Read, Write, Love at Seaside by Addison Cole

Author:Addison Cole
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance
Publisher: World Literary Press
Published: 2017-04-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

KURT DROVE LEANNA home Thursday morning to prepare for her meeting with Mama’s Market. She’d gathered samples of each jam in a pretty basket and, dressed in a sundress and sandals, wore her hair loose. Traffic was light on the way to Yarmouth, and she arrived early. She hadn’t been nervous on the way, but now, as she entered the one-story office building, her stomach coiled tight. She felt Al’s presence, as if he were right there with her, and she drew confidence from the feeling. She had envisioned a sweet old couple sitting on a couch in a house set off the beaten path, with a garden out front and cats romancing the property. After all, the Mama’s Market in Wellfleet was run out of a small house at the end of the parking lot behind an old white church off of Main Street. The produce and breads were sold out of baskets perched on long wooden tables with tablecloth coverings. They didn’t even use a cash register. The staff calculated customer totals with paper and pencil.

Simple. Efficient. Friendly.

That was one of the reasons Leanna had decided to try to meet with them first. She figured that they’d be an easy sell. She was simple, efficient, and friendly. It seemed like a good match.

She walked through the glass door and into their office. A red and white hand-painted sign that read MAMA’S MARKET hung above a reception desk. The pretty blonde behind the desk smiled as she greeted Leanna.

“Welcome to Mama’s Market.” She glanced briefly at her computer. “You must be with Luscious Leanna’s Sweet Treats.”

“Yes. I’m Leanna Bray. I have a meeting with Leslie Strobe.”

The blonde nodded. “I’ll get him for you. You can have a seat if you’d like.” She picked up the phone and notified someone of Leanna’s arrival.

Him? Leanna had pictured Leslie as Mama, the elderly wife of the couple she’d envisioned.

A man about Kurt’s age, wearing dress slacks and a white button-down, short-sleeved shirt, appeared in a doorway behind the reception desk. He had closely shorn dark hair and squinty dark eyes.

“Leanna?”

And a voice as soft as butter. The muscles in her neck tightened as his eyes slid to the basket she carried. She felt underdressed and underprepared. “Yes. Hi.”

“Leslie Strobe. Nice to meet you. Come on back, and we’ll get started.”

She followed him through a hallway lined with photographs of Mama’s Markets—several of them, not just the one in Wellfleet. She swallowed hard. Breathe. Oh please, breathe. I can do this. She remembered a story Al had told her about the first time he brought his jams to the flea market, and she drew on the memory. They were good, Leanna. That’s all I had to remember. It wouldn’t matter what I said, as long as I could get customers to taste them.

He led her into a conference room where two men and a woman, all dressed in business attire—starched collars, dark suits—sat around a large conference table. The woman wore high heels and lipstick.

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