This was her element, the place where she felt most confident. Whatever confusion she might have about her personal life, she knew chocolate. She knew every aspect of her business, from sourcing ingredients, to creating custom treats, to managing customers. She felt better and better by the moment, because she was talking about something she genuinely loved and understood completely.
“Tell me about your background,” Whitney said as she adjusted her camera settings. “How did you transition from whatever you were doing before to becoming a chocolatier?”
Imogen told her the story about finishing her business degree and being unsure what she wanted to do next, about coming back to Fir Tree Grove after college and meeting Katie’s father. She quickly told a little of that story without getting too personal: just that she’d been a single mother with a baby, and wanted to make something for herself in her hometown. She’d started small, making chocolates and desserts and cake pops forweddings and baby showers and other celebrations, until she had enough saved to rent her storefront.
“I loved how getting a treat can make someone’s day,” she said softly. “It can be for a celebration, or it can be as simple as just needing something sweet for a pick-me-up. It can be something shared among others, or a perfect gift when you don’t know what to get. There are so many ways that my chocolates can brighten up a moment, and I love thinking about all the moments that I’ve gotten to be a part of without ever really being there. You start with a few ingredients, and it becomes this object of pleasure and joy.”
Imogen smiled, feeling her spirits lift with every word. “And it’s an artistic outlet too. Coming up with fun new flavors, finding just the right mixture of ingredients. Making sure everything is aesthetically pleasing as well as beautiful. There’s just so much to it, so much happiness and creativity, and I love every second. I’ve never wanted to do anything else since I started.”
Whitney nodded enthusiastically, photographing Imogen as she stood next to the displays. “That’s beautiful. And I understand you made a special centerpiece for today?”
“I did.” Imogen felt her nerves pick up again as she gestured toward the chocolate sculpture. It felt like the moment of truth—everything else was second to this. Pamela had seemed very clear about that. She needed the ‘wow’ factor of the feature piece, or else the whole thing might fall flat. “I recreated Santa’s workshop in chocolate. I can talk about the different techniques I used, if you like. Every piece is handcrafted. I know it’s a bit Christmas-y for the time of year this article will run, but my shop does the most business at Christmas, and this time of year is special to me and to the town. I thought it really reflected the heart of Artisan Chocolates.”
“There’s always room for Christmas any time of year,” Whitney said with a smile. “This is incredible. The level of detail, the craftsmanship—you really went all out. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
Imogen felt a rush of pride as she watched Whitney photograph the sculpture from multiple angles, capturing the small details and larger shots that got every part of it in frame.
“This is going to be our cover shot,” Whitney said with certainty. “I can already see it—this gorgeous sculpture with the shop’s rustic backdrop behind it, a real snapshot of small-town vintage holiday cheer. Readers will love it no matter what time of year we run this piece.”
“Really?” Imogen could hardly believe what she was hearing. “The cover? Really?”
“Absolutely,” Whitney confirmed. “What was the inspiration for it? Just the connection you have to the holiday, or was there some particular story behind it?”
Imogen bit her lip, thoughts of Lincoln flooding back in. There was a story behind it, of course, but after the events of the last couple of days, she was no longer sure how she felt about talking about it.
But this was important. And she wanted to make sure that nothing affected how perfectly this had all gone, despite all the obstacles in her way.
“Well,” she started slowly, “we have a local ice rink here in town. I’m friends with the owner… close friends, actually. We used to date in high school.” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “That ended when I went off to college, but he moved back home, and…”
Imogen paused, realizing she was starting to ramble. “We’re close, and my daughter skates at his rink a lot. I was there watching her about a week ago, and he’d just gotten in this new display for the rink’s holiday decorations. It was thisentire North Pole setup… basically what you see here. Santa’s workshop, the reindeer, the train, all of it. I looked at it and I could justseehow I would turn it into a chocolate sculpture. It felt like it really captured the heart of what this town loves so much… whatIlove so much.”
Whitney looked at her curiously. “The holiday? That’s what you love?”
Imogen felt her cheeks flush, and she nodded quickly. “Yes. Of course. And it felt like a little tribute to a space that means a lot to me too. My daughter spends so much time at the rink, and Lincoln—my friend—is always so patient with teaching her. She adores him. He’s a bright spot in our lives, just like my chocolates are for others, and… I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to create as the showcase for my store.”
“He sounds like a special person,” Whitney said with a smile.
“He really is,” Imogen said, her voice growing softer. “He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. Patient and funny and always willing to help. And he has this way of making you feel like whatever you’re passionate about is the most important thing in the world. He’s always been that way, even when we were young.”
She paused, suddenly realizing how much she’d revealed about her feelings in the past few minutes. Whitney was watching her with the pleased expression of a journalist who had stumbled onto a much more interesting story than she’d expected to find.
“I’m sorry,” Imogen said quickly, heat flooding her cheeks. “I’m rambling again. You’re here to talk about chocolate, not my personal life.”
“Are you kidding?” Whitney said with a grin. “This is exactly the kind of human interest angle that makes features great. This isn’t just a chocolate sculpture, it’s a reference to the heart of your town and what’s inyourheart—your daughter and theplaces that mean something to you and this friend who clearly means a lot to you too. This is perfect. It’s going to be the best holiday feature we’ve ever had.”
“Really?” Imogen smiled weakly, feeling a little better, even though she felt as if she’d let too much of herself be seen.
“Really,” Whitney confirmed.
The rest of the interview passed in a blur, with Whitney asking detailed questions about Imogen’s chocolate-making process and business plans while the photographer captured images of her working behind the counter and arranging displays in the cases. Imogen felt good about her answers, but a part of her mind was still lingering on Lincoln and everything she’d said to Whitney about what he meant to her.
By the time Whitney and the photography crew packed up their equipment and prepared to leave, Imogen felt completely drained.
“You were amazing,” Whitney said. “I can’t wait for you to see the finished spread. The magazine is going to be thrilled.”
“Thank you so much,” Imogen replied, aware that she sounded both happy and exhausted all at once. “This opportunity means more to me than I can express. I can’t wait to see the end result.”
As she watched Whitney and the crew leave, she felt tired and proud and satisfied, a little disbelieving that she’d pulled it off in the end and thrilled that it had all gone so well.
