Page 2 of Love Bites

Feeling as low as a man could feel I stepped out back for some fresh air. With a Harmony Chocolates mug in hand I snuck around to the front of the store to see how things were on Main Street. Traffic was light. Very few people were out today which, sure, it was midweek but I needed to see some foot traffic.

“Hey,” a deep voice called. Conor Holliston, aka the sexiest firefighter in fifteen counties, aka one of my closest friends, aka Jedi as he was born on May 4thambled toward me.

We all had goofy nicknames based on our birth dates. Ryan was Paddy because he was hatched on March 17th, Sam was Joker due to his April 1stbirthday, and I was Cupid. Yep, because I was a Valentine’s Day baby. Perfect name for a chocolatier. If only I had little arrows I could dip into a bottle of love-me juice. Sadly, no matter how many men I dated, and yes I dated frequently when I could locate a queer man within a hundred miles, none of them were right. Mamie, the romantic Frenchwoman, insisted my special man was out there searching for me. When I would question why it was taking him so long she would shrug, as the French do, and say sometimes one had to be patient in love.

“I see you’re working hard.”

I flipped him off as I leaned against the front of the shop. “I’m taking a brain break.” God knows my freaking head needed a breather. Sometimes it felt like it was going to pop like an overinflated water balloon. “What are you doing out of the firehouse?”

“We were called out to the Parker Trail. Some ass tossed a lit cigarette into a dumpster,” he growled. Conor was not a fan of stupid people. Mamie would say he did not suffer fools lightly. Both were apt descriptors.

“Oh, so a dumpster fire. Also known as my life,” I mumbled into my coffee. Conor, a brute of a man who stood several inches taller than me—what else is news—studied me with that piercing look of his. “I’m kidding. My life is great.”

“You look like shit.”

“Tell me what you really think,” I snarled skyward. I wasn’t scared.

None of my closest friends would ever hurt me. Hell, Conor had been the one to punch Marcus Spinner in the nose back in seventh grade for calling me a flouncy fruitcake. Which was pretty much true. I was flouncy, and bouncy, and all kinds of fun. Like my main man Tigger. I also enjoyed fruitcake so Marcus had been on the nose with that but Conor, Sam, and Ryan were not having it. It was nice having buddies who were bigger than you to defend your twinky ass.

“I really think you look like hell. Maybe you need to cut back on that coffee?” He waved a large hand at my mug.

I curled over it like a mama badger protecting her cubs. “This is my precious!” I hissed in my best Gollum voice. Conor rolled his eyes at the weak impersonation. “I’m good. Really. Totally fine. I just had a bad night. Trying to balance the bills and come up with something new and exciting for Founder’s Day. Did you stop by for truffles?” He blushed slightly. Isnickered. “Mamie is inside. She’s hoping to talk to you anyway.”

“About what?” He leaned back to peek through the front windows. I needed to revamp the window dressings as well, but had zero clue what to do. Add that to the list of things that needed done. Owning a small business never stopped. No wonder I couldn’t sleep.

“I think about the bachelor auction,” I replied as I smirked into my coffee. Mamie was part of the planning committee for our big event every year.

Adam Leeters drove past in his old Studebaker. Conor and I both waved at the retired railway man after he honked at us.

“Shit.” He crinkled his nose. “I’m out. Send Crocus over with some truffles on his way home. I really don’t want to have to wear a tux and—”

“Conor!” Con-Air when it fell from my grandmother’s lips. “There you are. The most kissable man in Caldwell Crossing.” What was I? Chopped liver? “Come inside, I need to speak to you about the auction, yes?” Mamie called as she followed the lady with a big bag of mint chocolate fudge out of the shop. We were out of dark chocolate until the enrobing unit was back up. Which sucked and would cost all kinds of money I didn’t have to get fixed. My sigh was legendary.

Conor froze like a deer in the headlights at the sound of that lilting but heavy French accent.

“Oh, Mamie, bon jour,” he said with a forced smile.

He was then snatched up like the last chocolate-covered cherry in the box and led inside the shop. I leaned on the wall, sipping my coffee, and watching the big bad fireman being wrangled into a bachelor auction. All to benefit the local animal shelter, a very worthy cause indeed. I bet Harriet, the librarian, would be tickled pink to hear they’d lassoed Conor. Now if I could come up with a draw to the Harmony Chocolates booth torival a peck from a hot firefighter. Shame we didn’t have a sexy stud of a candy man to bring the men and/or women running…

I WOULD NEVERunderstand the pigheadedness of some people.

Sitting at the airport waiting for the Brauning jet to be fueled, I took a steadying breath and then let it out through pursed lips. The executive lounge was busy but still sedate.

“Opa, I understand that you wish to speak to the owner but this unexpected flight to America is unwarranted. He does not wish to sell. You saw the emails.” Which were quite explicit, if not wordy. I glanced up from my shoes, nicely shined by Edgar before I left my condo, to find the lovely young lady smiling down at me. Bright eyes and red lips. Quite attractive. “Guten Tag,” I said to her in German. “Kaffee und kuchen bitte.” Coffee and cake was a daily delight. It was mid-afternoon. Some things needed to be adhered to even if one was being bossed into flying to the states to woo an emoji-loving chocolatier. She nodded. “Danke.”

Off she went, her hips swaying strongly. I watched for a moment. I was not averse to rounded hips and breasts on occasion, I just preferred wide shoulders and cock. I came back to my grandfather barking into my ear. His cough was bad. Covid had done horrid damage to his lungs a few years back. We’d been close to losing him but, as he liked to crow, he was too mean for Satan and Heaven did not want him. We’d hireda live-in personal nurse, a sweet soul named Boris who tended to Opa diligently. Not an easy task. I made sure Boris was paid and paid well for even though Opa was greatly limited in his physical activity his mental acuity was laser sharp. Even using a wheelchair, Bernhard Eric Brauning had lost none of his fire. The man was a certifiable bastard twice over.

“I saw shit…that is what I saw,” he replied. Yes, I had seen that too. And while one part of me had been offended another part of me was impressed with the spunk of the young American candymaker. “Which is why we… are sending you to speak to him in person. Use your charm. I want…that store.”

I also knew that. Oh, how well I knew it. And while the idea of gobbling up small shops in America to open a line of Brauning Boutique stores was a good one, I wasn’t sure swooping in on this particular shop was the way to go. First off, the shop had been opened by Capucine Aubert, a famed chocolatier who had fled France in the late sixties during a large wave of strikes that permanently changed French life and society. She had moved to America with a young poet whom she later married and had a child with. Capucine was a graduate of the Institut Culinaire de France with degrees in chocolate/confectionery and was considered a chocolate artisan. Her grandson, Haider, he of the poop emojis, had inherited her love of confectionery and had worked himself through four years at the Culinary Institute of America, graduating with honors. His professors praised his ganache-making flair, as well as his airbrushing and hand-painting skills—something he inherited from his grandmother, for Capucine was a master at artisan milk chocolate eggs. Something that, I was sure, was not appreciated by most Americans.

Yes, I knew a great deal about Haider and Capucine. One did not go into any deal with the hopes of acquiring a businessand not know all the details. That would be foolish. And I was anything but foolish.

“Yes, I am aware that you want the store to pin down the four shops per state goal, but this is not a typical shop owned by typical candymakers. This shop was opened by—”

“I am aware of who… opened it. And who now runs it. You’re not… to leave America until that…foppish fool signs over that store to us.”

I cringed at the insult. There was no need for name-calling, especially since Opa knew I was bisexual with a strong leaning towards members of my own sex. A leaning my grandfather was not fully accepting of as many of the elderly still held onto their homophobic ways. I coughed. He mumbled something that may have been an apology. I took that as a win. It was the most I would get from the stubborn arsch. Sturen alten Esel. A stubborn old mule to be sure.

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