A Whirl with my Mocha-Chocolate Swirl

By Dalia Dupris

Rebecca Layton returns to her beachside hometown of Sunnyville, California, determined to explore the possibility of rekindling her past relationship with the love of her life, Raymond Colton. She's devastated to discover that he has moved on and is now engaged.
Raymond Colton harbors resentment towards Rebecca for abandoning him to pursue her dreams of life in the big city. Now she's back and more beautiful than ever. But Raymond's heart has been broken more than once and risking more heartache with Rebecca isn't a gamble he's willing to take.
When Rebecca agrees to use her marketing expertise to help Raymond's father salvage his failing family business--Colton's Ice Creamery--she and Raymond are thrown together, and old flames are ignited. Can they heal the wounds from their past and embrace the possibility of a brighter tomorrow?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509233434

Dalia Dupris

Dalia Dupris has been a bibliophile as long as she can remember. She’s always excited about the prospect of opening the pages of a new novel and becoming immersed in a well-told story. She has won two EMMA awards and is a Romance Writers of America Spectrum Grant recipient. Dalia’s degree in English Literature from UCLA and a Masters Degree in Social Work from the University of Southern California, in addition to many years of experience as a licensed psychotherapist, contribute to her relatable characters and her ability to create multicultural, emotion-driven novels with complex plots. In her spare time, she enjoys bike riding along California beaches with her husband, and hiking with her daughter. She loves hearing from her readers. To learn more about Dalia and her books check out www.daliadupris.com and https://linktr.ee/DaliasBooks.

Book preview

Inc.

Raymond has returned and is now standing silhouetted in the door like some Egyptian pharaoh, his perfect physique clearly outlined before he steps into the office with a pizza box. Woman, don’t you ever take a break?

Not always. I stand and massage the ache I feel in my lower back from sitting too long. My back and shoulders let me know when it’s time to stop.

Here, let me help with that. Clearing the desk, he sets the box down. Turning me around, he massages my tense shoulders. I don’t want you falling apart when we’re just getting started. I’ve got to take care of the talent.

Thanks, that really hits the spot. I should stop him, but I stay silent as his strong hands remove the tension from my shoulders. I’ve missed his touch, but as good as it feels, I force myself to turn around and break the contact. This is an even bigger mistake because now we are standing close enough to kiss.

Praise for Dalia Dupris

A feel-good romance that makes you crave something… tasty!

~Judi Fennell, best-selling author

A Whirl with My Mocha Chocolate Swirl

by

Dalia Dupris

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.

A Whirl with My Mocha Chocolate Swirl

COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Dalia Dupris

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 Abigail Owen

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2020

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3343-4

One Scoop or Two

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

This book is dedicated to

Ruth Jackson and her love of reading

and Betty Juanita Spillman

for sharing her many books with me.

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to have learned the art of storytelling from my mother as she recounted her idyllic memories of growing up on a farm in Salt Lake City, Utah.

I’m indebted to my niece, Yolanda Johnson. She eagerly listened to my first bedtime stories when she was eight years old, and I was twelve.

A heartfelt thank you to all the women who shared their truths with me, whether it was a conversation on a crisis hotline or while sipping tea and enjoying dessert at a quaint cafe. I believe you, and I appreciate you.

We all deserve a happily ever after ending.

Chapter 1

A Little Turbulence

During this entire five-hour red-eye flight from New York to California, thoughts of my first love, Raymond Colton, and the ice creamery keep me awake. Okay, maybe not the ice creamery as much as recollections of the man whose lightest caress aroused my deepest desires—and whose heart I had callously broken. Privately, I always envision him as my favorite ice cream flavor—mocha chocolate swirl. His smooth, brown skin is the identical shade as the mocha ice cream that’s sold in his family’s creamery. His deep-set eyes are as dark as the ribbon of chocolate that adds such a perfect touch of sweetness.

Regardless of my recent, futile attempts to distract myself with dating other men, and the demands of the advertising job I’d left, one nagging question repeatedly surfaces—can my ex-boyfriend find it in his heart to forgive me and give us a second chance at love? Neither the mystery novel lying unopened in my lap nor the award-winning in-flight film prevent me from wondering if there’s any possibility of rekindling the spark that continues to haunt my dreams.

We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes, so fasten those seatbelts. The pilot’s soothing voice reverberates throughout the aircraft. Thank you for flying with us today. The weather in Los Angeles is a sunny and warm seventy-eight degrees. Attendants, prepare for landing.

There’s a flurry of activity as the attendants speed-walk down the aisle, carefully scanning passengers’ laps for seatbelt infractions. They don’t have to pause when they stroll past me; the metal buckle that secures me safely in my seat is always on. No matter how frequently I make this bicoastal trip, I’ve never been able to sit back and enjoy the ride. As I close my eyes and prepare for our descent, the front of the plane abruptly tilts downward, causing my stomach to do a quick somersault.

Folks, we are experiencing a little turbulence. The pilot chuckles before continuing, Attendants, please take your seats.

Sure, it’s easy for him to be jovial when this is just another day at his office in the sky. Personally, I don’t believe that the word little should ever be placed in front of the word turbulence.

Wiping the trickle of sweat from my brow, I wonder which one is more anxiety-provoking—the prospect of a rough landing or confronting my ex-boyfriend. It’s a toss-up because neither is appealing.

I pull down the shade to block the view of the white cumulus clouds above the cerulean Pacific Ocean. Gritting my teeth, I fortify my resolve to face the future—including meeting with Raymond. I need to unravel the tangled web of confusion and its suffocating tentacles from our relationship. It’s time for me to finally move forward, with or without the man who was the love of my life.

****

The chatty driver—who doesn’t look a day over eighteen—grins at me in the rearview mirror before coming to an abrupt halt in front of my mother’s pink-and-white stucco home. I clutch the edge of the back seat and struggle to remain upright, afraid that if I let go, I’ll topple to the sticky floor below.

We’re here. He fiddles with a knob on the dashboard before twisting around to face me. I popped the trunk for you. He grins, revealing shiny metal braces, then shoves his faded blue baseball cap farther back on his forehead while giving me a thumbs-up sign with a hand that’s covered with cartoon tattoos.

Thanks. Before I can say anything else, like, could you help me with my luggage? he’s swiveled back around and intently studying his cell phone. Obviously, earning a tip for doing a little extra is not high on his list of priorities.

On legs wobbly from the action-packed ride, I make my way to the trunk where I haul the oversize bags out, then drag each piece individually across the cracked sidewalk, up three porch steps, and through the front door.

My mother is at work until five o’clock, but Riley, her tan-and-brown Chihuahua, enthusiastically greets me at the door. He turns around in circles and frantically wags his tail before jumping up to press his paws against my legs.

Hi, Riley. I run my hand across his soft fur before scratching behind his ears as he licks my cheek. You love me, don’t you, boy? I take his soft whimper as a yes. You, my friend, are the one male whose loyalty I’ll never question, and, because of that, I have a special treat for you. I reach into my pocket and pull out a chicken-flavored dog treat. I laugh as he snatches it and trots off to his dog bed in the living room.

Before heading down the hall to my room, I pause long enough to inhale the co-mingled scents of lemon furniture polish and fresh flowers that are placed throughout the house. My mother always says that flowers will brighten any day. Evidence of her creative skills are evident everywhere—in the curving, brown ceramic vase that holds the bright yellow daffodils on the dinette table, the magenta hand-blown glass bowl on the coffee table, and