Cocking a brow at this broad, I decide to give it to her straight.

“Look, I don’t do solo trips,” I tell her. “I suggest you book a private rafting trip with Charlie if that’s what you’re looking for.” I lean over the counter and hand her my buddy’s card. “Call him—or better yet, FaceTime him. I can guarantee he’ll answer that call.”

“But you are the one I want… the one every woman wants. At least that’s what everyone was saying at the bar last night.”

I scowl, hating her reference to me being the local man candy. A nickname I can’t seem to shake. Before I’m forced to say anything more, Charlie walks into the office.

“What’s going on in here?” Charlie asks, his eyes darting between Tanya and me. I step away from the counter, raising my hands. Not wanting anyone to think I am even slightly interested in this woman who is coming on way too strong.

I refrain from saying she wants a booty-call, even though that is exactly what she wants. “Tanya here is looking to book a private rafting trip. Thought you might be able to take her.”

Charlie’s eye rake over Tanya and her too-tight shorts and barely-there top. I know Charlie likes what he sees. And the truth is, he’d never turn down a few days in the woods with a willing woman.

Linesworth is a vacation destination—a small Bavarian village in the valley of the Washington State Forest. And our company, Forest Expeditions, is busy most of the year with tourists. At least, I call them tourists; Charlie calls them hook-ups. Mostly though, we take out families or older couples on trips. I know he’ll see a woman like Tanya as a treat.

I push away from the counter as Charlie takes over booking his fling. Sitting at my desk, I pull up a web browser and go to the real-estate listings I’m constantly scouring. This town is getting crowded, and I want to buy more property on the outskirts before some developer swoops in and buys up everything that’s good about these mountains.

As I run my hand over my beard, I see more of the same. A few places to lease locally, a few ridiculous McMansions, but nothing like I want. A big piece of land where I can build a home. A property large enough for a garage that could hold all my outdoor gear. I was about to buy something a few years ago, but then my brother-in-law, Luke, had his accident and well, things changed. Being close to town for my sister became more important than my dreams of getting away from the crowds. Moving into her guest house was the right thing to do. God knows, Luke would’ve done the same for me.

Not that I have a family. Not that I ever will. Hell, no. I saw firsthand what his death did to my sister and her kids, No way in hell would I risk doing that to a woman. My job is dangerous and I don’t want to live any other way, but no woman deserves to get the call that a trek went wrong and now she’s a widow.

So I keep my head down. And no matter how many women ask for my number, I refuse to give it to them. It’s not because I’m an asshole—it’s because I never want to put myself in a position where I might break someone’s heart by dying way too soon. Hell, I’m no virgin, but it’s been a long-ass time.

But now I’m itching to carve out a space of my own. Maybe not move there full-time, but at least put down a foundation for a house.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my sister Greta.

Can you watch the kids for a few hours? Maggie can’t help and I’ve got to finish an order.

I look up, seeing Charlie with his arms wrapped around Tanya. He’d better not charge her for their weekend together. I text Greta back right away, knowing if our sister Maggie can’t help, I need to step in. And hell, I want to—those kids mean the world to me.

I text back. Of course, drop them off at the office.

Ten minutes later, my apron-clad, covered-in-flour sister is waving goodbye and jumping back into her Subaru.

Charlie pulls away from Tanya when he notices my niece and nephew are about ten feet away.

“Lucy! Milo! What are you doing here?” he asks, a big smile on his face. He may be a manwhore, but he loved Luke like a brother too. Hell, the three of us started this business together.

“Mama has to work.” Lucy crosses her arms. “So Uncle Clive is watching us. Although I think I’m big enough to watch myself.”

Giving her a serious look, I bend down to her level. “You may be big enough, but Milo’s only four. He needs us. And we need him.” These two kids are the only people on this planet that can turn me into a softie and I’m proud of that.

Lucy twists her lips, deciding whose side I’m on. “You’re right. This little guy does need us.” She ruffles her little brother’s hair and he pushes her away.

“Who you calling little?” He furrows his brow, just like his dad did and damn; it kills me sometimes to think that Luke will never see Milo grow up.

Still, his words get us all laughing, even Tanya who has managed to slip her arms back around Charlie’s waist.

“On that note, let’s get out of here,” I tell them. “I’ve been cooped up all day.”

Lucy frowns. “It’s only eleven in the morning.”

But for me, even one hour in an office is one hour too long.

“I heard there is a new candy cart in town,” Tanya tells us. “Just opened today.”

I frown. “You from around here?” I was born and raised in this town. I’d think I’d know if a new business was opening.

Tanya rolls her eyes. “Look, I was just being nice. I saw it when I was getting coffee this morning.”

“Aww, be nice to Clive,” Charlie says. “He’s not used to talking to pretty girls.”

Ushering the kids out the front door, I scowl. “I talk to them plenty, I just don’t want what they’re offering.”

With the kids gone, Charlie is more liberal with his obnoxious, I-only-get-away-with-this-because-I’ve-know-you-forever, jabs. “You never want what anyone is offering.”

“What’s that mean?” Tanya asks, pulling herself up on the counter like she belongs here. Exactly who the hell is this woman?

“It means Clive hasn’t hit anything in years. Hasn’t had his whistle—”

I cut him off, narrowing my eyes. “You’re messed up, you know that, right?”

He just laughs and I wave him off. We have been friends since we were kids but I don’t exactly need him advertising my sexual dry spell to the goddamn world at large.

Outside the shop, I take Milo and Lucy’s hands and then head down Main Street.

“What’s Charlie talking about in there? What didn’t you hit?” Lucy asks, skipping as she walks.

I take a deep breath, ready to walk back in the shop and whack Charlie over the head. “He’s talking about the fact I’d never hit anything or anyone.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” says Milo. “Cause even though Mama says you’re hard in the head, we know you’re as soft as a teddy bear.”

They have a point, because the next thing I know, I’m being led toward the new candy cart in the town square, and God knows I don’t have a sweet tooth.

My motto has always been when life gives you lemons add some sugar, some gelatin, and whip up a batch of jelly beans. I mean, the hard, sour bits of life are always gonna be there. Always. But it’s all about perspective.

And right now, despite the fact I’m scraping by with exactly two hundred and twelve dollars in my business and checking account combined—I’m still standing here, on my own two feet, on the first day of my new life.

Though, to be perfectly honest, the morning has been a bit slow. Well, more than a bit. I’ve sold four lollipops, one bag of sour-drops, and have smiled so sweetly, so much that I think my mouth might go into a sugar-coma. Which is saying something for a woman with a sweet tooth.

I readjust my white apron for the hundredth time. The apron I made in my cramped apartment in Seattle before I took a leap of faith and drove East in an attempt to live my dreams. Exactly one week ago.

The apron I hand-embroidered—because one thing a girl learns when growing up with nothing besides her bootstraps—is that if you want something in life, you have to make it happen on your own. So, I stitched the name of my candy business in bright pink letters all by myself: Sweet Dreams.

I don’t have a shop of my own, yet. Right now I have a cart I built thanks to a YouTube tutorial and about four hundred trips to the home improvement store.

But one day I will have a shop of my own. I look down Main Street of the town I visited once as a girl and thought was the most magical place in the world. Not that I’d been many places in the world—but in my ten-year-old mind, the mountain-walled hamlet was everything my childhood wasn’t. The wooden balconies and two-toned timber frames of the houses made the village cozy and cheerful. A place that made me feel like anything was possible. The sweetest of dreams.

And one day, I’ll have a proper shop on Main Street. Complete with a kitchen in the back so I don’t have to rent space at the local commercial kitchen. A place where I can have open shelving, holding rows of big glass jars stocked with every brightly colored candy I can concoct. One day.

But before all that pie-in-sky-dreaming becomes reality I need to sell more than twenty dollars’ worth of lollipops.

Smile, Hazel, I tell myself. Be as sweet as the candy you’re selling.

I reach below my cart and grab a bin of rock candy on a stick hoping if I fill that canister to the brim it might look more appealing to customers.

“Miss,” an older woman asks, waving her wallet around. “Do you take cards?”

I grin and nod, and she begins filling her arms with all sorts of pretty treats. Rainbow fudge and gumdrops and sweet tarts. Bags and bags of each.

When I add up her total I feel my shoulders drop for the first time in forever. This is what hope feels like. If I have five sales like this each day, I’ll be able to afford the guest house I’m renting, because while I’ve paid first and last. I need to make enough sales to afford the months in between. And ten sales like this would mean I could pay for utilities and groceries. And twenty sales? That would mean I could start saving for my shop.

But I need to treat every customer like my best customer, not get lost in my daydreams. We chat for a few minutes as I bag up her treats and swipe her card on the reader attached to my phone. My first debit transaction!

And it seems like customers draw more customers because before I know it a few more tourists find their way to my cart and purchase an item or two.

The sun is shining and it’s after eleven a.m. which I realize, is probably when people are more in the mood for sugary sweets. An adorable little girl runs to the cart, her eyes wide with wonder, her blonde curls bouncing as she jumps up and down.

“I want it all,” she moans dramatically. “Just look at all these goodies!”

“Slow down, Lucy,” a man says coming up behind her, holding the hand of a younger boy. The boy is pretty adorable, but the man himself… wow!

He makes my cart look pitiful. Truth is, he’s the epitome of man candy. We’re talking a walking sugar rush. Biceps that make me want to be his Baby Ruth. I may be a twenty-three-year-old confectioner, but under the apron and honeyed smile, I have all sorts of ideas about what I could dip in chocolate.

And yes, I know that’s naughty, but one look at him and I know he is what my sweet dreams are made of.

The little boy tugs on his arm and I remember that I am not in a man-candy factory and am, in fact, a respectable businesswoman. “Can I have a jawbreaker?” the little guy asks.

“I don’t know what your mom would think of that, Milo.”

“Aww, she won’t be mad. You can just explain that we were hungry.”

The little girl faces the boy, who happens to be her spitting image. And with their light hair and bright blue eyes, they look just like the man with them. I swallow. My personal lollipop preference is their father.

“It’ll break your teeth. Get something softer, goose,” the little girl says.

I try not to let my misjudgment get in the way of a potential sale and I smile widely, pushing out the idea that I want to lick this mansicle. Well, actually his popsicle. He is a father after all.

I bite my bottom lip. I am so entirely inappropriate.

These children have a mother. And I am not her.

I am not a part of this familial equation.

But oh, my gosh, this girl called her little brother goose. These kids are just too adorable.

Turning my attention from the dad and laying it on with all-natural, organic cane sugar (no HFCS here!), like I initially intended, I point to a more suitable choice for the little man.

“How about the snakes?” I ask, pointing to a jar of six-inch gummy serpents.

Milo’s face lights up. “That’s perfect. Lucy hates snakes.”

I look at their father, and he just shakes his head. Pointing to the jar beside it, he says, “And you’re scared of spiders. Suppose Lucy gets those to torment you?”

Milo pushes his lips forward, thinking it through. “True. I promise to not let one bite you, ‘kay Luce?”

She smiles at him, then standing on her tiptoes she looks at each jar, debating her choices. “I want the candy necklace.”

“All right,” their father says. He may be a married man, but my eyes can’t help but look at his rear as he reaches for his wallet. Not wanting to be a creeper, I take out cellophane bags and package the candy for the kids. “I’m Clive, by the way. I work down the street at Forest Expeditions.”

“I’m Hazel.” I bite my bottom lip, immediately imagining myself going on an expedition with him. Getting lost in the woods. Oh, my gosh, get it together! “And I work here, obviously.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t stretch wide across his face. He may be unintentionally sending hot-tamale signals to every woman on this street—and yes, I’ve been watching. Every lady is checking him out. I can respect him for not engaging in the I-want-to-break-my-jaw-on-you vibes, considering he is married.

And with the next sentence out of his mouth, it’s clear his mind is certainly on her.

“Should we get your mom something?” he asks.

Lucy and Milo smile and my heart warms that he thought of getting his wife something. It’s no surprise that I’m pretty much in love with the idea of a man who is a sweetheart.

“What is her favorite candy?” I ask him.

He frowns and then shrugs. “I have no idea.”

I hold my tongue. How can a husband not know what his wife likes?

“Maybe something sour?” He looks at Lucy.

She shakes her head. “Mama hates sour anything.”

“That’s not true,” Milo argues. “She likes the lemon tarts Auntie Maggie makes.”

Lucy crosses her arms. “Not really. She just pretends she does.”

Not wanting them upset over nothing, and wanting to help turn them into loyal customers I suggest my grown-up line. “I have these champagne bears and peach Bellini hearts. Maybe your mother would like them?”

Lucy giggles. “Champagne!” She grins. “That’s perfect for Mama. She has a shirt that says Rosé All Day.”

“Even better, I have Rosé Roses.” I pull out the rosette-shaped gummies. “Pink roses are my favorite flower, and these candies are pretty much perfection.” Lucy nods, agreeing. “Now that that’s settled. What about something for your dad? We don’t want to leave him out.”

Immediately Lucy’s face crumbles and Milo looks at her with a heavy frown.

I look at the man in front of me not understanding my error.

“We don’t have a daddy,” she says. “Not anymore.”

The man clears his throat. Takes a deep breath. He leans closer to me and quietly says, “Their dad, he uh, died three years ago.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry…”

He cuts me off. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

I look down at the kids who are watching our exchange. “Well, um, should we get your, um, your...” I realize I don’t know how Clive fits in with the kids. Is he their mom’s boyfriend, their nanny, their neighbor?

Lucy helps me out. “We should totally get Uncle Clive something. He doesn’t like Rosé though. You like whiskey, right?”

He ruffles her hair as if wondering where she comes up with this information.

“What?” she asks laughing. “He does!”

I exhale, relieved that she helped me out of that one. He is Uncle Clive. Though the kids mentioned an aunt. He could still be married.

“Whiskey? Hmmm... Don’t have any of that. The closest I’ve got to that is root beer.”

“I’m good, actually,” he says, looking at the ground, the ease of our conversation gone. I feel terrible for bringing up a tough topic with the kids, and him—all of it. “Just ring these three up and we’ll be going.”

As I turn to ring up the order, a woman my age stops by and asks Clive if he has plans Saturday night.

With a curt nod, he says he’s busy. She frowns and then adds, “If you keep saying no to every date you’ll be single forever.”

She pats his arms and leaves and Lucy looks up at him, giggling. “You should have a girlfriend, Uncle Clive. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

I hand Clive back his debit card with a flutter in my belly. So, he is definitely single.

A few moments later they walk away, and I can’t resist checking him out. His ass is finer than any I’ve seen, and his sweet cheeks soften the cold hard fact that he doesn’t give me a second look. In all honesty, I don’t think he hardly gave me a first glance either.

He may be man candy, but it appears that his jar is on a shelf I won’t be able to reach anytime soon.

* * *