to get himself in trouble as well, time and again, was delightful and endearing. “And I thought he was so shy,” Viola said.
Liam smirked. “He is until you get to know him.”
Grandma had such a gift for getting people to open up about themselves. Viola knew she took after her grandma, but what her grandma had perfected, Viola only skimmed the surface of. Grandma had let the hurt of her past make her more open to others; Viola had put up high walls.
They arrived at the chocolate store in Bentonville, set in a newer, modern complex of stores. It definitely had a different vibe than the old-timey feel of downtown Eureka Springs. A closed food court boasted foodie-type restaurants that made Viola’s stomach growl. Liam led them down a tree-lined walkway, lit with white Christmas lights, to the chocolatier shop. He rapped lightly on the door, and a moment later, it opened to a woman in an apron who introduced herself as Diane. She ushered them inside and handed them each an apron, a net for their hair, and plastic gloves.
“How do I look?” Viola asked once she was all robed up. She turned to Liam, sucked in her cheeks, and crossed her eyes. He laughed.
“Gorgeous,” he replied, a little too seriously. Her stomach flipped, and she busied herself with tightening her apron strap.
The three of them listened to the rules—basically not to touch anything they weren’t given permission to touch—and then they followed Diane behind the counter. A buzz of excitement rushed through Viola. She hadn’t liked their chocolate, but something about being behind the scenes had always appealed to her.
Diana handed them each a small pod. “This is a cacao bean,” she told them. “We get ours directly from the countries they come from and keep them separated. You can taste a distinct flavor difference in a chocolate bar made from a Costa Rican bean and one from a Guatemalan bean. One will taste a little nuttier, the other more fruity, for example.
They moved deeper into the small, open-air kitchen. They could still see the retail portion of the store through the shoulder-high glass panels that made it possible for people to observe the chocolate being made.
“We crush the beans and then shake off the shell, and what’s left are these nubs.” She held out small, brown, powdery bits in her gloved hand. “Would you like to try one?”
“Sure,” they all replied. Viola popped hers straight in her mouth, regretting it instantly. Her eyes watered at the bitterness that coated her tongue. Liam chewed his thoughtfully, as if he was contemplating the undertones of it, and her grandma reached for a second one.
Viola tried to discretely cough into her elbow when it burned on the way down her throat. This was not convincing her to like this chocolate.
“You okay?” Liam asked her quietly while they moved to the next portion of the tour.
“Poison,” she rasped, grabbing at her throat. “Save me.”
He grinned, as she’d intended, and his arm brushed against hers and remained there as they stood in front of two huge cauldron-like pots of melted chocolate.
“After the beans are roasted and smashed into a paste that we process for a day, letting the natural fats come out, we start to add butter, cream, and sugar. We want the fullness of the flavor of the cacao bean to be on display, so we only add the smallest amounts of each. This mixture is then constantly mixed.”
The scent of the chocolate was delicious. She leaned a little closer to the massive pot and inhaled. “A little better?” Liam asked. His hand brushed hers, and she lost all coherent thoughts.
“Hmmm?” she asked.
He stared at her intently for a beat longer and then slowly slid his fingers between hers, sensation sparking within her at every bit of skin that touched. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” she said, breathless. Diane and Grandma had already moved on to the next portion of the tour, and Viola and Liam strolled over, hands still linked, to catch up.
In all their time in Hawaii, had they ever just held hands? They’d kissed behind doorways, in closets, and late at night on the beach, instantly attracted to each other with a passion that burned fiery-hot, but they’d never been publicly intimate like this. Holding hands, being together, this feeling of belonging—Viola both craved it to her very marrow and lived in fear of it being yanked away. But tonight, she wanted to experience it without layering it with meaning.