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nasty-looking yellowish stain, the small
cabochon stones set lopsidedly at each X intersection in the carved surface.
Homely and lonesome, it sat like the skinny girl at the prom with braces on her
teeth and a too-large dress from the thrift store. Sam reached for it, almost
as if she could comfort the poor, lonely thing.
    Instead, it comforted her. The
wooden box began to warm her hands and the yellowish surface glowed, rich and
golden. The small stones shone red, green and blue, sparkling as Sam ran her
hands over them. The tension drained from her spine, the aches from her legs.
    She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t
become addicted to using the box’s powers. She couldn’t bail herself out of
every tough spot by taking on its energy. Well, actually she could. But the
idea frightened her. Despite trying, what she couldn’t seem to do was to get
rid of it. And that was the scary part.
    The box became too warm and she
pulled her hands away from it.
    Okay, this gift was given to
me so I could help others. And what’s more important to a bride than her
wedding cake? Well, a lot of other things should be more important, but
to those young women who come into my shop with their hearts full of dreams and
their heads full of wedding plans . . . This is what I have to do . . . but
only today .
    A hot shower, a quick fluff of
her short, graying hair and Sam was out the door. Stars filled the black sky
and she breathed deeply of the cool air. With no traffic she arrived at the
bakery in under ten minutes. Determined to make the most of her mystical energy
boost, she preheated the oven and pulled orders from the basket on her desk.
    By the time Becky arrived at six,
Sam had completed half the orders and all of the morning’s breakfast pastries
for the displays out front. Becky stared at the loaded worktable.
    “I couldn’t sleep,” Sam told her
assistant. “That plus a lot of coffee.”
    Neither claim was strictly true
but it was safer than revealing the powers of the magical wooden box. Only Beau
knew that part of the story.
    Becky began crafting sugar
flowers with a vengeance while Sam carried trays of muffins and éclairs out to
the display shelves in the store. Her cell phone buzzed deep in her pocket and
she pulled it out. Delbert Crow. Again. Did the man never sleep?
    She let it go to voice mail,
determined to speak with Marshall Gray and get some answers before trying to
make more excuses to Delbert. She’d left two messages for the husband and
wasn’t a hundred percent sure that she even had a valid number for him. She
reached below the sales counter and pulled out the telephone directory,
reaching an amazingly perky receptionist at Casa Serenita, considering that the
sun was barely over the horizon yet. She gave minimal explanation, asking
simply that Mr. Gray be told that he needed to call her the next time he
visited his wife.
    With the kitchen in good shape
for the moment, Sam set up the beverage bar with two pots of her signature
blend coffee, plus an assortment of teas and a variety of sweeteners and
creamers for the first customers who would start arriving in the next twenty
minutes or so. Jen arrived to take over the front and Sam lost herself once
again in her favorite part of the business, the creation of beautiful pastries.
    “Sam?” Jen stepped into the
kitchen, keeping her voice low. “Want a little break? There’s a really cute guy
here who says he’s an old friend.”
    Sam glanced up at the kitchen
clock and realized that it was well after noon. She washed her hands and
stepped out to the sales room.
    “Samantha! How great to see you!”
Derek Sanchez greeted her with a smile and a hug.
    She’d last seen him as a young
man and was surprised to note strands of gray at his temples.
    The son of her former boss from
her days at The Sanchez Agency when Kelly was still a kid, Derek spoke with his
typical salesman ebullience. The small insurance firm had been founded by
Derek’s father Michael,