bad coffee, and strained for another peek at Tanyalee. The familiar fall of shiny strawberry-blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail tonight. She was wearing a soft pink T-shirt that hugged every curve—Mother of God, did she wear anything that wasn’t pink?—and jeans that made her booty look so good he wanted to bite it. She wore simple sandals, and pearl earrings. It was that same face he remembered—smooth and delicate and intoxicatingly beautiful.

  Dante’s brain snapped. Did she just say “love addiction”? What the hell?

  “So, because I have some minor legal issues I’m still sorting out, I’m on probation, and I’m supposed to attend meetings for my issues but there aren’t many in Bigler where I live, so
my probation officer said I could come to…”

  Dante closed his eyes. The roaring in his head reminded of the time his dad took him to see the Concorde supersonic jet take off from JFK when he’d been a kid.

  “… so then my therapist said I shouldn’t be in a relationship for a whole year after I left Sedona Sunset, but I met this man on the plane and I had a few too many vodka and cranberries—which I like because I think the cranberry juice is so tart and refreshing—and this man was devastatingly attractive, let me tell you. Whew! So I … well, I guess I just lost my head. And then when our flight got sent to Washington instead of Raleigh because of a storm, I ended up going to a hotel with this man and … oh! Have I gone over my time limit?”

  “No!” the room shouted in unison.

  “Well, good. So, even though I’m not supposed to be with a man, I found myself in a hotel room with one and I was stone-cold sober by that time. Let me assure ya’ll, I knew exactly what I was doing, and I told myself it wasn’t relapse because my issues involve latching onto men and trapping them in relationships because of what they can do for me, you know? But not for sex! Never for sex! I’ve always been a kind of take-it-or-leave-it kind of girl. But the funniest thing happened that night…”

  Dante let his body slide even farther down into the folding chair. Another half inch and the laws of physics would take over and his ass would be on the floor. He braced his legs to keep himself from falling into the puddle of coffee.

  “… made love over and over and over again. And I say ‘made love’ instead of … well, a cruder term some people might use … because that’s what it felt like. I mean, we just seemed to connect perfectly. It was magic. It was the most passionate and beautiful sexual experience of my whole life, and at one point, I thought I couldn’t take any more, but I surprised myself. Then he fell asleep and started snoring like a hibernating bear…”