When times were leaner, I tried my best to make sure my younger brothers had everything they needed—the warmer jackets, the better sneakers. At five years older than my middle brother and seven more than the youngest, I was keenly aware I’d make it out of the house before they did, so I did my part to put them first and to make sure I could contribute to the family too.

In high school, I snagged a busboy job at a swank surf-and-turf restaurant. Its sprawling oak booths and burgundy leather seats were home to the wheelers and dealers in the city.

I worked my way up from busboy to waiter, and along the way, I was privy to bits and pieces of the deal-making that went down in those booths. There, as I served porterhouse and Cobb salad, I learned the lingo.

Now, at age thirty-two, I have the job I want. I’m the guy who strikes the deals. I’m exactly where I want to be in business, and that’s because I set a goal when I was younger, and I worked my ass off to reach it. When I went to college, I paid for it myself, thanks to loans and scholarships I earned.

I take pride in what I do, especially because I don’t merely love deal-making—I love doing it for Heavenly. My family had one indulgence growing up—chocolate—even when money was tight. My mom would bring out a treat from her secret hiding place when we had all done our homework and chores.

As I grew older, my love affair with chocolate stayed strong. Work feels a lot less like work and more like an indulgence.

Now, the chance to introduce my old friend to my company gives me a healthy injection of pride.

Friend, I remind myself.

Lulu has only ever been a friend.

That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

No one needs to know I once had a Pandora’s box full of feelings for the woman.

Kingsley leads the meeting, and after a few minor items, she gives me the floor. “And Leo has found our next Rising Star. Leo, why don’t you introduce Lulu to the department heads?”

I stand, gesture to the woman in purple and white, and dive into it. “I consider myself lucky for a lot of reasons. But first and foremost, it would have to be because, back in the day, I was this woman’s guinea pig.”

Lulu laughs softly, her smile warming me up. I swear I can see the memories flickering before her eyes—of late nights sampling goodies, testing recipes, asking me to try just another bite. Those were the nights I fell in love with her.

I blink the images away, doing my best to stay rooted in the moment.

“What a trooper I was back then. So gallantly offering myself up whenever she needed someone to taste test a peanut butter truffle, or a chocolate-covered salted caramel. Mind you, this was before salted caramel became a thing.”

Lulu’s expression turns faux-confused. “There was a time before salted caramel? Sounds terrible.”

“The world before the salted-caramel craze was a devastating one,” I say.

Noah chuckles loudly. “So, Lulu was one of the movement’s founders, and you were the salted-caramel taste tester. That must have been so rough.”

“It was difficult and incredibly challenging. I had to add in extra daily workouts to maintain my figure.”

That’s Kingsley’s cue to jump in once more. “Maybe you ought to send me the name of your personal trainer, then. Because I haven’t cracked the salted-caramel resistance code either.”

I smile then cut to the chase. “Folks, Lulu Diamond has been crafting the most delicious chocolate since I first had the pleasure of tasting her creations. We’re talking melt on your tongue, make your taste buds sing, and turn your world upside down with pleasure. In a word—heavenly. I am pleased she’s joining us as a chocolatier in residence for the next year. Thank you, Lulu. It is an honor.”

Lulu beams, and it’s the kind of smile that can’t be contained. For one terribly selfish moment, all I can think is I did that. A voice in the back of my head taunts me. You’re the one who can do that for her now in other ways. You don’t have any competition.

I cringe inside, telling that voice to shut the hell up.

There was never any competition with my best friend. I didn’t fight for her affection. I didn’t throw down the gauntlet and say, My name is Leo Hennessy, and I am here to battle you for the green- and blue-eyed beauty. We were all friends, and I never made a play for her.

He did.

I focus on the here and now, as Lulu stands. Her eyes shine with a hint of wetness. Lulu had the softest heart, and she’d cry at any sad story in the news or touching moment in the movies. She’s tough as nails too, so I know she won’t break down here. Still, I love knowing that my introduction matters to her.

She smooths a hand over her clothes, something I’ve learned is her nervous tell. But when she speaks, there’s only confidence in her tone. “It’s truly an honor to partner with Heavenly, and my goal here is quite simple: I hope to make all the customers as addicted to my chocolates as Leo and Kingsley are.”

Lulu and I sit, and Kingsley takes the floor again, tucking an errant strand of silky black hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Lulu and Leo. And I imagine, like me, you all want this new partnership to succeed?” She looks to the crew.

Everyone nods.

“Good.” She takes a breath. “But how badly do you want it to succeed?”

“So badly!” Noah shouts.

“That’s what I thought. And while the last Rising Star did very well, we can’t rest on our laurels. Finger-Licking Good has had a whole heap of press lately after they played the sympathy card when someone contaminated their fountain at the chocolate fair.”

“Oh no they didn’t!” Noah says, dramatically.

“Oh yes they did. But something’s rotten in the state of candy.”

“Please say it’s not my favorite flavor of Mars bar. Please say it’s not rotten,” Noah mutters in a prayer to the gods of candy.

Kingsley whips her gaze to him. “You better not be eating Mars bars while I pay your salary.”

He scoffs. “No way. Just testing you. I only eat Heavenly chocolate.” Under his breath, he adds, “I only eat protein bars.”

“Chocolate is good for you, Noah Rivera.” Kingsley strides to the head of the conference table, taps the keyboard on her laptop, and points to the image projected on the whiteboard. “This is the problem, folks. Big problem.”

An Instagram post from Frodo’s. It’s an array of potato chips, artfully arranged on a silver plate, in the outline of a lovely woman. Chip legs are crossed invitingly, a hand is parked on a chip hip, and the salty breasts are full.

Holy potatoes. Some chip sculptor turned salt and vinegar chips into something succulently suggestive. It’s pure snack porn, and my mouth is watering.

Noah lets his tongue loll out. “Hot damn. I want to⁠—”

Kingsley holds up a hand and slices off the dirty thought that was surely about to make landfall. “Don’t go there, Rivera. Whatever you were going to say is, I’m sure, inappropriate for mixed company and for my company.”

“But Mrs. Potato looks so hot.”

Kingsley stares down the bridge of her nose at him. “I know. Trust me, I know. But that’s not the big issue.”

“Well, they are quite big,” Ginny mutters, then gestures to the chip lady’s knockers.

“That’s what she said.” And that’s courtesy of Noah, naturally.

“The big issue is what Frodo’s posted next.” Ginny shifts to a more serious tone.

Kingsley glances at the offending photo again. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ginny. Because this is a big, stinking, hairy hairball of a problem.”

She clicks to the next image, and it’s a caption. Devour chips, not chocolate. Savory is better than sweet.