She realized with a start that her hands were still shaking, and she felt a little woozy. She didn’t think it was just from the nerves. When was the last time she’d eaten anything? She couldn’t remember if she’d actually grabbed breakfast that morning—she rememberingplanningto get a muffin out of the kitchen on the way out, but not if it had actually happened. She vaguely recalled downing a cup of coffee while checking inventory, but food?
Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, which was an answer, along with the dizziness. Her blood sugar was definitely low.
Reaching into the candy display she kept near the register—the impulse-buy section that always did well with customers who couldn’t resist one last treat—she grabbed a peppermintstick. It didn’t look all that appetizing, and as she unwrapped it, her mind wandered.
What on earth should she make as her exhibit piece? It needed to be spectacular, memorable, something that would photograph beautifully and represent the very best of what she could do. But what? A massive truffle? Some kind of sculptural chocolate work? An elaborate dessert that combined multiple techniques? She’d never thought of doing something like this before, just because she never had the time. Now she was on a crunch, and she wished she had a folder of ideas to pull from for something like this.
She was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear the bell chime as the front door opened. A familiar voice spoke up, making her jump.
“Earth to Imogen,” Lincoln said with a laugh. “You look like you’re off in another world.”
Imogen blinked, taking in the sight of him. He looked a little windblown, cheeks red from the cold, bundled up in coat and scarf and boots. He was grinning bemusedly at her, his green eyes twinkling, and she had a sudden startling memory of him looking at her exactly like that in high school, when he’d found her similarly lost in thought over some project or problem.
Imogen blinked, bringing herself back to the present moment, and she felt her cheeks flush a little. “I was,” she admitted. “Off daydreaming. What brought you in? Do you need another order of chocolates?”
“Well, actually, I thought you might need this.” Lincoln held up a paper to-go bag that was marked with the Snowdrift Diner logo, and set it on the counter in front of her. The smell that wafted up was immediately recognizable and made her mouth water—roast beef, cheese, savory spices. Some kind of hot comfort food, that was for sure, and Imogen’s stomach rumbled so loudly she blushed.
“What is it?” she asked confusedly, looking at him. “Is that lunch?”
“Yes,” Lincoln said, chuckling. “A French dip from the diner,” he added, as laid-back as if him bringing her lunch was a perfectly normal thing. “Extra au jus on the side, no horseradish on the sandwich because I remember you think it’s too spicy.”
She stared at him, genuinely perplexed. Something warmed in her chest at the fact that he remembered how she liked her sandwiches, but a more pressing question was at the forefront of her mind. “Why on earth would you assume I needed lunch?”
Lincoln grinned at her. “Well, it’s getting to be that time of year when shop owners never get to sit down, and I know you’ll forget to eat if you’re too busy. You always did back in high school, whenever something was due and you got super focused. And it seems like I was right,” he added. “Seeing as how you’re close to chomping down on a peppermint stick, and I know you hate peppermint without chocolate. So my instincts were correct.”
He looked altogether satisfied with himself, and Imogen felt her face flush even deeper.
It was both disconcerting and touching to realize that he still remembered those things about her. She would have thought he’d have forgotten them after all these years, but he had always understood her so well, even when they were just teenagers figuring out who they were. And he’d always been kind and thoughtful. Maybe it shouldn’t come as such a shock that he would have filed away those things about her, even if their relationship had changed so much.
“I…” she started, then stopped, looking down at the peppermint stick in her hand. “I do hate plain peppermint.”
“I remember,” he said with a smile, and something about the way he said it made Imogen quickly look up at him.
She’d forgotten just how good their relationship had been in high school—or maybe she’d wanted to, at least. She’d shoved it to some corner of her mind, because what was the point in remembering the best relationship she’d ever had when it was over? But for a brief second, she could see the boy who used to bring her snacks during study sessions again, who had always known what to say, and always remembered her favorite things. It was both touching and slightly overwhelming to realize that some things hadn’t changed.
“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice a little softer than she’d intended. “Really. This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. And Iamstarving.”
She opened the bag and was hit with another wave of the delicious, warm scent of a hot French dip. Her stomach growled again, more insistently this time, and she started to unpack the food, hoping she could keep from wolfing it down in front of Lincoln, who appeared to be planning to hang out for a bit from the way he was leaning against the counter.
“So what has you so lost in thought that you’re eating candy you hate for lunch?” Lincoln asked, watching as she set out the food. Imogen separated half of it off, holding it out on a napkin to him, and he shook his head. “I ate already. Grabbed a club sandwich from the diner and ate it on the way over.”
Imogen took a bite of the sandwich and let out a happy sound as the juicy, cheesy roast beef and soft bread melted in her mouth. It tasted like the best thing she’d ever eaten, and it was exactly what she hadn’t realized she wanted. She felt herself start to relax, just a little.
“Sweet Confectionsjust called.”
“Right. The magazine that’s featuring you.” Lincoln cocked his head. “What did they need?”
“They want to do the photo shoot next week,” she said between bites, the words tumbling out now that she hadsomeone to share the news with. “And they want me to create some kind of special exhibit piece. Something that will ‘wow’ their readers and be the centerpiece of the article.”
Lincoln’s face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. “That’s incredible, Imogen! You can absolutely do it. I’m glad that something like this is recognizing how talented you are.”
Imogen smiled at him between bites. “Thank you. I’m thrilled, really, but…” She set down the sandwich and wiped her hands on a napkin. “What am I supposed to make? It needs to be spectacular, something that will photograph beautifully and represent everything I can do as a chocolatier. No pressure at all, right?”
“Okay, let’s think about this,” Lincoln said, his expression growing more serious as he shifted into problem-solving mode. Imogen felt that jolt of warmth in her chest again; she recognized that expression. Sherememberedit. Lincoln always looked like that when he was trying to come up with a solution for… well, anything she’d ever needed fixing back then, when they were together. “What about… a giant chocolate sculpture? Like, life-sized?”
Imogen nearly choked on her bite of sandwich. “Life-sized of what?”
“I don’t know, a… a life-sized chocolate Christmas tree? With chocolate ornaments?”
