Page 7 of Love Bites

All three sobered up. “‘Pushy’ how?” Sam asked around a mouthful of hazelnuts.

“Pushy in like I told him no a dozen times via email and then he just shows up out of the blue with his sexy bare ankles to talk about making me an offer. Mamie says they are spies who came to steal our recipes. I don’t think that’s true, not really, but I do think he’s being far too crafty. So maybe they are spies.”

“Did you say he had sexy ankles?” Conor enquired.

I waved that slip off then sat back to allow Mary to place our burgers on the table.

“Thanks Mary, these look great,” Ryan said shyly as Mary handed us extra napkins. We would need them. She made her way back to the kitchen. I opened my napkin and placed it over my jelly-smeared jeans.

“I think we need to out-espionage him,” I said as I picked up a knife and fork. The guys shook their heads. With a sigh I placed my silverware back to the table and just picked the messy thing up.

“Do you have any ideas as to how to best this candy spy?” Conor asked with what sounded like innocence but I saw the twinkle in his eye.

“Not yet, but when I do can I count on you guys to help me?”

They nodded. We tapped our burgers as a sign of best friend vows. I then filled them in on exactly how Phillip Brauning presented himself, omitting mentions of how handsome he was. Those would just get me odd looks from the guys. Besides, looks were deceiving.

It was all coming together. I’d get the drop on Phillip Brauning and send him and his sexy ass back home. And yes, it was a fine ass. I’d seen it as he left the shop. What a shame. All those poor Alpine cats would be left out in the cold now. Damn the Brauning family!

THE FOLLOWING MORNINGI was seated on the rear outdoor veranda staring out at a crystalline lake with a cup of coffee in hand as the sun crested over the top of the stunning White Mountains. I’d been the first person to arrive for breakfast, leaving Edgar to sleep off his jet lag. I’d not slept well despite how tired I was. The scene in Harmony Chocolates had kept circling my mind like a shark. I’d not played that one out well. To be honest, I’d assumed that the reception would have been far less volatile. Yes, Haider and Capucine would have been cool, obviously, maybe even chilly. But the heat that had erupted from the old woman had been volcanic. A line of poop emojis I could laugh off. A slap of the hand was another matter. Good thing it had been a little old lady delivering it and not the bald employee. I might have had gotten forceful had it been the man behind the display case. I also might have had my ass handed to me, as the Americans like to say.

Haider, on the other hand, had been less eruptive. I’d clocked the appreciation in his eyes when he had first entered the gift shop, a storefront that sorely needed redoing. The colors were blasé, the space cramped, and the window displays boring. The empty store beside the candy shop was available to buy fora modest price. Why Haider had not purchased it to expand was confusing.

A server for the inn arrived with my breakfast, the famed buttermilk pancakes topped with fresh goat milk butter and local maple syrup.

“Thank you,” I said to the sleepy-eyed teen in a crisp blue shirt and dark slacks. “A refill perhaps?” I asked as I waved my almost empty mug. She hurried off to find the pot as I unfolded the cloth napkin then placed it over my lap. I’d already made my run, stepping out of the front door of the inn in time to see the sky start to turn pinkish-purple. I’d followed a horse trail around the grounds of the inn, getting in about three miles, before returning to my suite to shower, shave, and plan my day. A plan that would require a new approach to a rather prickly duo of chocolatiers.

My refill arrived. I thanked the tired young woman then set into cutting up my pancakes. They were fluffy, golden brown, and delicious. The syrup was so sweet it was nearly decadent, and the goat milk butter rich and flavorful. Goat milk, and products made from it, have always been popular back home. Yodel-yo-dee-ee. Lonely goatherds and all that. We do love our goats, which is evidenced by the climb in sales of goat milk products in Germany, which have quadrupled in recent years. Which led Brauning Chocolates to incorporate it into some of our top-tier chocolates. One had to keep on top of the tastes of the consumers.

As I chewed, I stared at the grounds of the inn, feeling the warmth of the sun as it slowly stretched its golden fingers over the mountaintops. This truly was a charming place. I’d not visited many of the New England states. My flights to the states generally were to Los Angeles or New York City where we had corporate offices. I did fly into Logan once, but never got to visit Boston properly as it was a layover on my way home. Seeingwhat a beautiful area this was I was chagrined at my lack of travel to this part of the country. The people were also quite nice.

Well, most of them. Capucine. Oh, that woman was a card. I smiled as I sipped some coffee to wash down the last bite of my pancakes. The stories about French chefs/bakers/confectioners’ hot tempers seemed to be true in this case.

Now her grandson, Haider, he seemed less explosive. And far cuter. He had a lovely head of hair, and bright blue eyes, and a lean build. He’d caught my eye and held it until his grand-mère had spied me. So, now that they knew who I was, and were not pleased with my being on this side of the Atlantic, I would need a more subtle approach. It was now less of a merger and more of a wooing. Which was rather silly but not something that I did not possess skill in. I’d romanced many a man, and a select few women, to my bed. Many said I had great charm and wit. I dressed well. Worked out. Ate reasonably healthy foods—who could resist a plate of currywurst—and bathed daily.

So, given I had seen a flicker of interest in those bright blue eyes of Haider’s perhaps I could try being less business-oriented and more friendly. Perhaps even a little flirty. Nothing over the top, just enough to get him to lower his hackles and talk to me. I could do wonderful things to him. For him.For him. Nottohim. I mean, yes, I could do wonderful things to him as well, but this was business. And I could open up venues and make his life so much easier, and wealthier, if he would only speak to me without all the inherited venom. Why Capucine disliked my grandfather so was a mystery. Other than our candy being sold worldwide and hers being sold in Caldwell Crossing I knew of no personal reasons for the intense animosity. Perhaps it was simple jealousy.

Nodding at my plan, the smile on my face faded as a call hit my phone. A call from Opa.

I held up my empty mug and waved it over my head. “Excuse me, may I have another cup?” My server grabbed the pot from the end of the impressive buffet line and headed over. I wondered if it would look too bad if I asked for Kentucky coffee. God knew I would need a bolster of some kind to get me through this call, and bourbon seemed a fine complement. Once my cup was filled, with plain coffee sadly, I inhaled then hit the green button to accept the call.

“Opa, Guten Morgen,” I opened with in my best, and most polite, way. We Germans are raised to show respect to our elders. And while that may be waning with younger generations, my time spent with my grandfather as a youth—mother was not exactly a fitting role model—that emphasis on being deferential to our older family members was firmly engrained. “Wie geht es dir heute?”

A simple question. How are you today. It should have brought a simple reply.

“Hast du… den Vertrag unterschrieben bekommen?”

Did I get the contract signed? I had barely been in the country for forty-eight hours. I blew out a breath, forced my shoulders down away from my ears, and reminded myself he was an old man with nothing better to do than ride my ass for results.

“Noch nicht, Grossvater,” I replied. Not yet, grandfather. I hoped he heard the tension in my reply, and the stiffer use of grandfather and not the more familiar term of Opa.

“Erledigenes.”

He hung up.

Get it done he had said. As if I were over here playing with myself.

I took a steadying breath, downed my hot coffee, and had the server charge my meal and a nice gratuity to my room. I had no American money yet. I would have to find a bank toexchange our Euros but that should be easy enough. I’d done so a dozen times in Manhattan and LA so the bank in town would be my first stop. Then my charm and I would wing it with the candymakers. One bad moment did not a bad day make.

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