“Welcome!” the clerk said, looking up. “We’re just testing a new batch of fudge. Want to try a piece?” She held out a fluted paper cup holding a square of fudge dotted with shards of peppermint candy.

“Oh, uh, well…”

“Go ahead,” one of the other customers urged. “It’s delicious. Everything Nancy makes is wonderful. I’m taking a pound to my bridge club luncheon.”

Ivy gulped and decided to take one for the team. She popped the fudge in her mouth and was surprised by the sensations assaulting her taste buds. Sweet, yes, but with peppery undernotes and something … ineffable.

“It’s delicious,” Ivy blurted out. “And I don’t like candy.”

The clerk laughed. “Oh my. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like candy.”

One of the old ladies nudged the other. “Imagine that!”

The two women paid for their purchases, gave Ivy a long, puzzled look, then exited the candy shop.

“Now, how can I help you?” the clerk asked, her eyes crinkling with barely suppressed mirth. “I take it you must be here to buy a gift for someone who does like sweets?”

Ivy took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m looking for Nancy Langley Bergstrom. Is she around today?”

“I’m Nancy,” the clerk said. “President, CEO, and chief candymaker. Also, bottle washer, janitor, and head of the shipping department.”

“Okay. Hi, Nancy. I’m Ivy Perkins, and I have a business proposition for you.”

The candymaker’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. If you’re selling something, well, I’m not really in a position to buy anything at this time.” She leaned across the counter and looked straight into Ivy’s eyes. “In fact, I’m afraid we’ll be closing the store right after Christmas.”

“Oh no!” Ivy exclaimed. “How sad.”

“You don’t even know,” Nancy Bergstrom agreed. “I’ve tried everything. New flavors, sale pricing, online offers. But I’m just out of ideas. And energy. This company has been in my family for ninety years. And I’m the one who will be the one to turn off the lights and lock the door and walk away. I feel like such a failure.”

“But you’re not a failure,” Ivy protested. “Not at candy. As I said, I don’t eat sweets, but your Dark Chocolate PepperyMint Patties—they’re like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. In fact, that’s why I came here today. I wanted to talk to you about your marketing. Your packaging, your online presence—forgive me, but they don’t reflect your product. At all.”

“And you’re an expert at those kinds of things?” Nancy asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Actually, I am,” Ivy said. “I have my own marketing and public relations firm. Like you, I’m a small, one-woman shop. And I really believe I can help you.”

“Thanks,” Nancy said, “but I really don’t think—”

They heard a scratching at the front window. Ivy looked over to see Punkin, standing on his back legs, scratching at the display window.

“Is that your dog?” Nancy Bergstrom asked.

“Yes. Sorry. He’s gotten sort of … clingy since I moved here. Maybe I’d better put him in the car.”