pressed her cheek to his smooth-shaven jaw. “Thank you for coming.”
Langston dropped a kiss on the mass of curly hair framing Sasha’s round face. “Did you actually think I would miss the grand opening of The Falls’ celebrity pastry chef?”
Sasha blushed to the roots of her natural strawberry-blond hair. She’d dyed the bright red strands a nondescript brown following her divorce to avoid attracting the attention of eagle-eyed paparazzi who’d hounded her relentlessly once the word was out that she was no longer married to country-music heartthrob Grant Richards.
“Have you forgotten that I’m not the only celebrity in The Falls?” she teased with a smile. “After all, you are a New York Times bestselling author.”
Langston nodded. “I didn’t come here for you to talk about me, but about you. After photos and the speeches, I’d like you to schedule some time for an interview for The Sentinel’s Who’s Who column.”
Since coming back to The Falls Sasha had discovered her hometown had changed—and for the better. The list of those returning to Wickham Falls to put down roots was growing. Langston had become editor in chief of The Sentinel, Seth Collier was now sheriff, and Sawyer Middleton headed the technology department for the Johnson County Public Schools system. And for Sasha it was a no-brainer. The Falls was the perfect place for her to start over with a business where she did not have a competitor.
“Can you call me in a couple of weeks?” she asked.
“You’ve got it.” Langston leaned closer and kissed her cheek. “Good luck and congratulations,” he said as he left.
She hoped the samples she planned to offer those coming into the shop for her grand opening would generate return customers. A nervous smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth when she spied the mayor, several members of the town council and the head of the chamber of commerce through the plate-glass window.
“It’s showtime, Natasha,” Charlotte whispered.
“Yes, it is, Mama.” Her mother was the only one who had refused to call her by her preferred name. When her mother brought her home from the hospital, her three-year-old brother could not pronounce Natasha; he’d begun calling her Sasha and the name stuck. She walked over to the door and opened it.
Sasha let out an audible sigh when the town officials filed out of the shop, each with a small white box, stamped with the patisserie’s logo, and filled with miniature samples of red velvet, pumpkin spice, lemon-lime and chocolate hazelnut cupcakes. Cupcakes had become her signature specialty.
She pushed her hands into the pockets of the pink tunic with her name and the shop’s logo stamped over her heart. “Even though Mayor Gillespie was a little long-winded, I think it went well.”
“It went very, very well,” Charlotte said in agreement. “Jonas took wonderful shots of the shop, and after your interview with Langston I’m willing to bet that you won’t be able to keep up with the demand for your cupcakes.”
Charlotte gave her daughter a reassuring smile. When she had come back six months before she had felt like crying when she opened the door to see her last born appear to be a shadow of the young woman who had come to her father’s funeral what now seemed so long ago. The bright red hair was a mousy brown, and she had lost a lot of weight. At five-nine she’d appeared almost emaciated and it took Charlotte all her resolve not to become hysterical. It was only after she revealed the circumstances behind her marriage and subsequent divorce that Charlotte understood what Natasha had gone through.
Sasha pulled her lower lip between her teeth. She wanted to sell not only cupcakes, but also specialty cakes, breads and made-to-order elegant desserts. Wickham Falls wasn’t Nashville, but she didn’t plan to offer the small-town residents creations of a lesser quality than those in the Music City. The doorbell chimed and within minutes there was a steady stream of curious potential customers. She’d sold out of fresh bread before the noon hour.
“May I help you?” Sasha asked an attractive teenage girl with large dark brown eyes and neatly braided hair ending at her shoulders.
“Yes. I’ve come to apply for the part-time counterperson position.”
“Are you still in school?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m finished with my classes at noon, so I’m available from one on.”
Sasha didn’t want to write the girl off before she interviewed her, although she would’ve preferred someone more mature. “What’s your name?”
“Kiera Adams. My dad is Dwight Adams,” she said proudly.
The moment Kiera mentioned her father’s name Sasha realized she was the daughter of the local dentist. “Does your father know you’re applying for the position?” She had asked the question because she did not want to have a problem with parents questioning the number of hours their son or daughter were committed to work.
Kiera shook her head. “Not yet. I figured I’d tell him once you hired me.”
Sasha bit back a smile. The young woman did not lack confidence. “Mama, could you please cover the front while I talk to Miss Adams?”
Charlotte nodded. “Of course.”
Sasha led Kiera to the rear of the shop, where she had set up an area for her office. She glanced over her shoulder. “Please sit down, Kiera. I’ve made up an application and I’ll give you time to fill it out before we talk.”
The help-wanted sign had been in the window for three days, and Kiera was the first person to respond. Sasha frosted several dozen cupcakes while Kiera filled out the application.
“I’m finished with the application, Miss…”
“You may call me Sasha,” she said when Kiera’s words trailed off.
She took the single sheet of paper from the teenager’s outstretched hand. It took less than a minute to review what Kiera had written. Although Sasha hadn’t included a category for age, Kiera indicated she was sixteen and a junior at the local high school. She was available to work every day beginning at one in the afternoon, and all day Saturday. Her prior work experience was as a temporary receptionist the previous summer at her father’s dental practice.
Sasha revealed, if hired, what Kiera would be responsible for. She would need Kiera to work four hours every afternoon from Tuesday through Friday. And if needed, one or two Saturdays each month. “If I hire you, will it interfere with your studies?”
“No, ma’am. Even though I’m enrolled as a junior, I’m taking senior-level classes.” She flashed a demure smile. “I took a lot of AP courses when I went to school in New York.”
It was apparent Dr. Adams’s daughter was very bright, and it was the third time Kiera had referred to her as “ma’am,” which made her feel much older than thirty-two. “You are the first one to apply for the position, and I’m going to keep your application on hand. I plan to wait a few more days, and if no one else applies, then I’ll contact you. Please keep in mind if I do decide to bring you on that initially you’ll start at the minimum wage.”
Kiera stood up. “Does that mean I’ll get
