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Chandra Blumberg Books

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Stirring Up Love

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Digging Up Love

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“OMG, did he just sext you?" Alisha clapped the phone to her chest, as good as clutching pearls. "No!" "Yeah, right." Simone tilted her head sideways, gold hoops catching the light. "You're guilty as all get-out. What did he send you, a dick pic?" The waitress sailed up to the table with a wide smile. Alisha slumped down in her seat, resisting the urge to continue the slide until she was hidden underneath the table. "What can I get for you ladies?" How about two eggs with a side of mortification? "I'll have an egg white spinach omelet," Simone said, holding loosely clasped hands by her cheek, her upturned face a ringer for a baroque saint. "But better bring my sister a smoothie, because she's so thirsty.”

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Book:Digging Up Love
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“Not only do you get a chance to get out of Hawksburg again to start up the franchise, but Finn’s heaven sent. He could kick-start our food to the next level. I know you’re ready to stop treading water.” Treading water. Heaven sent. Finn had been in town less than two days, and already people thought he was more valuable to Honey and Hickory than she was. Lyndsey leaned both elbows on the prep table and turned to Simone, eyes bright. “Do you think he can teach me how to flambé? I’ve always wanted to try.” Of course he could. He could teach them to fillet a halibut, or make a red wine reduction. But what did that matter at Honey and Hickory? “You planning to flambé a pork butt?” Lyndsey shook her head. “Then it’s a moot point. Finn’s here to help with the reception dinner—that’s it.” Brows raised, Lyndsey said, “Heard.”

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“Failure.” The word popped out, and he instantly wanted to wrangle it back in, because the spark in Simone’s amber eyes vanished like a doused flame. “What?” Her voice went flat, like hammered steel. A tone he recognized as the same phony apathy he used to disguise big feelings when they threatened to break free. He’d hurt her, and he hated himself for it. But with the ease of someone with a knack for making bad situations worse, he said, “I bet you’re terrified of failing. I bet your whole existence hinges on the image of success, of being on top, and without it, you’re nothing.”

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“But one person had stayed quiet ever since Alisha’s wedding, the person whose blessing she wanted most, and he was sitting across from her, leaning back in his chair like he wanted to put some distance between himself and the platter of tempeh barbecue sliders. “Vegetarian barbecue?” Pops made it sound like blasphemy. She grinned. Silence was damning, but pushback she could handle. “Yep. I want to make sure there’s something for everyone here. And expanding our options makes sense from a business standpoint. If we’re getting more out-of-town customers, we need to offer dishes to suit a variety of dietary needs and preferences.” She nudged the plate toward him. “C’mon, I bet you’ll love it.” He picked up a slider and took a bite, then went back for another with a murmur of appreciation. “That’s actually tasty,” he admitted. “But why’d you go and make new buns? We’ve already got rolls on the menu.” “Yeah, but these are gluten-free.” “Quit lying.” He twisted the roll around, scrutinizing it like he was trying to ascertain its chemical makeup, then took another bite and chewed, brow creased in thought. “Vegetarian options I guess I can get used to, even though we used to have a pig on the sign,” he said, and chuckled.”

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“But now that you’ve let a man into your life, you might be regretting it. You probably think it makes you weak, which it doesn’t, and vulnerable, which it most certainly does.” Well, that was the opposite of comforting. “But being vulnerable is important, because only when we’re vulnerable can we see there are people worthy of our hearts, people who crave the chance to love us and be loved in return.” But she still had so much to prove. So far to go before she’d reach a point where she felt like a success. How could Finn love a work in progress? How could anyone? Then again, she loved Honey and Hickory, even though the decor was a hodgepodge of decades and the coleslaw was subpar. Imperfect. Great in some areas, lacking in others. Yet she loved the restaurant just the same. Finn wasn’t perfect either. He’d misjudged her and stormed off and cost her a chance at working with two of her favorite entrepreneurs. But she loved him. Completely.”

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“I kind of associate people with flavors. My grandpa? He's an acquired taste, but the closest I can get is crème brûlée. A caramelized shell on the outside. Burnt, bitter notes. But crack the surface, and you find nothing but sweet custard. And Granny? She's a lemon meringue pie. A classic. Pillowy, silken-sweet egg whites, tamed with a hint of sour lemon and a snap of rich, buttery crust." Squinting at him, she stopped rambling, feeling naked under his smoldering gray gaze. She lifted her heavy twists off the spot between her shoulder blades and fanned her neck. "Told you it was weird." "It's not. It's beautiful." He looked down at the water, then met her eyes. "Do you have one for me?" "I didn't. Before. I tried to figure you out, but nothing ever fit. I think maybe because my doubts got in the way. But now...?" "Now?" She traced her finger along the veins in his arms, watched his breath catch. "A ginger cookie. Not a gingersnap. Those are brittle and grate against your teeth. You're a chewy molasses cookie, the kind that gives when you bite into it, with exciting zings of crystallized ginger and pops of raw sugar." She dipped her chin, leaning on the railing again. He moved behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, melting her to the core. He placed his mouth right by her ear, his breath tickling her neck. "What I'm hearing is, you like things a little spicy." Laughing, she craned her neck around to catch the gleam in his eyes. "That's what you got out of that?" "I heard what I heard.”

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“The bite melted on her tongue. Golden oil and toasted flour. Powdered sugar clinging to the roof of her mouth like summer and sunshine. But all that faded away when Quentin stepped closer, cupped her elbows. Her senses filled with him---earthy spices---cloves and cinnamon and the cleansing hit of ginger. Deep notes of molasses, unique unto itself. Her eyes opened. "Alisha? What did you taste?" You.”

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“Nautical blue? Nah.” Her best friend, Chantal, used her fingertip to reveal the next set of colors. “Back in Chicago, with Lake Michigan nearby, maybe. But out here?” Her tone indicated just what she thought of the rural Illinois town. She tapped another hue on the swatch. “What you want here is cornflower blue.” Grinning, Simone shook her head. She’d missed joking around with Chantal. And nothing could dim her pride in the town’s agriculture. Their corn fed the nation. Lake Michigan was picturesque but cold and forbidding half the time.”

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“I don’t just like you, I love you. You and your little hedgehog self.” She stopped brushing Willow. “Hedgehog?” “Yeah.” Meg grinned, never a good sign. “You’re spiny on the outside and soft and fuzzy on the inside.” “Hmph.” “But without the spines, you’d just be a squishy, boring hamster.” Simone shook her head. “You are an absolute freak, and I love you for it.”

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“It's been forever since we watched Friends. Besides, you're the one who made me sit through that show." "Because if it was up to you, we would've watched Bewitched reruns every night." "I Love Lucy," Alisha muttered. "And you say you're not a boomer." "Whatever. You're just bitter my mind is more sophisticated than yours and didn't immediately make the leap year to pop culture when I met Quentin." "Oh, okay." Simone crossed her arms, and the gold cuff on her wrist flashed in the sunlight. "You're gonna stand there and tell me you and your minion Meg haven't been dropping Jurassic Park references since he showed up?" Tongue in her cheek, Alisha scowled. "I hate you so much." "Behold, my sister the meganerd." Cackling, Simone struck a Vanna White pose.”

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“Since the picture is supposedly PG..." "How do you even know there is a picture?" "Are you going to share it or leave it to my imagination?" With a petty smirk, Alisha said, "I'll take door number two." "Oh, girl, c'mon." "Nuh-uh, nope. You took the wrong approach." Alisha kept the phone pressed to her chest. "Maybe one day you'll learn: shock and awe can't win every campaign.”

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“You’re relieved of duty, bachelorette. Go take thy lack of crafting skills elsewhere. You’re a disgrace to bakers everywhere.” “Excuse me, Chantal, but have you seen my bonbons?” Chantal laughed. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” “What my sister means to say is her sugar work is top notch.” Simone eyed the bow critically. Probably because she was the only sober one. “Unfortunately, looks like that skill doesn’t transfer to non edible items.”

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“When he saw her, his whole face lit up like a Vegas billboard. Like he was happy to see her. Like he liked her. “Bad news, Simone. They only had one room left. Just one twin bed.” He tapped the key cards on the desk and bounced his brows, the corners of his mouth upturned. “Cozy, though.” “If you want me to believe these ridiculous scenarios you keep throwing out, at least have the decency to keep a straight face.”

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“Whoa, Tornado. Where’s the fire?” She should’ve said, “In the stove,” just to be annoying. But that would only be half-true. Because the fire was right here, between them. In the air, popping like static. In his eyes, gone dark and intense. Her breath caught when she realized he was still holding her arms. “I was gonna shower. You’re all fresh, and I probably smell like trail dirt and river water.” “You smell amazing.” He spoke low, and she gave in to desire, her body arching toward him. “Like always.” Finn’s hands fisted in the hem of her hoodie, and he tugged her closer, bringing their hips together. She gasped. “Like a garden after a thunderstorm.”

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“I'm pretty sure the only thing that makes you look bad is how eager you were to invalidate a colleague's role in a groundbreaking discovery." She stood, scraping her chair against the concrete. Shouldered her purse and looked down at Dr. Yates, waiting for him to meet her eyes. Then she summoned her last reserve of courage and found her voice. "The choice is yours, Dr. Yates. Lose out on access to the discovery of a lifetime, or give a deserving man his job back.”

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“They followed the path toward the canyon, the crunch of their feet on the ground the only noise, steps slowing as they came up to the rim. Rays of morning sunlight bathed the canyon in goldenrod and ocher, rose pink and mauve. The sight took her breath away. Tears sprung to her eyes. Actual tears. Of joy. The worst, most useless variety. What kind of loser cried happy tears? She did, apparently.”

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“You’re wrong about one thing. I’ve failed plenty. But I’m not going to fail at this. And since you insist on staying, you’ll get a front-row seat to my success. Enjoy the upgrade from the cheap seats.” She turned and sauntered away. Done with the confrontation. Done with him. Cheap seats? Oh heck no. Insult his sauce? Whatever. Insult him? Fine. But she’d hit a nerve by smack-talking like a spoiled princess. Dazzled by her beauty—and that was on him—he’d forgotten for a moment she was selling hand-me-down sauce from an inherited restaurant. Secure by birthright in comforts he’d spent his childhood chasing, only to fail, again and again. Forget forfeiting. Not only did he plan to show up and outsell Simone Blake every week, but he’d accept the invitation to pitch his brand on The Executives. Win an investment and prove once and for all, in front of the whole country, that he mattered. He might come from nothing, but he was going somewhere. Cheap seats? She’d be watching his victory from the couch.”

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