Phoebe laughed despite herself. “You’re crazy, Ivy Perkins.”

“I’m right and you know it.”

Her friend’s eyes widened. “Hold on. I’ve got an idea. You could meet Cody. You could explain it to him better than I could. I bet you could make me sound better than I really am.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Phoebe reached across the table and grasped both of Ivy’s hands in hers. “It’s the only way. Please? Just meet Cody. Talk to him. Try to make him understand why I did what I did. And then, if he wants to break up, I won’t blame him a bit.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Ivy said. “I’m a total stranger. Why would he listen to me? Anyway, you’re just avoiding the inevitable.”

“Please? I can’t face him yet. Cross my heart, I will. But I just need a couple more days to get up my courage. You’re older than us. Like a big sister, almost. It won’t seem so crazy coming from you.”

Ivy sighed. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Chapter 14

“These are all so great—so much fun, if I didn’t know better, I’d think this was some other candy company’s public relations campaign!” Nancy Bergstrom leaned on the glass candy counter and leafed through the written proposal Ivy had created.

“This one—with the little red devil and the ‘Sinfully Sweet’—is adorable, but I also love the Valentine’s Day ‘Sweeter than Kisses’ one too,” Nancy said. “Oh, and I love, love, love the ads about ‘Treat Yourself Tuesdays. And Thursdays.’”

“One thing I think you have to do is emphasize that your product isn’t just for Christmas. It’s a year-round pleasure. And since your target market is mostly women, we want our customers to know that they don’t have to wait for a man to buy them candy.”

“Right.” Nancy nodded, then sighed. “But I can’t afford advertising like this, Ivy. The only reason I’ve been able to keep up with the bare minimum of marketing is because my mom left me this building. And the business.”

“We’re going to start by building you a social media profile,” Ivy said. “That’s free. We’ll put one of these cute posters in the shop and ask your customers to follow you on your social media. If they tag you, they can be entered into a drawing to win a box of candy. Every morning, you’ll style up a cute package of your candy, snap a photo, and post.”

“I have an Instagram account,” Nancy said proudly.

“With seventeen followers,” Ivy noted. “And you haven’t updated it since when? Last Mother’s Day? Let me ask you something, Nancy. Do you have any customers who are sort of famous? Or somebody who’s really active on social media? What we call an influencer?”

The candymaker scrunched up her face in concentration. “What’s the name of the blond girl who was in that teenage slasher movie series?”

“You mean Harlowe Banks?”

“Yes!” Nancy snapped her fingers. “She has a cabin here, up on Raccoon Ridge. I think her mother grew up locally. Anyway, she comes in mostly in the summer, always wears a baseball cap and dark glasses, but one of my high school kid helpers recognized her. She loves our dark chocolate sea salt caramels and the red-hot chewies. She calls up and has me ship them to her at her home in L.A. all the time. I think she must give them as gifts.”