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A laugh bursts from me. I’ve never heard someone speak so directly.
She gestures to her fantastic chest and goddammit, to the outline of her nipples in her red short-sleeve sweater. “Well, it’s your fault.”
I groan, a little in misery, a little in admiration. “I accept full responsibility. And damn, I do approve. And I’d really like to show them some well-deserved attention.”
She growls at me. “Not helping.”
I gesture to my hard-on, practically punching its way out of my jeans. “You’re not helping here either!”
Then, we burst into laughter over, clearly, our predicament.
Soon though, we collect ourselves, and we do discuss the offerings for our first night, devising a plan, and, miraculously, steering the ship out of I want to watch you get off waters.
Once we’re back on chaste shores, I return to the topic we never finished, because I genuinely want to understand her. “You said you worry but you let it go. What stresses you out?”
She draws a deep breath, perhaps a fortifying one. “It wasn’t easy for me to suddenly become a mom out of nowhere.” Then, like it’s hard for her to say, but important too, she adds, “Amanda’s seventeen years younger and our parents died in a car crash two years ago. I’m her guardian. Her mom. Her sister. It’s complicated. Sometimes I feel like both. Sometimes I feel like a failure. It’s extra hard because they were very different with me than they were with her.”
“How so?”
“They were…uninvolved with me. They were too interested in drinking, partying, going out, having a good time. I was left to my own devices. Which seemed fun at the time, but wasn’t really.”
My heart squeezes painfully. “I get that. Kids might say they want to be left alone, but they really don’t. They want us. They need us.”
“They do.” She nods sadly, then hesitates some before she adds, “We grieved them in very different ways. It was…much harder for her. I didn’t feel as close to them.” There’s some guilt in her tone but not for long. It’s mostly replaced by relief when she says, “With Amanda, they’d stopped drinking. Become sobriety coaches. Put all their money into that new line of work—sober houses and so on. They were walking the walk and talking the talk and helping others and being super parents. And I’m truly glad she had that. Really, I am. I’m glad she had the parents I never had. But maybe that’s part of what makes me feel like a failure too.”
“You’re not a failure,” I say instantly, reaching for her hand.
“How do you know?” she asks, quietly, taking my palm in hers.
“Because you’re trying. Because I can tell how much she matters to you. Because I already know how important she is to you. You are not a failure, and I’m so sorry about your loss.”
“Thank you. Every day feels like it has a new challenge. Every day I feel like I’m just making it up as I go along.” She takes a sip of her latte—with extra foam, as I’d predicted. “I really want this shop to work, Gage. I had this offer from a chain,” she says, then tells me more about The Chocolate Connoisseur and the low-ball deal she turned down.
“Good. I’m glad you turned it down. Elodie’s is the best chocolate in the whole damn city, and I should know. I’ve eaten most of it.”
She smiles. “Big spender.”
“Seriously. Your chocolate is amazing and your brand kills it. You don’t need anyone else but you. We’re going to make this work,” I say, since it’s so much easier to feel certain on her behalf than my own.
“I hope so. I want to take care of Amanda. Be there for her…in a way my parents weren’t when I was young.” A pang digs into my heart. It aches a little harder for her as she gives a one-shoulder shrug and adds, “Like chocolate was for me.”
“What do you mean?” I’m careful because that could mean sweets were her comfort, her addiction, or something else entirely.
“Just that it was reliable. It was—don’t laugh this time—like a lighthouse. It was steady, reliable, and always there. And since I was good at chemistry, it made sense to me. I started experimenting with making chocolate in the kitchen when my parents were out. And then it became…my companion.” It’s said with such affection, such fondness that it’s clear chocolate isn’t simply what she sells. It’s part of who she is.
“It felt like home?”
She’s wistful as she nods. “Yes. In a way, it was home. Maybe like baseball for you?”
That’s a damn good assessment. Baseball was my constant. Until it wasn’t. “That sounds about right. But not as tasty as chocolate.”
“Maybe Sticks and Stones is that for you now. Something steady and reliable. A ballast?”
“Yes. We’re going to make this work,” I say with more certainty than I feel, but I need to give this strength to her.
She smiles, full of a hope that matches mine.
The moment ends when her phone buzzes. She looks down at it, perplexed. “It’s a video from your grandmother.”
