{"id":5284,"date":"2025-11-15T16:44:14","date_gmt":"2025-11-15T21:44:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/?p=5284"},"modified":"2025-11-15T20:00:45","modified_gmt":"2025-11-16T01:00:45","slug":"caramel-kisses-by-cecelia-dowdy-first-chapter","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/2025\/11\/caramel-kisses-by-cecelia-dowdy-first-chapter\/","title":{"rendered":"CARAMEL KISSES by CECELIA DOWDY – First Chapter!"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Chapter 1<\/p>\n\n\n\n

MIMI DIDN\u2019T DESERVE THIS. HECK, nobody did, but especially not Mimi\u2026not his<\/em> Mimi. Michael Gray fingered the crisp white sheet before sliding his hand underneath and grasping her wrinkled fingers. He gripped the railing of the hospice bed with his other hand. He sniffed. The vivid scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic filled the air as he studied her small chest barely moving. She breathed from the oxygen tubes through her nose. He briefly glanced at their wedding picture which was displayed beside her bed. They\u2019d been in love, young and he\u2019d just joined the Navy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He focused on Mimi again. Her vitals were no longer stable and hospice had called him, letting him know that she didn\u2019t have much time left. That\u2019s why he\u2019d rushed over as soon as he could. He eased into the chair beside the bed and continued holding her hand. Her eyes fluttered open. Her dark brown eyes focused on him with unusual clarity. \u201cMichael.\u201d Just hearing his name softly uttered from her sweet lips made his heart skip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t talk, Mimi.\u201d She barely nodded and closed her eyes. Her nut-brown skin looked a bit waxy and laugh lines fanned from her eyes. Up until a few months ago, his Mimi was always laughing, happy, talkative. She loved running the bakery with him, and she made a mean batch of candy. They\u2019d often sold her candies, right beside their baked goods, in their privately-owned bakery. Although they\u2019d been married forty years, she still shooed him from the kitchen whenever she made her candy. She still kept her recipe a secret from him after all these years. At sixty-eight, his Mimi would be breathing her last breath, passing on into heaven, within the next few hours, according to hospice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMichael?\u201d she struggled to open her eyes again. The staff had warned him over the last few weeks that his Mimi would not be herself due to the level of medications that they were giving her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHoney, don\u2019t talk.\u201d Thankfully, her eyes closed again. He studied her, the memories rushing through his mind like warm sunshine. He recalled the first time he met Emilia Rose Sanderson. It was back in 1963 during the March for Civil Rights in Washington. They\u2019d only been sixteen years old and he\u2019d been enamored with her smooth brown skin and deep, soulful eyes. With her sultry voice, full of courage, she\u2019d told him she was called Mimi. As they\u2019d fought for civil rights, he\u2019d thought of her as his<\/em> Mimi. They\u2019d married two years later and had been together ever since.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So many years\u2026so many memories. They\u2019d shared so much. He continued clutching her hand. Salty wetness slid down his cheeks. So many good years. He stood on his shaky legs and kissed her cheek. Yes, he\u2019d spent most of his life with his Mimi. It had been a good marriage. His only regret was that they\u2019d never been blessed with any children. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the stream of tears. He\u2019d imagine his grief wouldn\u2019t be as raw if he\u2019d had children and grandchildren who\u2019d loved Mimi, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMichael.\u201d She mumbled his name again. \u201cListen\u2026to\u2026me.\u201d He lowered his ear toward her lips. \u201cBaby\u2026I have baby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A baby. What in the world was she talking about? They\u2019d never had any children so maybe she was confused. She was probably thinking of all the time and effort they\u2019d put into trying to have a child. \u201cMimi, it\u2019s okay. You\u2019re confused. Just close your eyes and get some rest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d She grabbed his hand with surprising strength. \u201cBaby. Make sure baby is okay. Bank. Safe deposit at the bank.\u201d She then dropped his hand and closed her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had a baby? How could that be? As his Mimi stopped breathing, tears slid down his cheeks.  Lord, I\u2019m so hurt and confused right now. Please help me with this pain. Amen.<\/em>
<\/strong>MIMI DIDN\u2019T DESERVE THIS. HECK, nobody did, but especially not Mimi\u2026not his<\/em> Mimi. Michael Gray fingered the crisp white sheet before sliding his hand underneath and grasping her wrinkled fingers. He gripped the railing of the hospice bed with his other hand. He sniffed. The vivid scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic filled the air as he studied her small chest barely moving. She breathed from the oxygen tubes through her nose. He briefly glanced at their wedding picture which was displayed beside her bed. They\u2019d been in love, young and he\u2019d just joined the Navy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He focused on Mimi again. Her vitals were no longer stable and hospice had called him, letting him know that she didn\u2019t have much time left. That\u2019s why he\u2019d rushed over as soon as he could. He eased into the chair beside the bed and continued holding her hand. Her eyes fluttered open. Her dark brown eyes focused on him with unusual clarity. \u201cMichael.\u201d Just hearing his name softly uttered from her sweet lips made his heart skip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t talk, Mimi.\u201d She barely nodded and closed her eyes. Her nut-brown skin looked a bit waxy and laugh lines fanned from her eyes. Up until a few months ago, his Mimi was always laughing, happy, talkative. She loved running the bakery with him, and she made a mean batch of candy. They\u2019d often sold her candies, right beside their baked goods, in their privately-owned bakery. Although they\u2019d been married forty years, she still shooed him from the kitchen whenever she made her candy. She still kept her recipe a secret from him after all these years. At sixty-eight, his Mimi would be breathing her last breath, passing on into heaven, within the next few hours, according to hospice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMichael?\u201d she struggled to open her eyes again. The staff had warned him over the last few weeks that his Mimi would not be herself due to the level of medications that they were giving her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHoney, don\u2019t talk.\u201d Thankfully, her eyes closed again. He studied her, the memories rushing through his mind like warm sunshine. He recalled the first time he met Emilia Rose Sanderson. It was back in 1963 during the March for Civil Rights in Washington. They\u2019d only been sixteen years old and he\u2019d been enamored with her smooth brown skin and deep, soulful eyes. With her sultry voice, full of courage, she\u2019d told him she was called Mimi. As they\u2019d fought for civil rights, he\u2019d thought of her as his<\/em> Mimi. They\u2019d married two years later and had been together ever since.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So many years\u2026so many memories. They\u2019d shared so much. He continued clutching her hand. Salty wetness slid down his cheeks. So many good years. He stood on his shaky legs and kissed her cheek. Yes, he\u2019d spent most of his life with his Mimi. It had been a good marriage. His only regret was that they\u2019d never been blessed with any children. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the stream of tears. He\u2019d imagine his grief wouldn\u2019t be as raw if he\u2019d had children and grandchildren who\u2019d loved Mimi, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMichael.\u201d She mumbled his name again. \u201cListen\u2026to\u2026me.\u201d He lowered his ear toward her lips. \u201cBaby\u2026I have baby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A baby. What in the world was she talking about? They\u2019d never had any children so maybe she was confused. She was probably thinking of all the time and effort they\u2019d put into trying to have a child. \u201cMimi, it\u2019s okay. You\u2019re confused. Just close your eyes and get some rest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d She grabbed his hand with surprising strength. \u201cBaby. Make sure baby is okay. Bank. Safe deposit at the bank.\u201d She then dropped his hand and closed her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had a baby? How could that be? As his Mimi stopped breathing, tears slid down his cheeks.  Lord, I\u2019m so hurt and confused right now. Please help me with this pain. Amen.<\/em>
<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chapter 2<\/a><\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Three years later\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTHAT\u2019S EXACTLY WHAT WE NEED, Susan. A candy-making machine.\u201d Seventy-year-old Dara Greene sipped from her large mug of coffee as she gestured toward the screen of her laptop. The video displayed a large round steel machine that gleamed in the sunlight. Beach tourists flocked to the large bay window of the candy shop and ogled at the homemade candy that bubbled in the cauldron like hot thick soup. The mixture was poured into a large tray to cool. Then, once it was cooled, another machine was used to cut the caramels into neat, even pieces. The entire process was like magic and folks seemed to enjoy it. She\u2019d watched this video, and several others like it, over the last week.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She glanced around the tidy office nestled in the back of her candy shop. The sweet, aromatic scent of her homemade vanilla caramels filled the air with sweetness. She put her mug aside, and squeezed her sore brown fingers. Her arthritis had been acting up lately. Well, after she took some medicine, she was sure her fingers would be nimble enough to make more of the candy that they\u2019d need for the customers that day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her business partner and accountant, Susan, glanced down at their financial statements before refocusing on the computer screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her friend rubbed her forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSusan, are you okay? You don\u2019t look good.\u201d She\u2019d been complaining about not feeling well over the last couple of weeks. Dara had urged her to go to the doctor and Susan had promised she\u2019d go. \u201cHave you made your doctor\u2019s appointment yet?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. I\u2019ve been too busy.\u201d She gestured around the office. \u201cWe\u2019ve been busy trying to get our business out of the red.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, we\u2019re not too busy to take care of ourselves. Are you sick?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not feeling well. I\u2019ve got a killer headache.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou should go home. I can handle things by myself today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Susan\u2019s mouth pinched with apparent pain. \u201cCould you bring me a glass of water, please?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dara rushed to get Susan\u2019s drink. She presented her with a cup of ice water. Susan opened her purse and removed two pills and swallowed them, chasing them with the water. \u201cThanks. I feel so sick that I don\u2019t feel like standing up right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She patted her friend\u2019s shoulder. \u201cYou need to take better care of yourself. Why don\u2019t I give you a lift home and you can lie down and take a nap? Or better yet, why don\u2019t I take you to the urgent care center?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Susan squeezed her eyes shut. \u201cThat\u2019s okay. My headache should be gone in a few minutes.\u201d She opened her eyes and gestured toward the screen, her face still pinched with pain. \u201cDara, I don\u2019t know about this machine. It\u2019s a good idea. But I\u2019ve crunched the numbers and I just don\u2019t think we can afford it right now.\u201d She had always envied Susan\u2019s intelligence. While Dara had gotten married right out of high school, had a passel of kids and never worked, her best friend had gone to college and had gotten her bachelors and master\u2019s degrees. Susan had done it all, gotten married, had kids and had had an amazing career as a CPA.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, both of them were seventy years old and widowed. They\u2019d been running their own candy shop, Caroline\u2019s Candy Shoppe, for three years. When Dara had purchased the shop with her husband\u2019s life insurance money, she\u2019d named the shop after Caroline, her grandmother, the happiest and best candy maker she\u2019d ever known.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cListen, Susan, I know you\u2019d warned that it would probably take five years for us to be profitable but, we don\u2019t have that kind of time. Since a competing candy shop has moved down the street, our sales have declined and I don\u2019t want to lose any more business.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I did say that. But, you can\u2019t just make money appear out of nowhere. We\u2019re already stretched too thin as it is. Plus, we had to hire a new person to help with our summer rush of customers.\u201d She checked her watch. \u201cWhere is our new employee anyway?\u201d She winced with pain again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you come upstairs and lie down?\u201d Dara\u2019s living quarters were on the second floor of the shop. \u201cYou could take a nap and I\u2019ll wake you up later.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Susan took a deep breath. \u201cI\u2019ll be fine. Where\u2019s our new employee?\u201d she asked again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sighed. \u201cShe didn\u2019t show up. I hired her a week ago and told her to report to work early today. That\u2019s teenagers for you. Some of them cannot be depended on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, we\u2019ll need to hire someone to help us with our summer rush of customers.\u201d She then gestured toward the computer screen again. \u201cBack to what we were discussing. I just can\u2019t justify purchasing a thirty-thousand-dollar candy machine when I don\u2019t really know if it\u2019ll increase our profitability. Just because that machine increased the profitability for that European shop doesn\u2019t mean it would work for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan\u2019t we get a loan to finance it?\u201d She was determined to get that machine. Deep in her gut, she felt that it would make a great addition to their business. Their competitor didn\u2019t even have a large store-front window facing the beach. Besides, their competitor\u2019s candy didn\u2019t taste nearly as good as hers. Her candy was sweet, exquisite and tasty. One of their customers had said it tasted like a slice of heaven \u2013 what a way to describe candy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Susan shrugged. \u201cMaybe, maybe not. But thirty thousand dollars is a lot to gamble.\u201d She wiped her hand across her sweaty forehead. She took several deep breaths. \u201cI wasn\u2019t sure if we stood a chance, but, I wanted to tell you about–\u201d Her face slacked and her eyes glazed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSusan!\u201d Her friend dropped from the chair, hitting her head on the floor. Blood oozed from her head wound and she moved her mouth, but, could not speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dara\u2019s heart pounded as she dropped to the floor. She cradled Susan\u2019s head while she dialed 911.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\n
Click to Purchase Caramel Kisses from the Author!<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\n
Click to Purchase Caramel Kisses from Amazon!<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Chapter 1 MIMI DIDN\u2019T DESERVE THIS. HECK, nobody did, but especially not Mimi\u2026not his Mimi. Michael Gray fingered the crisp white sheet before sliding his hand underneath and grasping her wrinkled fingers. He gripped the railing of the hospice bed with his other hand. He sniffed. The vivid scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic filled […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[35,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5284","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-cecelia-dowdys-books","category-fiction"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/paovYP-1ne","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5284","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5284"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5284\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5290,"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5284\/revisions\/5290"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5284"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5284"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ceceliadowdy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5284"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}