That’s my list and I’m sticking to it. Those mantras have served me well. They’ve made me the man I am today—successful, wise, and satisfied.

There’s one more though. An addendum, if you will. The postscript you need to achieve a life well-lived. This ought to be so damn easy that no one makes this mistake.

Gather close.

Write it down.

Follow this one to the motherfucking letter.

No matter what, don’t fall in love with your best friend’s girl.

Too bad that ship sailed long ago for me.

1LEO

Real men like chocolate. And they aren’t afraid to show it.

I have no shame over my love for this substance. I love it when it’s dark, when it’s bitter, when it’s semisweet. I love it slathered on ice cream; crafted into truffles, bars, and squares; or filled with nuts, fruit, or liqueur.

But there’s one form I can’t stand.

Chocolate fountains.

We’re talking the hardest of hard limits, especially here at The Big Chocolate Show in the heart of Manhattan.

As I head down the aisle in hot pursuit of the next rising star, I’m transfixed by a guy in the booth a few feet ahead. He has a bushy beard and gnarly hands, and he swipes his index finger through the chocolate stream in front of him.

Then licks said finger.

He wipes the chocolate drops from his beard.

And proceeds to lick that off his fingers too.

Shuddering, I jerk my gaze away from the Finger-Licking Good booth. This is worse than going to see the latest Ed Helms F-bomb laden comedy and getting hit with a preview for a “snowman came to life and eviscerated me with an icicle” flick. I don’t want horror trailers before my adult comedies, nor do I want to see cesspools of chocolate when I’m hunting for the next great chocolatier.

I adjust my cranberry-colored tie and turn into the Heavenly booth, admiring the classy layout, from the simple oak tables to the stone bowls the chocolates lounge in invitingly with silver tongs beside them.

Yes, tongs. Because chocolates should be distributed in public by tongs, not fingers.

With her usual cheery grin, our freckle-faced marketing director waves me over from her spot manning the table. Or womanning the table, as Ginny likes to say. She scans left, then right. Coast is clear. There’s a lull in the booth action. She drops her voice to a clandestine whisper. “Leo, I pilfered some goodies for you.”

“Ginny, you are brilliant and also quite nefarious.”

“I take that as the highest compliment, especially since when I was a little girl growing up in Sydney, I had secret dreams to become a chocolate thief.”

“Glad to see we’re making all your dreams come true.”

She slides a green ceramic plate at me then presses her finger to her lips, her heart-shaped necklace dangling perilously close to the table. “But I don’t want anyone to see you tasting someone else’s chocolate. It would make us look bad.”

I shoot her a look. “It would make us look like we were on a mad hunt for the next rising star to partner with.” As the exec in charge of business development, that’s exactly my role at this show—finding that person.

She waves off my reply. “C’mon. Play along with me.”

“Fine. Fine. Cover me, Ginny. I’m going in.” I glance behind me, like I’m checking for sniper fire.

“You’re all clear. Go for it. I’ve got you.” With a sly backhand move, she wields the tongs—God bless her—and drops a small truffle into my palm. “This is your kind of chocolate.”

“Do tell. What is my kind?” I take the chocolate, half-expecting her to say “bitter,” since she knows me well enough.

But her reply surprises me.

“Spice.”

I arch a brow. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. You tell it like it is, just like a pepper.”

Laughing, I ask, “Is that what a pepper does?”

“Of course. All good peppers give it to you straight.”

“Then I will give this my true and honest appraisal, as if you’d given me Veritaserum.”

“I love it when you talk Harry Potter.”

“You only forced me to read them.”

Her jaw drops. “There was no forcing. That was love. That was only love I forced on you.”

“And several thousand pages of reading too.”

“That you adored.”

“I did,” I concede, since wizard battles rock, then I sniff the chocolate. It tickles my nose with a little hint of fire. I pop it in my mouth, the sharp, peppery taste tangoing over my tongue. “That’s a helluva kick.”

She pumps her fist. “I knew you were a spice. I have others for you to try too. But first, have you found our next rising star for our fabulous boss? She’s damn eager since the first partnership went so well.”

“No one who’s wowed me enough with his or her artisanal creations. Who does this deliciousness belong to?”

“I’m not telling you yet. You need to taste the others first.” She grabs another small square, placing it in my palm. “Try this one now. But smell it first.”

“As if I’d do anything but sniff it.” I draw a deep inhale, letting it fill my mind with . . . a most familiar scent.

Dark chocolate. A touch of vanilla. A little bit of coconut.

And like that, I’m thinking of her.

A woman who smelled like chocolate. I imagine she’d taste like chocolate too. I’ve wondered about her far too much for my own good.