Page 17 of Love Bites

“Holy shit,” I whispered to the empty office. “What the hell was that?”

I WAS UPSTAIRSthat night, reading over a sumac caramel and smoked sea salt recipe, my thoughts not really focusing on the ingredients but flicking about like a dragonfly over a summer pond. Touching down here then racing to something else. Ryan’s outburst sitting atop the heap of worries.

The cats were in various windows, tails dangling as they snoozed in their kitty hammocks. The weather was pleasant, warmish, and the windows were open. My mind flipped to the discussion I’d had with Sam a few months ago about this veryrecipe. He’d told me to go with my gut. That was so typically Sam. I loved that about him. Hell, I wished I had a pinch of his steadfastness in his abilities. Even when we were young it was Sam who could talk me down from whatever ledge I was nervously freaking out on.

Was I too small for volleyball team?! Sam had reminded me that being shorter didn’t take away from my speed, ball control, and balance. I’d then gone on to be one darn good libero thanks to quick reflexes and agility.

Would I make a good Fiyero in the senior production ofWickedeven though I wasn’t close to being anywhere near as incredible as Adam Lambert?! Sam had bolstered my ego by feeding me tidbits about how well I moved, what a natural ham I was, and how if anyone could handle tight leggings it was me. Also, he reminded me Mr. Lambert was also gay and if he could kiss a girl then so could I. While this was true, Adam didn’t have to kiss Lydia Henry, a notorious snob-slash-head cheerleader-slash-sneer queen of those who were not in her clique. Still, I did rock that roll and survived the kiss in act two.

What if I didn’t get accepted by the Culinary Institute of America despite my lineage?! Sam had reassured me that not only was I one of the best candymakers in New Hampshire—a fib of epic proportions as I was only seventeen and hadn’t perfected the fine art of ganache making—I was also one of the best high school chocolatiers in the states. That was not a lie. I had won a few prestigious awards including a first-prize ribbon for my hand-painted peanut butter Easter eggs at the American Future Chocolatiers Competition that spring. I did make one damn good truffle as well. Conor would attest to that. I’d been granted a warm welcome to the school of my dreams.

And now, I was on this ledge and Sam was not here to talk me down. Ryan had been here but he was off being mad at me, Conor was probably at the fire station sleeping on a sofa, andMamie was out on a mission with Edgar. Again. I was highly suspicious about the whole gathering intel story since they were at a small cozy eatery over in Lebanon. Call me a doubting Thomas but since when did pumping someone for information include wine, seafood, and a Cha-Cha contest? I had to wonder if there was some other kind of tomfoolery going on with the two senior citizens. If I find out Edgar and Mamie are getting frisky I will…

“I have no idea what I’ll do but it will be precipitated with lots of verbiage and gesticulations,” I told the cats.

Luke and Bo were too busy sleeping to pay notice, but Daisy was listening. She leapt from the window to come rub around my ankles. I ran my hand down her back then, because it was eleven at night, I padded into the kitchen to open a tube of lickable puree. Tuna. That got the boys moving. After the trio had licked the goodies up, I went back to my sofa, picked up the recipe, and with Sam’s voice floating through my mind, I trundled downstairs to play. I was too wound up to sleep so I’d make candy instead. The gift shop was dark, just the glow of the street lamp flowing through the front windows to shine on the sparkling apothecary jars filled with hand-wrapped hard candies, hard mints, and freshly made dark chocolate drops encased in a hard candy shells. Beside the large jars, in a domed case, were some dragèes that I’d made today.

The candy-coated almonds, which many here in the states called Jordan Almonds, were one of Sam’s favorites. Perhaps I’d box some up for him, and of course his Ben, and have Crocus deliver them to the library tomorrow morning. Both would probably be there sorting through gently used books to take to the Founder’s Day celebration to sell in the Buck-A-Book Bargain Booth. A small gift for two hopeless romantics. Nothing says romance like French chocolate.

A sharp rap on the bow window in front made me jump and clutch my recipe to my chest.

“Sure, mention romance and look who shows up. Not that I’m romancing the enemy,” I told the rack of jelly beans to my left. I debated about letting Phillip stand out on the sidewalk at quarter past eleven with his handsome mug pressed to my storefront glass. Maybe Sheriff Sturn might cruise by and arrest him for loitering.

That would be funny.

Instead of letting him be run in for drooling on a store window I shuffled over to the front door, unlocked the locks, and let him in. He was dressed down, just dark slacks, a deep green corduroy short coat over a black turtleneck, and slim brown belt. His hair was perfect, his silver-black scruff sexy as all get-out, and his hazel eyes bright even in this muted light.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed plotting how to tempt children into stealing then handing my candy secrets over to you?” I tossed out while he sauntered in as if he owned not only the shop but the whole damn block. He smelled too damn good. I mean, what the hell? The man was out-smelling a candy shop.

“You give me far too much credit.”

“Uh-huh. Why are you here so late? Are you secretly stalking-slash-spying?”

“I thought we had moved past the espionage concerns.” I shrugged. “I was merely in town to pick up a new phone case but discovered that no stores are open past eleven when I saw your light,” he replied, stopping by the dragèes to admire them. “Oh, these are lovely. The pastel colors are quite appealing. Did Capucine make them?”

“No, I did.”

His sight moved from the candy to me. I jerked my chin up a tad.

“Very nice. May I try one?”

I nodded, eager to hear what the premier chocolatier in Europe had to say about my almonds. He carefully lifted the glass lid with one hand and plucked one lone almond from the dish with a plastic tong, a lemon chiffon-colored nut, from the display. After he replaced the lid and tongs, he tossed the almond into his mouth. I watched, spellbound, as he let the candy coating melt on his tongue followed by my gorgeous dark chocolate. Then, he chewed. My dick twitched as his jaw worked. He took his time. It was like watching a wine master judging a rare Merlot. Thankfully he didn’t spit his mouthful out. Instead he eventually swallowed then gave me a pleased smile. “Delightful. The candy coating isn’t overpowering and complements the dark chocolate well. Did I detect a small amount maple syrup?”

“You have a good tongue,” I said then realized what I had just let fall out of my mouth.

“Many men and women have said so,” he replied with a wink. “Lovely candy. And since you said you created them today I am going to assume that your enrober is functional again?” He made his way to the candy factory, pressing against the doors then stepping through as I followed in his wake, lost in the scent of sandalwood and his praise for my almonds.

“It is, yes, thanks.” I flipped on the lights. Phillip stood before me, his gaze darting about as I moved around him to motion to the machine in question. “It’s running better than it has for years.”

“Good, that is what I wanted to hear. Now you can see what being a part of the Brauning Chocolates family can do for you,” he said with practiced ease.

“If I sell to you I won’t be part of the Brauning Chocolates family. I’ll be like you were a few minutes ago, on the outside looking in.” I moved to a stainless steel work area where I placed the recipe I’d been stewing over for months on the cool counter.Phillip moved up to stand beside me, the soft brush of his corduroy sleeve against my arm gave me gooseflesh. The hum of the large refrigerator unit filled the now silent room.

“I’m sure we could find a position for you if you wished to stay in Caldwell Crossing.” I looked to the right then up. He seemed suddenly slightly less confident, as if he were saying something he wasn’t certain he could back up. “Your skills would be a great loss to this community.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m nothing if not a nice man with a sharp eye for things of fine quality,” he replied as our gazes met. Back was the cocksure man who knew how appealing he was. The flirt game was strong with this one.

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