Devil's Food Ripple with a Cherry on Top

By Laura Strickland

Fenady Clark's dream of owning an ice cream parlor has inspired her through some of life's hardest challenges. Just when the grand opening's within reach, that wicked rogue, Sebastian Bane, opens shop and starts serving Fenady's designer flavors, all renamed. She suspects he's using black magic to poach her recipes, and if she weren't a good witch instead of a bad witch, she'd whip up a spell and retaliate.
Sebastian's come all the way from England to establish his family's business near Salem. He can't explain how he and the lovely Fenady keep creating the same ice cream confections, unless it's enchantment, or fate. Is there room in town for both their dreams? And what will it take to convince an angry white witch she needs him in her life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509231102

Laura Strickland

Born and raised in Western New York, Laura Strickland has been an avid reader and writer since childhood. Embracing her mother's heritage, she pursued a lifelong interest in Celtic lore, legend and music, all reflected in her writing. She has made pilgrimages to both Newfoundland and Scotland in the company of her daughter, but is usually happiest at home not far from Lake Ontario, with her husband and her "fur" child, a rescue dog. She practices gratitude every day.

Book preview

Inc.

Just what are you implying, Miss Fenady?

She tossed her head. Haven’t you been listening? You’re stealing my ice cream flavors. And I want it to stop.

Indignation joined the anger brewing in Seb’s chest. I may be a lot of things, Miss Fenady. A creative genius, if he did say so himself. A walker of the old magical path, a dyed-in-the-wool Wiccan. That meant he believed in putting good out into the world. I’ve told you, I’m no thief.

Then how is it you list, here, flavors I’ve formulated? She slapped the flyer.

I don’t know. He treated her to a snarl of his own. Maybe you’re stealing my ideas, rather than the other way round.

How dare you? I started dreaming up those formulas when I was twelve years old. She began a recitation. Pistachio Dream. Whipped Almond Cloud. Both of those—or versions of them—you’ve put out, even while they were still just prototypes in my kitchen. Vanilla Victory, with—

With a touch of licorice? Seb asked, in dawning horror.

Yes. Pure fury glared at him from her eyes. Do you mean to stand there and tell me that’s coincidence?

No, I wouldn’t call it that. On the contrary, Seb was starting to think some other force must be at work here, one that fairly lit him with curiosity.

Praise for Laura Strickland

…this is a wonderful story that you won’t be able to put down.

~Avid Reader

~*~

There are no 2-dimensional characters—even bit characters have depth.

~N.N. Light Book Review

~*~

l’ll read anything this author writes.

~Showmethelove

Devil’s Food Ripple with a Cherry on Top

by

Laura Strickland

One Scoop or Two

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Devil’s Food Ripple with a Cherry on Top

COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Laura Strickland

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2020

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3110-2

One Scoop or Two

Published in the United States of America

Chapter One

Sebastian Bane is a wicked man, declared Fenady Clark, scowling at the flyer she held in her hands. A wicked, wicked man.

The flyer in question, brightly colored, slick and professional-looking, bore the legend Wicked Good Sundae Shoppe across the top, and screamed in four-inch letters about the newest flavor to go on sale, Marshmallow Madness, billed as a dream of marshmallow-whipped ice cream drizzled with hot caramel sauce and garnished with a cinnamon stick.

I detest the man, Fenady elaborated. I truly do.

You don’t even know him, protested her good friend and employee, Kara Lewandowski. In fact, you’ve never met him.

Doesn’t matter. He’s done it again.

Done what again?

Stolen my newest flavor—before I can get it into production. Here, see? He even lists it on this flyer. Marshmallow Madness. And what’s in the kitchen of this shop, even as we speak?

Your latest brainstorm—Marshy Magic, Kara replied dutifully, her expression one of concern.

How does he keep doing it? It’s the fourth time. It’s almost like he has a spy in my kitchen. She slid her eyes to Kara. You’re not spying for that man, are you?

Kara did not take the question seriously. You know better than that. Besides, some of the flavors were still just in your head when Bane nabbed them, right? Must be coincidence.

Like hell. I don’t believe in coincidence, Fenady huffed. I think it’s magic. You’ve heard what people say about Bane, right?

That he’s a Wiccan—a witch?

Yes.

Like you, Kara pointed out. Actually, the two of you have a lot in common. Both Wiccans, both new business owners. Both creative ice cream aficionados.

Yeah, who would have thought? Certainly not Fenady. She’d selected the little town of Rockpool, Massachusetts to found her lifelong dream of owning an ice cream parlor because she’d vacationed there with her parents as a girl. That had been back in the days when things were still good for her family. The quaint shops, cozy cottages, and wide beachfront had remained in her heart even after life took a turn for the worse.

Her parents had divorced when she was twelve. It had been just Fen and her mom then, until her mom got sick, only to pass away following a long and agonizing illness. And what had her beloved dad been doing all that while? Chasing other women, as if he didn’t give a damn. It had taught Fenady that she couldn’t trust men—even, or perhaps especially, the ones she loved.

It had taught her she couldn’t trust love at all.

After her mom died, there’d been nobody there to save Fenady, except Fenady. She’d thrown herself into her work, and her dreams. A big part of what had got her through were her Wiccan beliefs. Yes, she was a witch, but certainly not the cackling, warty-nosed, broom-toting kind.

She believed in harmony, balance, and putting good things out into the world so they might increase and come back to her again. It had taken her