Déjà Date
Déjà Date
by
Susan Hatler
Déjà Date
Copyright © 2015 by Susan Hatler
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
License Notes
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Cover Design by Elaina Lee, For The Muse Design
Titles by Susan Hatler
Better Date than Never Series
Teen Novels
Praise
“Susan Hatler has a knack for writing books that draw me in from the very first page!”
—
Books Are Sanity!!! on Love at First Date
“Ms. Hatler has a way of writing witty dialogue that makes you laugh-out-loud throughout her stories.”
— Night Owl Reviews on Truth or Date
“
Seriously you guys, you have to pick this one up if you are a romantic at heart.
Deliciously sweet.
”
—
Getting Your Read On Reviews on My Last Blind Date
“An Unexpected Date is a wonderful and perfect release to a stressful or crazy day.”
— Cafè of Dreams Book Reviews
“If you enjoy a YA Romance jam packed with adventure and the unknown. I would recommend this fantastic read.”
— Tifferz Book Reviewz
Déjà Date
by
Susan Hatler
Chapter One
I was an ugly duckling who turned into a swan, and I can’t decide which was worse. Yeah, I may have had to endure the nickname “Marshmallow Melinda” all through elementary school but at least I had gotten to indulge in the world’s most scrumptious creation: the chocolate marshmallow fudge bars from Bernie’s Bakery.
I wanted one
now
.
As I pushed open the yellow shabby-chic door of Bernie’s Bakery in East Sacramento, the
ding-a-ling
of a bell chimed overhead. I stepped inside. Although it had been almost two months since my last visit, the familiar warmth washed over me as I inhaled the sweet scents of banana bread, carrot cake, and something that smelled suspiciously like sourdough. Bernie’s Bakery had always been a home away from home for me, and I would’ve smiled if my situation weren’t so dire.
My heels clicked along the wooden floor as I strode to the back of the very long line of Monday morning patrons, who were waiting to order their espresso drinks and delicious pastries from this popular bakery.
For over a decade, I’ve forced myself to opt for Bernie’s bran muffins instead of those fudge bars my taste buds really craved. But that was about to change, because I’d never been so stressed in my life. Tension mounted inside me as my gaze flicked to the chocolate marshmallow fudge bars lined up behind the glass display case. Three left. One was mine. All mine.
I licked my bottom lip.
Changing my diet to ditch the nickname “Marshmallow Melinda” hadn’t been easy, and my willpower had held strong even when I’d worked here part-time through college. But where had being size four gotten me anyway?
I’m a twenty-seven-year-old customer service representative who was recently laid off from my job of four years, forcing me to move in with a roommate to save on expenses. Goodbye independence, hello lint remover—my roommate, Ginger, had two kittens, and feline hair was so
not
my friend.
Yeah, I’d hated my career—listening to people’s complaints day in and day out wasn’t exactly a mood booster. But at least it had paid well. I couldn’t say the same about the menial temp jobs available. All my spare time in the past seven weeks had been consumed with sending out résumés and going on interviews. I hadn’t even had a chance to visit my mother let alone come in to say hi to Bernie at his bakery, which was in the same neighborhood where my mom lived.
I also still hadn’t found a new job. As such, my bank account was dry. Since my mom had called last night to invite me over for a visit, this was my final stop on the way to her place—a gorgeous house in the historic Fabulous Forties neighborhood—where I’d have the utter humiliation of asking to dip into the inheritance I swore I’d never touch.
I’d truly reached rock bottom. Thus, my need for the chocolate marshmallow fudge bar in order to offset my misery. I glanced nervously at my watch, keenly aware that I had to act fast before my roommate’s sister, Mary Ann, arrived.
In an effort to cheer me up last night, Mary Ann—who I didn’t even know very well—had treated me to an expensive dinner at a trendy restaurant, which was very generous of her. Unfortunately, I found myself wishing I’d brought earplugs. Steamed lobster with a buttery Chardonnay? Good. Incessant gripes about her alcoholic father who was in rehab? Bad.
Couldn’t she appreciate that she still
had
a dad? Mine had gone and died on me during a freak hot air balloon accident when I was fourteen. And taking any of the life insurance money resulting from his death felt wrong. But I was desperate.
To top everything off, Mary Ann had swung by the condo this morning to give her final reimbursement check to her sister—apparently Mary Ann had owed Ginger a hefty sum of money—and had invited herself to meet me at Bernie’s Bakery. Before I had time to protest, she’d zipped out the door saying she’d see me there in fifteen minutes.
First, I didn’t want Mary Ann or her sister (aka: my landlord) to know I was broke. And second, I didn’t need anyone witnessing my final moment of defeat when I chowed down that fudge bar.
I’d worked hard to project a good image and I would not have my cover blown now. My perfect persona was currently a complete façade, but nobody needed to know that. Maybe if the line moved fast enough, I could scarf down that alluring fudge bar before she arrived. Now that sounded like a good plan.
My heart pounded in my chest as I moved up in line and my mouth watered just thinking about that sweet chocolate melting on my tongue. How I’d survived thirteen years without eating one of those fudge bars was beyond me. Two more patrons ahead of me then that delicious treat would be
mine
. As I stared at the row of decadent delights, the
ding-a-ling
of the bell chimed.
“Melinda!” Mary Ann called in her perky voice as she strode over to me, her honey-blond curls bouncing over her shoulders. She glanced at the glass case. “You looked like a caged tiger eyeing her prey. Are they really
that
good?”
I gasped, humiliated that my weakness was so blatantly obvious. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lied.
“Those.” She pointed toward Bernie’s oh-so-tempting chocolate marshmallow fudge bars that screamed my name from inside the case. “You’re practically drooling.”
“No, I’m not,” I lied for the second time in under a minute, and a coat of sweat took up residence on my forehead. I needed to maintain control. No, I needed the fudge bar. . . My head started to spin.
“May I help you?” A young woman’s irritated voice caught my attention.
I whipped around and gaped. Instead of Bernie’s familiar face with his hazel eyes and graying temples, a brunette barista with bright streaks of purple in her hair stood behind the counter, staring at me with an expression of impatience.
I blinked at her. I’d been so focused on myself that I hadn’t noticed the owner was missing from his usual routine. “Where’s Bernie?”
She frowned. “I have no idea.”
“But he mans the register every day,” I pointed out. Bernie had never missed a day of work in all the time I’d known him—not even when his wife divorced him for greener pastures (aka: a Parisian guy who’d invited her to run away to France with him
permanently
).
“Sorry to disappoint you. Would you like to order or what?”
“Um . . .” I glanced behind the girl for any sign of Bernie, but didn’t spot him. My stomach bubbled with worry. What if something bad had happened to him? I’d grown up coming to Bernie’s Bakery daily and he was like a second dad to me.
Trying not to freak out about Bernie, I sucked in a breath, knowing I couldn’t regress into my bad fudge bar habit with Mary Ann standing there to witness it. That would be too humiliating. “I’d like a non-fat latte with sugar-free caramel syrup and . . . one bran muffin, please.”
Mary Ann tugged on my arm. “Just order the freaking fudge bar.”
The woman paused, holding her tongs mid-air, then gave a meaningful glance at the line behind Mary Ann and me. “Did you want to change your order?” she asked.
“I’ll stick with the bran muffin, plus whatever she’s having.” Knowing I really shouldn’t revisit the bad habits of my former life, I turned to Mary Ann. “I don’t want the fudge bar, but get whatever you want. It’s on me.”
“You
know
you wanted it. But, whatever.” She rolled her eyes then ordered a mocha with extra whip and a chocolate croissant. She handed the barista her credit card. “My treat, actually.”
My mouth dropped open, because she’d just bought me a pricey dinner last night and I needed to do something back for her. “No, I can—”
“Too late.” Mary Ann waved a hand, then gazed down at my outfit. “You look nice. Do you have an interview this morning? Or are you going to another temp job?”
“Neither,” I said, touched that she’d treated me yet again, and given me a compliment on how I looked. I picked a piece of cat hair off my black suit jacket covering the red silk blouse I’d tucked into matching pants. I’d styled my blond mane until no stray hair was out of place and I’d applied my make-up to perfection, but only because these had been daily habits since I’d vowed to lose my ugly duckling reputation. “After seven weeks of low-paying temp jobs, I’ve reached a dead end. Everyone hiring for a customer service representative has told me I have too much experience.”
Mary Ann’s nose wrinkled. “Uh, isn’t experience a good thing?”
“You’d think.” I lifted the brown and white-checkered plate holding my bran muffin, then picked up my coffee cup. “But that’s probably the reason Rich Woodward laid me off from his company. I was the lead customer service rep at the top of the pay scale, and he was cutting back on expenses.”
“That makes no sense.” Her tone rose as if in confusion as she followed me toward a bistro table by the front window. “If you’re one of his most valuable employees, then why would he lay you off?”
“To make his business look more profitable on a balance sheet.” I slid into the chair across from her. “I’m guessing Rich is getting ready to sell his company. It’s the only thing that adds up. He laid off your sister from her office manager job, too, and rolled her duties into the human resources manager position.”
“Yeah. Poor Kaitlin’s been so stressed out.”
“I can imagine.” A flicker of jealousy ran through me that she’d said the human resource manager’s name so casually as if they were good friends. Much like my school days, I’d never been part of the female in-group at Woodward Systems Corporation. But my roommate, Ginger, had been besties with everyone. Apparently, so had her sister.
“Hello, hotness!” Mary Ann’s sultry tone pulled me from my thoughts.
“Hotness?” I repeated, following Mary Ann’s gaze out the window to where a guy on a motorcycle pulled to a stop in front of the bakery. He wore a black leather jacket over his broad shoulders, snug-fitting jeans, and black boots. He dismounted facing the bike, then turned in our direction as he pulled his helmet off.
Hotness was
not
a strong enough word.
Dark layered hair fell across this guy’s brow, accentuating the lightness of his jade-green eyes. His narrow jaw complimented full lips that seemed sensual, even from this far away. He was a mixture of style and danger that could tempt any woman to hop on the back of his bike and ride wherever he wanted to go.