Good To Be Bad (Good Love #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,38

to show them that you’ve taken the time to learn what makes them tick.

For Harrison, it’s a chili pepper chocolate bar. He says chocolate gives him super-powered editing energy, and the peppers will give him an extra edge with his evil red pen, mwahahaha. I find a bar infused with grapefruit zest and, despite my personal reservations, add it to my basket for Gram, that crazy grapefruit lover. Next, I grab a bar of chocolate with dried cherries for Ruby—cherries are her favorite, but not maraschino cherries because, eww—and a few mini variety bars for my hardworking staff.

With that done, I move on to my next gift selection.

Just one of the many I’m here to purchase today. Not the entire reason I made a special trip to the chocolate shop at all.

Eyes darting around, I check the shop for witnesses like I’m about to dip my hand into the cookie jar.

But I’m being ridiculous, of course. Buying a gift for West is nothing to be secretive about. I’m simply repaying his thoughtfulness.

Tit for tat.

Mmm, I do like his hands on my tits, and he would be so hot with a tattoo. Even if it was something silly like a teapot on his bicep. He’s hot enough to pull off a teapot tattoo.

“Just friends” thoughts, woman! You. Are. Just. Friends.

Right. Friends.

Forcing my thoughts to less seductive things than West’s biceps—like tea and how gross it is and how only a monster would add it to chocolate, I scan the “smoky sweet” shelf.

I spot a bar named No Grey Area Here and can’t help but smile. Gross flavor combo, but an adorable name. Very Harrison-esque. And hey, if I’m thinking about my brother as I slip this bar from the shelf, that proves that West and I are simply pals who flirt and misbehave with our mouths once in a while.

As the bell dings above the door, I turn the bar over and read the description. He said he loved an Earl Grey infused chocolate, and this description certainly seems to fit the bill.

“This Earl Grey semi-sweet will steep your mouth in bliss and convince you sweet treats are made of teas,” I read aloud.

A throat clears.

I jump and spin to see Ruby standing by the door.

She’s with her mother—Aunt Barb, my mom’s sister.

Shoulders tightening like I’ve been caught stealing, I instinctively swing my basket behind my back.

“Don’t worry,” Ruby calls. “We didn’t see you hide a chocolate stash behind your back.”

“Chocolate is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart,” Barb says in her cheery voice. “We all love chocolate.”

“Unless you’ve got more than four bars in there, then you might have a problem,” Ruby teases.

“Stop trying to sweet-shame me, you cherry addict,” I tease right back. “And move away from the counter. I might have a little treat in here for you that I don’t want you to see yet.”

Laughing, Ruby blows me a kiss. “You’re the best. Come see us before you leave.”

“Will do,” I promise. As Ruby and Barb grab a table in the café section—frozen chocolate drinks are one of their summer traditions—I settle up at the counter and collect my pink bag of treasures.

When I turn to see Ruby and Barb laughing as they open their menus, my heart squeezes a little bit. I always wished I had that kind of relationship with my mom. That we were the kind of mother-daughter pair who hung out at cafés laughing, eating, and telling stories.

Just hanging out together on a Tuesday.

I wish I knew what that was like. But at least I have Aunt Barb and Gram.

When I join them, Barb extends an arm my way. “Hey there, sugar, how are you? You’ve been working so hard, I feel like I barely see you anymore. You should come over for dinner soon and let me feed you.”

“Yes,” Ruby agrees. “Feed both of us, please. Coconut curry chicken like when we were little.”

I moan in remembered bliss. “Oh yes. Please.”

Barb laughs. “Done. And then we’ll take dessert out to the garden and watch the stars come out.”

“Speaking of dessert,” Ruby says, patting the table. “Show me the goods, girl.”

I tut at her. “You must be terrible at Christmas.” I pause, putting a mock-thoughtful finger to my lips. “Oh, wait. You are. You peek at all your gifts like a devious little spy who can’t be trusted in my apartment alone.”

“It’s only because you’re so good at giving presents.” She makes grabby hands. “So, let me see, let me see.”

“Terrible,” I say.