Bliss and the Art of Forever - Alison Kent Page 0,47
from her before now. Addy had confirmed delivery of the candy box on Tuesday, and it had been all he could do not to grill her that afternoon and Wednesday afternoon and even after school today about her teacher’s reaction.
He’d thought Brooklyn would call during lunch, or come by after school. He’d thought she’d send a note home with Addy, a thank-you, or a fuck-off. He wasn’t sure which he deserved.
Giving a woman a box of candy was one thing. Making a batch of candy with her in mind was another. But what he’d done . . . he’d shown a vulnerability he didn’t like admitting to. He’d pushed himself into a part of her life where he didn’t belong.
And why? Because she made his daughter happy? Because she made him happy? Made him wish what the old woman in the park had seen was true?
The door closed behind her, the canned jazz piped over the speakers barely registering over the beat of his heart. He held Brooklyn’s gaze as he said, “Lena—”
“Sure thing, boss,” she replied before he could ask her to check on Addy. She took the tablet and stylus from his hand, tucked the printout beneath, and left the register area, backing her way through the exit door into the rear hallway.
Callum blew out a loud puff of breath, not sure he was ready for this. Not sure what this was. Not sure he shouldn’t just treat Brooklyn Harvey like he would any customer and stop trying to make something out of this attraction that left him bulldozed.
And . . . that wasn’t going to happen. He looked from the hallway door to the floor, then with his hands at his hips, looked at her. He did so just in time to watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and tilt her head, frowning as she bent to look more closely into the case.
“Hey,” he said because he was lame.
“Hi,” she said in return.
“Are you here about Addy? Or . . .”
“I need a gift. For a friend.” She walked along the front of the display case, looking at the chocolates, ignoring him. “It’s her birthday. I thought since you do a good job of matching your patrons with your wares, you might suggest something.”
Were they playing a game? Pretending she was a customer and he was a chocolatier? Was she digging to find out how he’d known to make her the candy he was thinking of calling Java Express? Not that it needed a name. He wasn’t planning on making it again.
“Sure. I’ll give it a shot. What does she like?”
“She’s not much for spicy, or savory, at least when it comes to dessert, but she loves sweets of all kinds. Fruits are good. She makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world, and brings them to work at least once a week.”
“She’s a teacher then?”
Brooklyn nodded. “She was. She’s retired, though she still considers the school her second home. She taught third grade. And as much as she loved the job, that age, those kids . . . they drove her absolutely nuts. Oh, and she doesn’t like nuts.”
“Got it,” he said, thinking of what might work. “Anything else?”
“She definitely enjoys her margaritas. And her White Russians. So something along those lines? I know you had some chocolates with alcohol.”
“I do, yeah.”
“What about something that resembles a coffee cherry? Maybe an iridescent sort of mulberry color? Filled with a ganache flavored with, I’m thinking, espresso, crushed beans, and coffee liqueur?”
His throat was tight when he said, “Brooklyn—”
“Why, Callum?” she asked, looking up at him at last, the glass case between them, her eyes behind her glasses as curious as they were torn. “That’s all I want to know. It was beautiful. A work of art. And it tasted like the best part of every morning. It tasted like . . .” She waved her hand. “You need to offer that one along with the rest of these so everyone can buy one.”
“I can’t,” he said, tensing up.
She frowned. “Why not?”
“Because it was for you.”
“The first one, sure—”
“No. I don’t have the mold anymore. I didn’t write down the recipe.”
“You can re-create the recipe. You can buy more molds.”
“No. Not that one. Just . . . no,” he said, not even sure why he was so adamant. Her candy—and it was hers, he would always think of it that way—would be a great addition to the current collection. She was right. But he couldn’t