“That sounds amazing,” I say wistfully. “But I don’t have the equipment or the clout or frankly the money to travel and enter one of those competitions. And I can’t leave my mom and Gusand fly halfway around the world. It’s just not practical right now.”
Henry nods in understanding. “Maybe not halfway around the world, but what about Canada? What would you say if I could get you into the North American Chocolatier Competition?” He asks the question with a little half smile, like he knows something I don’t. “It’s in Vancouver this year, in two weeks. I’m hosting the award ceremony for the competition winners, and I’m pretty sure I could get you a spot in the competition. One of the planning committee members owes me a favor from a few years back. I bailed her out of a sticky situation in Rio. I could make a few calls if you’re interested, see if they have a spot for you?” He takes a sip of water and waits for my response.
I’m speechless, both because of his generous offer and because of the absolute enormity of what he’s suggesting. This competition won’t be mom-and-pop chocolate makers. It draws the best of the best. The award money is often a decent sum, which we could definitely use, but as Henry pointed out, the most valuable part of winning is the name recognition, the free publicity. Winning a competition like that can set your business up for success like nothing else. Not evenSavorwould give me that kind of visibility. And Henry is offering me a chance to compete. It’s an amazing opportunity. I’m completely terrified.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” I stammer, heart hammering in my chest. Thinking about trying to compete with people at such a high level is daunting. It’s been seven years since I made chocolate on a regular basis. I don’t have anywhere near the quality of equipment other contestants are sure to have. Or the recent experience. While I have been busy changing diapers and making endless pounds of fudge, my competitors have been honing their craft as some of the best chocolatiers in the world.
Henry sees my panicked expression. “You don’t need to decide now,” he says gently. “Sleep on it. Think about it, and let me know.”
I nod, relieved and grateful. “Thank you for the offer. I appreciate it, I really do. I just need to…consider it.” I’d be a fool to say no, but the thought of saying yes is making my palms sweat.
“Of course. Let me know when you decide. The offer stands.”
The rest of the evening flies by smoothly, and we stay until the restaurant closes. We are the last to leave. Henry walks me to my car. The night is chilly and I shiver in the stiff breeze that’s whipping up over the bay. Without a word he takes off his navy swazer and drapes it over my shoulders. It smells deliciously of Earl Grey tea, and the warmth of his body lingers in it. I cuddle into the softness, luxuriating in the feeling of being taken care of. I feel myself melting a little inside. He’s cute and intelligent and kind. A true gentleman. He doesn’t make me feel like I’ve got electricity crackling through me like when Jakob looks at me. With Henry it’s more comfortable, it’s easy. Like a warm sweater. Like a cup of tea.
Easy is good, I tell myself. With everything else feeling so complicated, I need something easy. We pause by the car and I start to hand back his swazer, but he tells me to keep it until the next time he sees me.
“That way I have an excuse to see you again soon,” he says with a bashful grin.
“Clever ploy,” I tell him, my voice low and amused. We’re lingering by the car, neither of us in a hurry to move away.
“Emmie, this has been lovely.” Henry puts his hand under my elbow and leans in. “You’re lovely,” he whispers against my cheek. I instinctively lean forward, and it happens smoothly and naturally, the kiss he presses on my lips. We linger for a long, satisfied second, our mouths coming apart with a pop. It’s sweet and perfect,this kiss. The perfect exclamation point at the end of a delightful evening.
“Goodnight, Henry,” I tell him, getting into the car. I drive away hugging the swazer to me. On the way home I think about the evening with Henry as Norah Jones croons from my car radio. It’s weird to feel like I know the end of our relationship while we’re still at the beginning. It feels a little backward, like reading the end of a love story before you get to know the characters and see them fall for each other. I’ve watched Henry for years on TV and feel like I know him. That, combined with the vision of him down on one knee, makes it easy to jump too far ahead, but I need to keep a clear head about this. I have to remind myself that Henry and I are learning each other. We’re getting to know each other for real, and that takes time and effort and careful thought. I don’t want to just fall for him because of the vision. I want to fall for him in real life too. Step by step, getting to know the real Henry Summers.
So far I don’t have any major qualms though. Henry is genuinely lovely. I have a crush on him, I’ll admit it. And I think he might feel the same way about me. It’s been years since I was in the butterflies-in-the-tummy stage with a guy. It’s fun to feel like I’m falling again, this time for the right guy.
When I pull up in front of the house, I take Dani’s napkin list out of my purse, reading it in the faint light of a streetlamp.
To-Do List
• Henry + Emmie fall in love
• Chocolate shop
• Yellow dress
• Engagement ring + proposal
I pull out a pen and make a faint tick by the first two points. They are both now in motion. Everything is going smoothly. It’s early days yet. My chocolate shop is more theory than reality at this point, but at least it’s in the works. And Henry and I are getting to know one another. I like him. I really like him. I have a good feeling about where all of this is going.
Maybe it’s time to start shopping for a dress the color of sunshine.
Chapter 22
The next morning after school drop-off, I park my Honda in the public lot by the waterfront park and walk the few blocks to the shop. On my way, I pass one of the cute little boutiques that dot the downtown, and something in the window catches my eye. I freeze in wonder, staring at the floaty yellow dress on the faceless mannequin. It wasn’t there yesterday.
“That’s it! That’s my dress!” I press my nose to the glass, drinking in the sight of it, heart beating with excitement. It’s exactly as I pictured it. The store isn’t open for another half hour, but I see a light on inside and rap on the door, hoping the owner, Paula, will make an exception and let me in. I bought a very overpriced tin of popcorn last year for her granddaughter’s pep band fundraiser. Paula remembers the popcorn and is delighted to let me try on the dress.
“I only have this one size in yellow, so I hope it fits,” she says cheerily, stripping the mannequin with an expert hand. “It justcame in yesterday. It also comes in red and navy if you need another size.”
I check the tag and frown. It’s a size smaller than what I usually wear. It’s a size I haven’t been since Gus was born. Maybe it runs large? Here’s hoping.
“It has to fit,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s my dress.”
In the fitting room I shimmy out of my jeans and flutter-sleeved top and slide into the dress. It’s cool and expensive-feeling, light as a feather. I suck in my stomach and try to zip it. No luck. It stops at my bra line. Thwarted, I breathe out and empty my lungs, and then by force of will I inch the zipper up and up until it finally reaches the top. I can’t quite draw a full breath, but it fits like a glove. A slightly too-tight glove. Still, the image in the mirror matches my vision exactly. I decide to ignore the slightly suffocating feeling of not being able to draw a full breath. I’ll just have to take shallow breaths when Henry proposes to me.
Paula wraps it up for me and runs my card. It’s expensive, and I wince at the price tag, but then again, how can I not buy it? It’s destiny. I heave a relieved sigh to be back in my normally sized clothes though.
