Page 60 of Timelessly Ours

Returning to the kitchen, I avoid his eyes on me and start clearing the counter.

“Nicole, you’re not in trouble.”

“You’re obviously in a bad mood. I saw it in tonight’s replay. I felt it when you walked through the door. Your kitchen is a mess, you came home to uninvited guests and you’re short one supposedly amazing bag of chocolates.”

He grins and moves to a cabinet above the fridge—one that even Angel would need a step stool to reach. “That’s alright,” he says as he pulls at something stuffed to the side. “She only took my Angel stash. These”—he strides over and hands me a small blue box with rich gold lettering—“are my personal stash.”

I look up at him from the box in my hands. “These don’t look like the ones she took.”

He shakes his head. “They’re not. These are handcrafted in Japan. Made with high-quality ingredients. There is one store in New York City that has these delivered regularly and every time there’s a new shipment, I’m on the next plane down.”

“For chocolate?”

He scrunches his nose and nods like this is some guilty pleasure no one knows about.

“Impressive,” I say. “And also a little bit snobbish.”

“Well.” He snatches them from me playfully. “I haven’t told you what makes them special.”

“What?” I blink innocently. “Unless it’s too inappropriate to share with your employee.”

He gives me a playful side eye and smirks. “Sometimes when I’m having a rough day or I feel like I haven’t been honest with myself, I play a game of Truth or Chocolate.”

My brows crease and he breathes a soft laugh.

“When I feel like I’ve been in denial about something or just aggravated, but can’t pinpoint the cause, I go see my therapist.” He holds it up again.

“A…box of fancy chocolates?”

He shrugs.

“How do you play?”

“This one is called Bittersweet. It’s a mix of sweet and bitter chocolates. I don’t like the bitter ones.”

“Can you tell them apart?”

“Yes.”

“So then just eat the sweet ones.”

He watches me and grins. “That’s not playing by the rules.”

“I’m confused.”

“When I’m stressed, I sit with a box of Bittersweet and ask myself some questions. Questions I would normally avoid because the answer might be difficult to admit.” He holds up the box. “My therapist.”

I nod slowly, taking in this piece of him he’s unexpectedly sharing with me. “Sounds easy.”

“Not always. If I don’t play by the rules. If I lie to myself, I have to eat the bitter chocolate. If I feel like I’ve gotten to the root of what’s stressing me out, then I pop a sweet one.”

“I see,” I say, smiling. “Do you and your therapist need to be alone?”

He laughs. “Care to play with me?”

I toss down the rag and cross my arms. “I would,” I say squinting.

He rolls his eyes. “But?”

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