The Candy Store

I had a dollar bill clutched in my hand, one I’d found lying in the street, but that wasn’t why I headed to the candy store. Sweet Whispers was just too adorable to walk past. Its blue gingerbread trim and planters of happy-faced pansies made me curious. I pressed my nose up against the glass and stared inside.

Inside was even more wondrous. Hanging ferns, shelves of stuffed animals, and planters of pink, dwarf carnations filled the shop enchantingly. I yearned to go in, but it looked dreadfully expensive, and I hadn't brought my purse.

The old-fashioned wood counter was lined with what we used to call penny candies, the kind in tall glass jars covered by shiny, silver lids. I could see cinnamon red hots, the kind I liked so much, and lemon drops, which I didn’t. There were spice drops and gumdrops, jellybeans, ribboned Christmas candies, and tiny chocolate stars that make my mouth water. The red and white striped peppermints in a jar on the right made me think of my grandfather who'd always carried them in his pockets.

The owner of the shop was filling the counter’s glass enclosure with fancy chocolates, the melt-in-your mouth kind. He set them out in rows like tiny marching soldiers ready for battle. Straightening up when he saw me, he waved for me to come in, but I shook my head.

The man marched toward me.

”Please come in,” he said, opening the door. “You don’t have to buy anything. Just take a look and breathe in the smell.”

The owner had the kindest smile on his face I'd ever seen. His huge, blue eyes were lit up with good nature. He had a rather large paunch giving him a Santa-like air, but he lacked the beard, and his blond hair still held little gray. I smiled back at him, entranced.

“I was just looking,” I explained.

“Ah,” he said. “I suppose you’re on a diet. More’s the pity. Come have a cup of coffee with me anyway. It’s on the house.”

That seemed as strange as a new candy store in this part of town, but I’d walked for several miles, and the thought of sitting was a welcome notion.

“I only have a dollar on me,” I explained. “I’m just out for exercise.”

The man’s broad face beamed at me, his eyes a twinkle. “Are you in a hurry?” he asked.

I shook my head and entered.

“I’m Swen,” the man said, shaking my hand with a good, firm grip.

I sat down in the seat of an old-fashioned red and white-striped ice cream parlor set. The glass table between us was shiny with clean.

“Coffee or tea?” Swen asked.

I took a cup of fresh-brewed coffee. Swen brought milk and sugar to the table, but I shook my head when he offered them.

With a burst of laughter, he said, “Of course. But how about a shot of whipped cream, then?”

I don’t know why, but I, too, burst into giggles, not a fashionable thing for a middle-aged woman, but Swen’s laughter was contagious. With the coffee sending out its pleasant aroma, and the warmth of its comforting presence, Swen and I chatted comfortably.

The bell chimed on the door and a young child came in. “I have a quarter,” she said, “What can I buy?”

I doubted there were any candies in this fancy shop that could be bought for a quarter. I smiled at the child, admiring the twin braids hanging down her back, wondering what Swen would tell her.

“Why anything you’d like, Child," he said.

The girl’s eyes grew twice as large as before. “Really?” she asked. “Anything?”

Swen looked even more like Santa at that moment. I admired the laugh crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but for some reason, they made me sigh. Swen’s eyes creased even more as he smiled at me, understanding.

“I only have a quarter,” the girl said once again, just in case he hadn’t understood. She opened her sweaty hand and showed him one rather dirty, old quarter.

“Will it be chocolates or sours, you'd like?” Swen asked, rising up, with a smile so big, I felt it ricochet inside me.

The girl walked over to the big glass candy counter and stared. For several minutes the clock on the wall was the only sound in the room, but I was aware of Swen’s eyes on me, and of the giggle still sitting on the tip of my tongue.

The child eyed everything in the shop and finally settled on a bright pink and yellow spiral sucker that was arranged like a flower in a vase.

“Good decision,” Swen said as he asked the girl if she’d like a bag.

The small one considered a moment and then gravely nodded her head. She handed Swen her quarter and with the small, white bag clutched in her hand, she departed from the strange, little candy store.

“You’ll never get rich doing that!” I laughed, figuring that those suckers usually sold for about five dollars.

Swen joined in. “Get rich?” he said. “But I’m already rich,” he told me. “Look around.”

I nodded, sharing his feeling of contentment. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a partner, then. I do have a dollar,” I joked, waving my bill back and forth.

Swen grabbed at it. “Sold,” he said. “One half a candy store. Want a bite of something, now that it’s half yours?”

I figured Swen was joking, but he wasn’t. A few months later, I quit my job, and moved in with him. Since then, I’ve learned how to make toffees, sandwiches, and swirly suckers. Next week I learn about chocolates.

Oh, and if you know any children who’d like to buy some candy for twenty-five cents, send them over. You see, since Swen sold one of those computer companies nobody’s ever heard of, he really is rich, and so in between the laughs and giggles and kisses, we end up giving away a lot more than we sell.


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