The scent of truffles enrobes me. Sensual and rich, the aroma floods my nostrils as I craft a new batch to take to Kingsley tomorrow. Flavors of caramel, vanilla, and pistachios float through the air. Corinne Bailey Rae plays on my phone, drifting through the closed shop.
The door creaks open, and I nearly shriek when I see a familiar face—warm crinkles against dark blue eyes, dark-blond hair curling at the ends, and a grin just for me. I drop my tools on the counter and rush over to throw my arms around my best friend. Emotion slams into me all at once.
“You’re here!”
“Whoa! Did you forget I was coming back to town?”
“I just missed you.”
“My flight arrived early from Chicago,” he says, mentioning the site of his most recent hotel meeting. “Figured I should at least stop by and see my business partner before I go out on a hot date tonight.”
I let go of him to check out his shoes. Black loafers. “And you’re not wearing Crocs tonight.”
“Did I say I was wearing my loafers on my date? I have a brand-new pair of Birkenstocks I’ll be slipping into. Did I tell you I’m switching to Birkenstocks for the ladies?”
I cover his mouth. “You didn’t say that. We will never speak of your footwear again.”
“Flip-flops?” He tries to speak around my hand, and I shake my head.
“How about those foot gloves with the rubber-covered toes?”
I slump dramatically to the floor like the Wicked Witch melting, fitting since I’m wearing a green dress. “I can’t go on.”
Laughing, he offers me a hand, tugs me up, then whispers, “Confession: I’m wearing the loafers tonight. All because of you.”
“Praise the Lord!” I thrust my arms into the air. “Also, it’s so good to see you again. Business is going great here. The shop manager is awesome, and I’ve been trying to spend as much time as I can here, all while handling Heavenly stuff. But let’s talk about how awesome you are. Sounds like you were a rock star in Miami, and in Vegas, and in Chicago?”
“I sealed the deal with the hotel in Florida. Paperwork is all done. They want to carry Lulu’s Chocolates in their swank, chichi lobby shop. Flamingo-shaped chocolate for the win. And things are looking good with the Vegas hotel too, and the Chicago one.”
I grab his cheeks and kiss his forehead. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“And I love you. But I’m only here for a few minutes.”
“Who’s your hot date with? When I saw you in Miami last week, you mentioned a mystery woman. Is there a mystery woman in New York too?”
“Please. I am a one-woman man.”
“And a one mystery-woman man?”
“Indeed.”
“So who is the mystery woman?”
He arches a brow playfully. “Don’t you want to know.”
“I do. That’s why I asked!”
He squares his shoulders and takes a deep, exaggerated breath. “My grandma.”
“Aren’t you the perfect grandson?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been inspired to take her out. We have a date with Puccini.”
“And the perfectly cultured grandson.”
“That is true. Now, before I don my tux, hit me up with some sugar. Give me some of those new flavors so I know what I’m wheeling and dealing.”
I show him the chocolates, and he tries a few, rolling his eyes in pleasure. “You always do that. How will I ever know if these are truly good?”
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me. Would I lie to you?”
Cameron wouldn’t lie to me. Cameron has always been fully honest. That’s why I spit out the news that’s bubbling up inside me, because I’m dying to know what he thinks. “I think I’m falling for Leo.”
“Let me just slam on the brakes right now.” He makes a screeching sound, then shakes his head like a horse, trying to clear his thoughts.
He stares at me with bulging eyes, his voice hitting a few octaves higher than his deep, delicious baritone. “What did you just say?”
“I’m falling for Leo.” Saying it does crazy things to my heart. Makes the organ tap-dance around in my chest. “I think he feels the same. We’re going to date. We even told Kingsley at Heavenly. It’s nuts, isn’t it?”
“Nuts is when you wear muumuus and slippers to work. This is downright bananas, blowing-my-mind. You are aware he was the best man at your wedding?”
I shoot him a curious stare. I’m surprised he isn’t happier. “Gee, thanks. I’d nearly forgotten he was my ex’s best friend for ten years and counting. Want to tattoo on me that you don’t think I should get involved with him?”
He stares at me down the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I said, and you know it.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying this is big. Ocean-size big. This is the-sea-turned-purple-and-is-floating-with-sapphires big.”
“Take me to your ocean, please.”
He squeezes my arm. “Are you really falling for him?”
My heart trampolines in my chest. “Yes. Falling like night falls, like waterfalls, like rainfalls.” But something gnaws at me, pokes its concerns into my shoulder. “But what about the three-legged stool analogy? Were we better as a three-legged stool?”
“Maybe the three of you were good as the Three Musketeers. But I think sometimes you told yourself that you were a threesome. At the end of the day, you went home with only one person. When it comes to love, most of the time a pair of aces beats three of a kind.”
That’s what I want to be with Leo—a pair. “So the analogy no longer applies.”
“It no longer applies for many reasons. Most of all, now there are two, and two is something of a perfect number. What do you want the two of you to be?”
That’s what I want to explore. “We’re still figuring it out, but something more than friends, for sure. A part of me thinks I should feel guilty, but I don’t. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt.”
He holds up a hand to high-five. “Guilt is a terrible emotion. Guilt strangles you. Guilt wraps its horrible tentacles around you and squeezes away your joy. That’s a scientifically proven fact.”
“Like, it’s been tested and verified?”
“Absolutely. Studies show that being stymied by guilt makes music sound tinny, spicy food taste bland, and champagne go flat. You don’t want that, do you?”
