The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice

  ALSO BY DONNA KAUFFMAN

  Lavender Blue

  A Season to Celebrate (“Christmas in

  Blue Hollow Falls” novella)

  Bluestone & Vine

  The Inn at Blue Hollow Falls (ebook novella)

  Blue Hollow Falls

  ALSO BY KATE ANGELL

  No One Like You (Barefoot William)

  No Breaking My Heart (Barefoot William)

  No Time to Explain (Barefoot William)

  You’ll find both Donna Kauffman and Kate Angell in

  The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

  ALSO BY ALLYSON CHARLES

  Forever Home

  Forever Found

  Forever Wild

  You’ll find both Allyson Charles and Kate Angell in

  That Mistletoe Moment

  The BAKESHOP at PUMPKIN and SPICE

  Donna Kauffman

  Allyson Charles

  Kate Angell

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

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

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Compilation copyright © 2019 by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  “Sweet Magic” © 2019 by Donna Kauffman

  “Love Spells Disaster” © 2019 by Allyson Charles

  “Sweet on You” © 2019 by Kate Angell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2215-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2217-5 (ebook)

  Kensington Electronic Edition: September 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2215-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2215-9

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Edition: September 2019

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Sweet Magic - DONNA KAUFFMAN

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Love Spells Disaster - ALLYSON CHARLES

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Sweet on You - KATE ANGELL

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Teaser chapter

  Sweet Magic

  DONNA KAUFFMAN

  Chapter 1

  All Hallows’ Eve was fast approaching, and Abriana Bellaluna O’Neill couldn’t be happier about it. She and her grandmother were already hard at work at their family bakery, filling the display cases with delicious treats that celebrated their favorite magical, mystical holiday. What the townsfolk didn’t know was that the Bellaluna women were a bit magical and mystical themselves. A visit to Bellaluna’s Bakeshop, nestled in the little town of Moonbright, Maine, was guaranteed to cure any craving your sweet tooth might have. But if you happened to be the recipient of one of their special treats, they could satisfy the cravings of your heart as well.

  Abriana—Bree to everyone except her grandma Sofia—loved this time of year. The harvest season was ending, the leaves on the trees were a rainbow of beautiful colors, swirling in the air like party confetti, celebrating the commencement of the holiday season. Temperatures had dipped, the sounds of logs being split echoed in the crisp morning air, and smoke wafted from chimney tops as fireplaces warmed the hearths in their cozy, little village. Sweaters were pulled out of storage, gloves were fished out of coat closets, and Bree could feel the excitement begin to build as everyone’s thoughts turned toward the celebrations to come.

  Thanksgiving, then Christmas, New Year’s, and finally, Valentine’s Day kept things rolling along at the bakeshop, each holiday a festive, busy time for them, filled with traditions and joy. But for the residents of Moonbright, none was as festive and eagerly anticipated as the holiday that launched the season: Halloween.

  There were parties, costume contests, and all of her friends and neighbors would outdo themselves decorating their yards for the wee ones who would be out on the trick-or-treating trail. The most anticipated part of the celebration, however, and what drew far-flung family members and tourists alike to their little coastal town, was Moonbright’s grand Halloween parade. And, oh, how grand it was!

  Every man, woman, and child—and a fair number of household pets to boot—dressed up in costumes that ranged from rudimentary, handmade creations by the very youngest, to elaborate concoctions for some of the grown-ups that would have been right at home on a Hollywood movie set. Floats were made, and cars, firetrucks, along with a few tractors were decked out as well. The whole town got in on the fun.

  The parade grew as it progressed, like a giant, costume-festooned conga line winding through the streets, as more and more people joined in. Music filled the air from the high school marching band, aided by those who brought along their instruments and played as they strolled. Impromptu sing-a-longs happened on every corner, and the shops that lined the main street through town stayed open until the wee hours, offering treats and specials to everyone who caravanned by.

  Even though Bree spent most of the actual holiday inside the shop, baking, ringing up sales, and baking some more, she enjoyed looking out at the passing parade as she handed out treats. She loved the sense of community, of everyone she’d known her entire life coming together on one night to celebrate, sing, laugh, and have a good time. It was a no-pressure holiday. No gifts needed buying, no family ties needed testing. It was simply a night to play dress up, enjoy a few sweets, sing as loud as you liked, and dance until your feet gave out.

  Bree spent all year planning her costume. Anticipating the holiday was as much fun as the event itself. She was always amazed at how fast the night flew by, and somehow, even though she’d been on her feet all day, the moment she and Sofia flipped the shop sign to CLOSED, Bree raced right out to join the happy throng. No matter how tired she was, the excitement, the music, the laughter always infused her with the energy to dance and sing long past the witching hour. The moment she recovered, she immediately set her sights on next year’s event.

  Even when the shop was filled to bursting and she was certain this would be the year when they wouldn’t be able to keep up with the quickly depleting stock, she loved working side by side with her grandmother and her mom, too, when she and Bree’s dad happened to be in town. That occurred less and less often now, in the years since their only child had become an adult. Bree was already missing them both as this season approached. They’d barely returned from a summer trip to the Netherlands before heading off on another “gallivant,” as her grandmother called it. This time to the Galapagos Islands.

  Bree missed her parents when they were gone—adulthood hadn’t changed that—but Sofia had always sent her daughter and son-in-law off with her love and full support, and Bree did the same. She was happy her parents were out in the world,
doing what they loved, and joined Sofia in cheering them on as they each continued to celebrate greater successes in their respective fields.

  In turn, after Bree had finished culinary school and, at her parent’s urging, agreed to a brief stint of formal pastry education in Italy, they’d respected their daughter’s decision to return home and work by her grandmother’s side, in the family bakeshop, happily content to remain in their small hometown.

  Ultimately, as a family, they’d come to embrace that they were each doing what they were meant to do, and Bree held on to that. It had been her parents shared love of art that had brought them together in the first place, eventually leading to Bree’s existence in this world. Photographer Patrick O’Neill, passing through town while on a magazine assignment, had spied Carolina Bellaluna’s watercolors in the local gallery, which had led him to the bakeshop one fateful Halloween night. Well, fate might have had a little help from a certain Italian iced cookie. A Bellaluna Italian iced cookie.

  Bree readily admitted to herself that her fascination with baking went hand in hand with her fascination regarding that other part of the Bellaluna family business. The magical part.

  Bree worked hard, wanting Sofia to be proud to leave the bakeshop to her when the time came, knowing it would be in good, capable hands. Bree also knew that her nonna couldn’t possibly be truly content with that plan until her only granddaughter came into her own, fully realizing that special skill all Bellaluna women were born with. That one, very particular skill was the only one Bree had yet to master, and the only one that really mattered.

  In truth, she wasn’t even close. And at twenty-nine, she was quite behind the curve compared to the Bellaluna women who had come before her.

  “But no pressure,” she murmured as she slid out the final trays carrying the results of her most recent attempt to achieve that particular goal.

  Every year for as long as she could remember, part of the Halloween excitement for Bree had been waiting to see if there would be another Bellaluna match. Bellaluna magic worked on any given day of the year, but it seemed especially potent around this particular holiday. As the hallowed eve neared, Bree would spend her days wondering who it would be, what fortunate soul was about to cross paths with their one true love.

  She tried not to be discouraged that she, herself, rarely got it right. But Sofia knew. Bree’s mom would, too. Just as every Bellaluna woman who’d come before them would have known. Sofia and her mother had always explained that no spells were being cast, no enchantment bestowed. True love could not be made with magic.

  However, from time to time, true love did require an extra little push. A sweet bit of magic could make certain orbits collide. . . so fate could then take its natural course.

  Bree looked from the cooling racks on the worktable in front of her to the other tables that lined the kitchen in the back of the bakeshop, and scowled. The stainless-steel surfaces were filled with rack after rack of beautifully perfect, delicately iced cookies, each one representing a previous attempt. A previous failed attempt. Proof that she wasn’t joining the Bellaluna magic circle this year, either. She picked up one of the finished treats. “How can something that looks so good taste so bad?” She examined it more closely. As if somehow the naked eye could see what her taste buds had already discovered. And deeply regretted.

  The cookie appeared to be perfect in every way, something she could proudly display in the old-fashioned glass case that ran the length of the front of the shop. Perfectly brown around the edges, plump in the middle, with a dollop of their special Italian cream icing spread evenly on top. A delicate array of sprinkles added the perfect final touch. It looked like a little piece of bite-sized heaven.

  Bree had followed her grandma Sofia’s recipe down to the tiniest detail. The same recipe that Sofia had gotten from her mother, who’d gotten it from her mother, who’d gotten it from her own, and so on, for as far back as the Bellaluna family history had been recorded. But somehow, Bree had failed to perfect Bellaluna’s secret trademark treat. What was not to love about butter, sugar, and Italian cream?

  She set down the finished cookie and picked up a newly cooled one, taking her time to ice it with exacting precision, adding the sprinkles so they glinted in delectable, sparkling perfection as they caught the overhead light. Bree studied it critically. It looked perfect. But then, the others had, too.

  “Focus,” Bree murmured. She took a steadying breath, staring at the cookie as if she could infuse it with magic from sheer force of will. If determination could get her there, then surely, she was about to experience her long-awaited triumph. There simply wasn’t any way this cookie could be anything other than perfectly delicious.

  “Be the magic,” she whispered before taking a determined, confident bite out of the soft, creamy cookie. She immediately grabbed a napkin and spit it right back out again. It tasted as if she’d used two cups of baking soda instead of cake flour. Disgusted, more with herself than the offending cookie, she tossed the napkin and its acrid contents in the trash, then glared at the remaining eleven on the most recently baked tray, as if they’d personally ganged up on her to dash her hopes and dreams. Again.

  “Abriana mimma, I need you to cover the front for a few minutes,” her grandmother Sofia called as she pushed through the swinging door that separated the public part of the shop from the extensive kitchen area in the back. “Ah, cuore mia,” she said as she spied what her granddaughter had been up to. Sofia’s voice was still softly accented from a childhood spent in the sunflower fields of Tuscany.

  Sofia was seventy-six, but had the timeless beauty of her namesake, Sophia Loren. Actually, Sofia Scicolone was the name the famed beauty had been born with. Bree’s grandmother had been quite a stunner herself, and like her famous counterpart, her beauty had only deepened with age. Sofia’s warmly hued skin still held a luminescent glow and remained remarkably free of creases and lines. Except for the ones that fanned out from the corners of her soft brown eyes when she smiled, which was often. She kept her hair the same rich brown she’d been born with, always styled in a pretty French twist, with carefully curled tendrils in front of each ear, accenting the cheekbones of her heart-shaped face. Her “vanity curls,” as she called them.

  She wore little makeup other than eyebrow pencil and a bit of lipstick. She didn’t need anything more and never had. Her figure remained trim despite the fact that she never tired of sampling the treats the Bellaluna family had baked and sold for more than fifty years in Moonbright, and another generation or two before that in the old country.

  Bree could only wish she’d been as fortunate in the gene pool lottery. She’d taken more after her Irish father in coloring, her hair somewhere between auburn and brown that never managed to capture the luster of either shade, with hazel eyes that couldn’t quite decide between being brown or gray, blue or green. Her pale skin was only remarkable for the bane of her existence, the freckles she’d never outgrown. They didn’t just sprinkle across her nose in some cute, perky, delightful pattern. No, they’d splashed themselves with gay abandon on every part of Bree’s body early on, and decided they were there to stay.

  Along with her dad’s fair coloring, Bree had gotten her mother’s soft curves. Okay, maybe “soft” was just another way of saying slightly plump. It wasn’t from oversampling the wares. Bree had been born soft, and no amount of three-mile-a-day running or brisk cross-country skiing had ever changed that. Nor had the salads. So many salads. But whether it was the running, all that lettuce, or a gift from the gene pool fairy, Bree did enjoy good health. Something she reminded herself to be grateful for every time she tried to find a blouse that would button over her ample bosom or jeans that would slide up her equally curvy backside.

  “I’ve told you not to worry yourself with this, mimma.” Sofia was a good six inches shorter than Bree’s five foot eight, so she gave Bree a little squeeze around the waist. “You must have patience. Your time will come, cuore mia.”

  “Thirty is ri
ght there on the horizon,” Bree reminded her grandmother with a wry smile. Bree hugged her back and pressed her cheek to the top of Sofia’s perfectly coiffed head. “Now would be a good time.” Then her gaze returned to the racks of cookies, and she sighed. “Shouldn’t they at least taste good? They look perfect. And I tested each ingredient.”

  Sofia tipped up on the toes of the sensible brown pumps she’d worn every day of her adult life and kissed Bree on the cheek, then immediately wiped off the lipstick print left behind with the handkerchief she kept tucked in her apron pocket. “Looks can be deceiving,” she told her granddaughter. “Bellaluna magic comes when it’s time, and your time will come. You know you cannot help true love along until you’ve seen it for yourself.”

  “I’ve been in love,” Bree said, though not with much confidence. This was well-trodden territory and she really wasn’t up for the conversation again. “Maybe not the forever-and-ever kind,” she grudgingly admitted, “but certainly enough to know it when I see it.”

  Sofia’s responding smile was both gentle and wise. “When you’ve known it, mimma, you can’t help but see it.” She squeezed Bree’s forearm. “It will happen when it’s meant to happen. You cannot rush it, nor can you force it.”

  Bree nodded. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard these words. Far from. She still felt like a failure, and as the years passed, it was hard not to feel a certain pressure to push, to reach. Okay, maybe to try and force. But what else could she do? It wasn’t as if she could simply will herself to fall madly in love with the next guy who walked into the bakeshop.