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“Elodie’s Chocolates does well for a chocolate shop, but…”
I don’t have to say it. My parents died with nothing. They squandered away their fortune when Amanda was younger. So a shop that funded my once-upon-a-time fun, flirty, very solo lifestyle—full of skirts and shoes, spa days and facials, manis and pedis—now must take care of me and a kid who’s so talented with ceramics she wants to go to a special art school in the city.
Amanda deserves to go to art school. Art school here.
Who am I to destroy her dreams? I want to make sure my sister has everything she could need and want, and I had to take out a small business loan in the last year to cover increased rent since, well, my expenses went up. That’s why the buyout is appealing. It’s guaranteed money versus rolling the dice every day when I go into work. But I don’t want to be impulsive in making the decision either. I’d give up a decade of work building my business as a chocolatier in this city. A decade of recipes. If I ever wanted to start over, I’d face a non-compete for a few years. Ergo, I’m stuck in limbo.
“It’d be a nice chunk of change,” I admit. “A nest egg for her future. And isn’t that what a good guardian would do? Take it?”
Juliet offers a sympathetic smile. “I wish I had the answer for you. We could talk to Rachel and Hazel.” She says it with such problem-solving hope. That’s her fix-it, make-things-better nature. “They’re good at this stuff, too, even if none of us are parents.”
“You’re right. We need the brain trust. Maybe everyone should come to brunch tomorrow.”
“I’ll handle everything. I’ll get a reservation and round up the crew for a morning session.”
“And thanks. I needed this. I’m officially done thinking and worrying about the offer tonight. I’m going on a date with this hot tamale of a man, and I’m going to have a good time. Dammit.”
“Because dates are awesome,” she says as we near the Painted Ladies, their pretty pastels coming into view. “Every date is a new chance for love. This could be yours.”
“But what would I even do with love?” I ask, though I adore her attitude. Juliet is a breakup party planner for the best of reasons. She sees every end as a new beginning. For a while I was like her, hunting for big, swoony, head-over-heels love. Now, I just can’t imagine making it fit in my very messy life. “I can barely figure out how to send a sex toy to the right address,” I say breezily.
“We all make mistakes. Maybe yours happened for a reason,” she says as we hug goodbye, and I head off to meet Gage Archer a block away.
The sexy-as-sin bartender is waiting for me at the entrance to Alamo Square Park, next to the famous houses. His shirt is nice and snug, hugging those pecs and showing off some seriously strong arms. When I checked him out online, I learned he’s a former major league pitcher, and he sure looks like he’s still got a strong body. He strides up to me, all confident and assured, the kind of man who’d put me on my hands and knees then spank me into next year.
When he reaches me, he doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t shuffle his feet or awkwardly offer a hand to shake. A man who knows his mind, he sets a hand on my shoulder. “You look stunning, Elodie,” he says, curling that palm over me as he drops a chaste kiss to my cheek.
I can’t speak for a few floaty seconds, all thanks to a whisper of a kiss on my right cheek. A starter kiss that definitely didn’t lie. “So do you. Nice shirt,” I say. “I’d like to give thanks for how it shows off your arms.”
He laughs, dipping his face in the slightest show of…shyness. “My brother got it for me.”
“He buys you clothes?” That’s unusual.
Gage shakes his head. “He bought it for me for tonight’s date. Along with my daughter. Then they tried to pass it off like they hadn’t joined forces.”
That’s a whole lot of intel dropped in three sentences. “You have a kid.” I’m a little delighted.
“I do. She’s eleven.” He sounds so proud.
“Mine’s thirteen. She’s my sister, and I’m raising her solo,” I say, but I don’t get into the our parents died detail. Now is not the time to dive into grief or how I’m sometimes a mom and sometimes a sister. “She arrived at the shop right as you were leaving yesterday. She’s at the age where she thinks she knows everything.”
“Eliza’s at the age where she thinks my clothes are boring.” He pauses for a beat, giving me a warm look. “And I’m raising her solo too.”
Well, then. We’ve declared enough. With a smile, I say, “Do tell her I approve of the shirt.”
“I will,” he says, and we both know he probably won’t but it’s sweet anyway that he says it. “And she approves, too, of your chocolates.”
His big gesture was such a better gift than chocolate bath bombs to get me to sign a deal. “What have you got next in that bag of tricks?”
Gage didn’t tell me what was on the agenda tonight. Just that he wanted to show me an art installation he thought I’d enjoy then take me to dinner.
“Let me show you.” He sets a hand on the small of my back as we walk along the edge of the park. I shiver a little under his firm touch as he says, “But I have a theory about dates.”
“I have this theory about men who put their hands on the small of women’s backs,” I counter.
His eyes spark with interest. “This I want to hear.”
“You’ll have to earn that. Maybe I’ll tell you later,” I say with a playful lift of my eyebrow.
