Candy Man - Amy Lane.pdf

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I will never write a book not dedicated to Mate in some way. And Mary. And, in this case,
Chicken, Zoomboy, Squish, and Big T, who were the whole reason I stopped into Candy
Heaven in the first place.
Author’s Note
Mate was running a half marathon, and I was running back-up support. So he ran his fit,
lithe body thirteen miles, and I hauled my lumbering, fat butt for what amounted to a 5K,
back and forth from Raley Field to Old Sacramento. After Mate came in, we walked the
(final!) trip back through Old Sacramento, and in the nest of shops on the old boarded
walkway, we saw Candy Heaven—and went in. Hey, it was the day before St. Patrick’s
Day, and we didn’t have anything for the little kids to wake up to. Convenience and
desperation drive discovery. Anyway, Darrin, the proprietor, was funny, kind, and 6’6”
tall. He was also fabulous in a very rainbow/tie-dye sort of way. Maybe it was that I was
breathless, sweaty, and felt stupid, because, hello, Mate was the one running the marathon,
but I so needed a Darrin right then. I determined that this year’s Christmas novella would
be about Candy Heaven and have Darrin in it. So if you’re ever in Old Sacramento, look
Candy Heaven and Darrin up. His shop is the one right across the river by the parking
structure on the corner—you can see the bridge and Raley Field from the front. Meet the
real-life Darrin and his crew of mismatched, wonderful, happy workers inside. Don’t
forget to take a free candy—the blue labels are for tasting. ;-)
Pixy Stix
D
ARRIN
CHECKED
his manicure and tossed his shoulder-length shag-cut hair back, shaking
his head so it came clear of the dangly earrings. Yeah, it was a little grayer when he forgot
to do highlights, but he still managed to look glamorous. Feeling cocky, and damned good
about the coming Christmas season, he leaned forward against the high wooden counter
and watched as Joni unlocked the doors.
“Think it’s going to be busy, boss?” Joni had a buzz cut, dyed black, and a body as
stocky as one of the barrels that held hard-candy sweets throughout the store.
“I hope so!” Small businesses in this climate weren’t always a sure thing, but Candy
Heaven had been around for a few years, and Darrin was clinging to his little store with
every bit of strength in his long, manicured fingers. The store resided in Old Town
Sacramento—a four-by-two block cobblestoned, boardwalked tourist trap formed in the
pocket created by Highway 275, the Golden State Highway, the I Street Bridge, and the
Sacramento River. The stores ranged from burger joints to fine-dining restaurants to
antiques to importers to art galleries. They made their money from tourists looking for a
quick bit of history at the railroad museum, and locals looking for a reliable place to get
something specialized and unique. The candy stores—his wasn’t the only one—were a
sweet little perk and part of the area’s appeal. They should do a brisk Christmas business,
and Darrin thought about his crew of twelve or so employees and reflected that they might
be down one for the holidays.
“In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “I think we may need to hire some help.”
Joni grunted. “I’ll put out the sign, then. God, I hope we don’t get high school
students and shit. I hate premetacognitive beings.”
Joni was twenty-four and working on her master’s in sociology. Darrin was waiting
for her to get old enough to think “premetacognitive beings” were adorable and pat them
on the head and send them on their way with a cookie. Right now she was sort of abrasive
—although that could have had something to do with her recent breakup. Joni’s ex-
girlfriend had been barely nineteen.
Darrin ripped the top off a Pixy Stix and dumped the contents on the counter, then
drew a random picture in the sour sugar and imagined who would work for him. Six four,
chest like a wall, heavy tattoos on his back and neck. Bold nose, rectangular jaw, brown
eyes, flat and untrusting. A heart like… quicksilver—used to defending itself by
pretending it wasn’t there.
“Hm…,” Darrin murmured. “Yes. Yes, his name is Adam. He’s not going to be…
friendly.”
Joni groaned. “Aw, boss! Seriously—do you see anyone else in there? Five six,
blonde, blue-eyed, big boobs, tiny waist—”
“No, dear,” Darrin said, too intent on the man he saw in the Pixy Stix to be tactful.
He saw a child huddled under a bed in the dark, the whip and slap of unkind voices
echoing above his sanctuary. He saw a shining lifeline. Oh dear. And the lifeline led here.
Darrin licked his finger and then drew a little more. Staring at the picture, he tasted
the sweet-tart powder on the end of his finger and grimaced.
More bitter than it should be.
“This one needs us. Needs sweetening.”
Joni groaned. “Boss, can’t we have, you know, a wide-eyed kinda hamster girl,
smart enough to not be premetacognitive, dumb enough to want me?”
Darrin pulled himself away from his visions of sugar-humans and scowled. “You
need to find someone who doesn’t take your shit. You drove that sweet young thang away
sure as I’m standing here. Forget cute with perky boobies. You need someone who will
throw you against the counter, kiss you, and then tell you to stop being a bitch!”
Joni grunted and set the Help Wanted sign up in the window. “Can she have perky
boobies too?”
“I am
not
doing a reading for you! Now start stocking—we need more of the
magnets with my picture on them. There’s going to be a run.”
Joni rolled her eyes and went to do her job, and Darrin sighed and started to pick up
his end. Sometimes it sucked being the boss.
For one thing, he wasn’t going to be the one helping sweeten this man’s sugar. But
maybe that was okay. Maybe just seeing who
would
sweeten this man’s life would be
enough.

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