Once Upon A Chocolate Kiss. Cheryl Wolverton

gives me a chance to do some reevaluating.”

      His friend nodded. “Very well. I’ll do my best to take my lead from you about work discussions.”

      “I plan to have a line installed in the apartment and a fax put in. If any emergencies arise, you can contact me there or on my cell.”

      Dillon pursed his lips. “You’re really serious about this.”

      He nodded. “I am.”

      They reached the bottom of the wooden stairs. The bellboy was just coming back in and paused to hold the door open. Richard reached into his front pocket and pulled out his money clip. Peeling off two bills, he gave the young man a nice tip and nodded.

      “Thank you, sir,” the boy said, and smiled.

      Richard smiled in return. Evidently, the tip he’d normally leave in New York was considered much better here.

      Going out into the windy morning air, he wished he’d at least buckled his coat.

      “So, then,” Dillon continued as the door closed behind him. “Tell me about this apartment.”

      Richard got to the luxury car and handed the crutches to his friend. Grabbing the door and the top of the car he lowered himself into the front passenger’s seat. Carefully he lifted his leg and turned, working it into the car while avoiding bumping it.

      When the car was in gear and they were carefully headed down the icy, sand-and salt-coated roads, Richard said, “I’ve never seen the apartment.”

      Both hands on the wheel, Dillon cast him a quick look. “You’re kidding.”

      “The woman told me there was a two-bedroom apartment for rent. I agreed.”

      “That’s not practical. What if it’s a broken-down heap?”

      “What if it is?” Richard replied. “I’m only going to be there for a few weeks. It’s away from the places I would normally stay and it’ll give me some peace and quiet.”

      Dillon frowned. “You’re willing to risk renting an apartment unseen, just for peace and quiet? I don’t buy it.”

      “Turn here,” Richard said, pointing to the main east-to-west street.

      Dillon obediently obeyed.

      “See that gingerbread house toward the end of the block?” he continued, pointing. “Right past the hardware store?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Just after there you’ll turn into the alley.”

      Dillon started, “You’re—”

      “—kidding,” Richard finished for him. “No, I’m not.”

      Main Street was nothing like a main street in New York. Here, lining the straight four-lane street, were metered parking spaces. Down the middle of the street—though not up farther, he’d noted—was a median filled with grass and benches. There were flower beds but they were empty right now. He imagined this was a very beautiful area in the spring. A big clock stood on the corner, right beyond the hardware store and the candy store.

      At the corner they turned right and then made another quick right. The alley was clean and wide enough for two cars, though it’d be a tight fit. Dumpsters sat behind the stores, most likely an indication that the garbage trucks made this their route to collect trash.

      “Though there is a side entrance, I thought it’d be better to unload everything back here. I called and talked to one of the workers this morning, who told me this would be best.”

      “Wait a minute,” Dillon said, his mind working furiously as he processed everything. “You’re staying at this candy shop?”

      Richard buckled his coat and then shoved the car door open. “They have an apartment for rent.”

      “But don’t you think staying under the competition’s roof—”

      “She’s not our competition,” Richard said shortly.

      Dillon’s eyebrows shot up. Quickly, he exited the car. “She? She?” He spied a red truck next to the building. His gaze returned to Richard. “The woman who hit you offered you a place to stay?”

      He should have realized Dillon would put two and two together.

      When he opened the trunk, Richard grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases, leaving the large one as well as the garment bag for his friend, and went to the back door to ring the bell.

      The door was opened by Angela.

      “Oh, great! You made it.”

      “Young and fresh is now your style?” Dillon said through the side of his mouth as the woman pulled the door wider.

      “Can it,” Richard replied.

      “You’re on crutches. Sam is going to absolutely die!” the young girl said with glee.

      “Sam?” Dillon asked.

      “Hi. I’m Angela.” She stuck out her hand, saw his were filled and dropped her hand to her side. “Sam is the one who broke his ankle. It is broken, isn’t it? I told Sam it was.”