“Gee. I don’t know. Maybe literally everything.”
“Well, I’d say you should try it, but you clearly don’t have a fun bone in your body. Now, where did this fountain-knocker-overer go, because I don’t have time to mess around.”
Lulu flails, pointing dramatically down an aisle. “He went that-a-way. Black skater shirt. Checkered Vans. You can probably still find him if you run fast enough.”
“I gotta catch him. My boss will kill me if anything happens to the fountain, and if I’m home late, my wife will kill me.” The Finger-Licking Good Guy mimes slicing his throat then makes a spooky, don’t-mess-with-the-wife sound. With a brash nod, the square-shaped man takes off, running down the industrial-grade carpet, chasing a chocolate-drink stealer he likely won’t catch.
I take a closer look at the woman I toppled to the floor with. “You look like you’ve taken a mud bath.” I can’t help it. I laugh. I laugh so fucking hard because she’s absolutely coated in chocolate.
She laughs too. “We’re quite a sight.”
“We are indeed.”
Her laughter ceases. Her brow furrows. “Shoot. I have my demo. How the hell am I going to do it looking like this?”
That sends me into action. My job isn’t to stand around and let other people solve problems. “Stay here.”
I dart into our booth, duck behind the stand, root around in a box, and find a chef’s jacket and a hand towel. Ginny follows, and she’s by my side, whispering, “The pepper chocolates?”
“Yeah?”
“They were hers.”
I arch a brow as I grab a plastic bag. “No kidding?”
“Swear on my fourth grader.”
I shoot her a most skeptical look.
She huffs. “Hey, I like my kid. But fine, I swear on my love of chocolate. Now do you believe me?”
“Indeed, I do. They were amazing. Did Lulu give them to you?”
“I snagged some from a booth. She wasn’t even there. Do you know what this means?”
“What does it mean?”
“It means this was meant to be.”
“If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d say you planned this.”
“But you’re not a conspiracy theorist. You just believe in fate.”
“Ha. I do not whatsoever believe in any such mumbo jumbo. If I believed in the poetic notion of some grand kismet scheme, I’d be in a whole different position than the one I’m in now.”
The position I’m in now has nothing to do with fate, I remind myself privately.
Like I need the reminder.
But I repeat the mantra in my head anyway.
There is only choice or no choice.
My choice right now, amid the noise and clatter of this epic chocolate show fail, is singular—fix shit. Save the day for Lulu. Demos at The Big Chocolate Show are career-making. Lulu can’t miss hers.
I rush out of the booth, rejoin Lulu, and hand her the towel. Quickly, she wipes down her arms. As I guide her through the crowds, I tell her she can wear the chef jacket for her demo.
She darts into the restroom and pops back out a minute later with clean hands and arms. She takes the chef jacket from me. “You saved the day.” Her smile shines with the wattage of the sun.
“See how it fits first before you pronounce me king of awesome.”
“I’ll make it fit, and then pronounce you ruler of awesome.”
I go into the men’s room, wash up, and unbutton my shirt. The back is covered but my shirt is, fortunately, the only collateral damage. My pants are fine. I stuff the shirt inside the plastic bag and take a minute to breathe, checking out my reflection in the mirror. I’m wearing a white T-shirt. Not my most professional style but it’ll do in a pinch. Good thing I haunt the gym regularly.
I take a moment to add up the facts, only the facts.
Lulu is here.
She’s living in New York.
I’m living in New York.
I’m about to add in one more fact, but I can’t in good conscience go there.
Besides, my heart is pounding too fast.
It’s from the incident, I tell myself.
