without being too tight, a white shirt, and black heels, her hair in a smooth roll at the back of her head, she epitomized effortless sophistication.
“You put me in a tough spot, Mr. Bellamy,” she murmured in a soft voice that held the liquid accent of a faraway land. “I couldn’t turn down the donation, but my courtyard won’t fit another table.”
Abe just held out the check he’d snagged from his pocket.
Sighing, the chocolatier took the check and shook her head, but it was with a smile. “Follow me—but first let me give this check to my assistant.”
That done, she took them past the glass cases filled with chocolates and other sweet treats, through a door marked Staff Only, and up a flight of stairs so narrow that they had to go single file… only to emerge on a small, square rooftop that would be overshadowed by a nearby building during the day. At night, it had a glorious view of the sky and just enough room for a table for two. That table was draped with a pristine white tablecloth, atop which sat a grouping of white candles in crystal holders that refracted the light into a beautiful pattern of shards.
“Oh.” Sarah lifted her hands to her mouth, undone by the sheer romance of the setting.
Abe put his hand on her lower back, rubbed gently. “Better than the courtyard?”
She just nodded, though her already mushy heart was threatening to melt. She kept reminding herself that Abe was doing this to support her through the pregnancy, that it was really about the baby. Still, part of her wanted to believe that it wasn’t, that it was just as much about her.
Florentina’s expression made it clear she was pleased by Sarah’s response. “I will return in a moment.”
Smiling with the smug satisfaction of a man who knew he’d hit a home run, Abe pulled out her chair. She took it with the surreal sensation of being in a dream—as if one of her beloved romance novels had come to life. Abe had just taken his own seat when Florentina returned.
“We’ve paired a number of award-winning wines with tonight’s dessert-tasting menu,” the other woman began.
“No wine,” Abe interrupted.
Sarah winced inwardly. She hadn’t had the chance to tell Abe that she wanted the pregnancy to be their secret for a while. Until it advanced further, until she knew if their baby was going to stay. If she could, she’d have kept it secret until she held her living, breathing baby in her arms.
But Abe didn’t give away her pregnant state. “Alcohol’s permanently off the menu for me,” he said in a voice that made it a simple fact of life. “Sarah’s keeping me company in my sobriety.”
Florentina smiled and didn’t offer them the little menu in her hand. “In that case, I will accompany your desserts with our most decadent teas. Yes?”
Sarah was a coffee woman and so was Abe, but too much coffee wasn’t good for the baby and this was an adventure. “Yes,” she answered for them both. “We’d love to try the teas.”
The first one that came up was, according to Florentina, “a light, aromatic herbal infusion with a hint of grapefruit and vanilla.” Sarah liked it enough to reconsider her coffee-only habit.
Abe looked at it askance before making a face of total martyrdom that had her laughing. Then he threw back half the cup. “Fancy hot water,” was his conclusion.
He was far more impressed with the poached pear in a light pomegranate cream that was their first course.
Sarah took a bite, groaned, eyes closing.
She opened them to find Abe staring at her in a way that sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. And not from embarrassment. A little breathless, she took a second bite, bit back the moan this time.
Of course, the pear dish was just the start. Next came a chocoholic’s dream—a rich and sinfully dark chocolate mousse swirled to perfection inside a tiny bowl fashioned from the finest milk chocolate, then topped with curls of white chocolate sprinkled with sparkling gold dust. Florentina had paired it with a strong black tea that, to Sarah’s tongue, held a faint undertone of raspberries, lush and juicy.
Sarah dipped her spoon into the mousse, took a taste.
There was no way she could hold back her moan this time.
“Jesus, Sarah.” Abe’s words were rough, ragged. “I won’t be able to fucking walk if you keep that up.”
She stared at him, swallowed the mousse… and realized she’d dropped a curl of chocolate