Bliss and the Art of Forever - Alison Kent Page 0,48
make it again without thinking about her. And he didn’t want to put himself through that on a regular basis. “But I’m happy to put together a selection for your friend. Do you want four? Six? Twenty?”
“Six will be fine,” she said.
He nodded and grabbed a box, slipping his hand inside a disposable prep glove before reaching into the display case. “The tequila and lime I told you about the other day. The raspberry caramel. This one is Bourbon Peach. Lemon Curd. Banana Pudding. Punch Drunk, which has a sort of sangria center. That’s six.”
“And I’ll take one of the Queen Cayenne for me. No. I’ll take six.”
He reached for a second box of the same size and tucked the pyramids inside. Then handed her the bag with both boxes and rang up her purchase.
“You didn’t charge me enough,” she said, holding tight to her credit card as he tried to take it from her hand.
“The Queen Cayennes are on the house,” he told her.
“No,” she said, and removed it from the bag. “I can’t take it. Not if you don’t let me pay.”
“Fine,” he said, not in the mood to argue, and especially not with her. He added the second box to her ticket and ran her card for the purchase. “Is that it? No chocolate bars from Java, Ghana, Madagascar, or Ecuador?”
“This should do me. Until next time,” she said, and reached for her card.
He held on to it as she tugged, holding her gaze as well, his gut tightening as he asked, “Will there be a next time?”
“Are we talking about me running out of chocolate?” she asked, and he finally let go. “Or are you asking if I’ll need another book? Another ice cream cone? A walk in the park? A candy that looks like a coffee cherry made just for me to commemorate the day?”
“You’re overthinking things, Brooklyn,” he said, pulling off his glove and tossing it in the trash. He should’ve known she’d try to make something out of what for him was nothing but a thank-you for the day. Right. That’s all it was.
“Callum,” she said, then stopped to clear her throat. “You took Adrianne to your parents’ to spend the night so you could make me a chocolate you’re not even going to sell in your shop. How exactly am I overthinking things?”
“You just are,” he said, reaching beneath the counter for a clear glass mug, then stepping to the hot chocolate maker, nodding toward the nearest of the bistro tables set along the front wall for her to sit. She gave him a quick roll of her eyes, but she did.
Next time. Hell, how was he supposed to answer her question when he didn’t even know what he’d meant asking her that? Why hadn’t he left her comment alone? She was his daughter’s teacher. She was leaving her job at the end of the year for the Italian Riviera.
Could there be a worse choice to make than starting up with someone who wouldn’t be around to finish things? Even seeing her while she was still here . . . that wasn’t smart, either. Monday at the park with Addy had proved that. His little girl was already nuts about her teacher.
To make Brooklyn a more important part of Addy’s life than she already was, then rip her away?
He set the mug on a saucer, added a spoon, and carried the drink to her table. She smiled as he got close, and he thought it was too late to be worrying about choices. This one seemed as if it had been ripped out of his hands.
“What is this?” she asked, leaning close to the mug he set down and breathing deep of the rising steam. “It smells . . . spicy. But a sweet spice, not hot like the cayenne. And not cinnamon, either.”
He enjoyed the way she worked to figure things out. “It’s a white hot chocolate, with orange and cardamom.”
“White cocoa?” she asked, and he nodded as she brought the cup to her mouth and sipped, closing her eyes as she swallowed.
He watched her throat work, watched her smile widen, and a dimple he’d never noticed before pulled at the right side of her mouth. Watched her lashes flutter, and her bright blue eyes sparkle behind the frames of her glasses that made him think of Clark Kent.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” she said, looking at him over the rim of the mug. “But your making