• Engagement ring + proposal
I unlock the door and wander through the store, hearing echoes of my dad’s voice. Everywhere I look I can see him. He swings me high in the air, my blonde pigtails twirling, then he passes me a butterscotch candy, his favorite and mine, when my mom isn’t looking. He kept them in his pocket and would give one to any kid who came into the store and couldn’t afford to buy anything. He went through pounds of them a year because he was always eating them and giving them away.
There are so many decades of memories in this space. Gus took his first steps right there by the window, and promptly crashed into a stand of licorice and burst into tears. I don’t look back into the kitchen, but there are thousands of days of memories back there too: Me eating Pop-Tarts on Saturday morningwhile Dad made batch after batch of fudge as we listened to NPR. Me heavily pregnant with Gus, making fudge while Dad watched me with an eagle eye and gave me pointers. He knew at that point that his prognosis was terminal, and he was trying to pass on as much knowledge as he could while he still had time. Mom holding colicky baby Gus for hours at a time, rocking him in a rocking chair we brought into the office so I could do the books while he finally settled down to sleep in her arms.
“I don’t want to sell this place,” I say aloud, and I know in my gut that it is true. It belongs to our family. It was Mom and Dad’s, and now Mom is passing it to me. Someday I want it to go to Gus to do with as he sees fit. Selling it now would feel like I was giving up something precious—years of our family history, a stake in the ground in our community. I don’t want to sell. I know in my heart it is the right thing to keep the store in our family. Somehow I’ll have to figure out a way.
But if we don’t sell, how are we going to afford to keep it? The financial reality is daunting. With the water damage repair and the renovations and the lost income from having to close the shop, we have burned through almost all the money Mom had set aside. There is no money left to pay for the county-required upgrades. Our portion of the upgrades is going to run as much as ten thousand dollars, maybe more. Where are we going to get that kind of money?
I was hoping the competition prize would help cover the costs, but that obviously didn’t happen. And don’t even get me started on where I’ll find money for updated equipment. I want to sell chocolates that are high-quality. I struggle with the old equipment I have now. It will only get worse as I ramp up my production volume. It is a conundrum—one I don’t know how to easily solve.
But I don’t want to sell if there is any way in the world to avoid it. That I know for sure.
With a sigh I make a few notes on the list.
To-Do List
• Henry + Emmie fall in love
• Chocolate shop—need more $ and a name!!!
•Yellow dressthe right yellow dress thatfits!
• Engagement ring + proposal
At least I have one thing on the list so far. A dress that fits. And now I have a vision for the chocolate shop that is definitely my own. I don’t know how to figure out a solution to our financial problems, but at least I know what I want. That is a good start. I read over the other two items on the list carefully. Then I tuck it back into my purse. I know what I need to do next, and I’m not looking forward to it at all.
Chapter 37
“Hello, Emmie,” Henry says as he opens the door to his little beachfront cottage. He smiles warmly at me, and my heart falls. He’s adorable as always, in bare feet and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair mussed and falling over his brow. He leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek, and I feel a bittersweet dart of regret. What a lovely, sweet man he is.
“I feel terrible about what happened in Vancouver. Come in, come in.” He opens the door and gestures me inside. “I wish you’d called me earlier. I could have tried to do…well…something. But never fear, there are other competitions. There’s a good one coming up in Brussels in the fall. Perhaps you’ll have more luck there.”
He leads me into the kitchen, which is filled with late-morning sunlight and the homey smells of toast and tea. I set a plate of sprinkle sugar cookies on the counter. They’re fresh and warm from the oven. I baked them just before coming to see himand used only the gold sprinkles on the tops. I ate two on the way over, for courage.
“Care for a cuppa?” he asks, putting the electric kettle on. “I was hoping to see you soon. I was wondering if you’d thought any more about our conversation the other day during our picnic?” He looks so hopeful it breaks my heart. “I understand if you need more time,” he says quickly.
“Henry,” I sigh. “I have to admit something to you. I hate tea. And yes, I have been thinking about your sweet and thoughtful offer and about the future. That’s why I’m here.”
Henry draws back and sees my regretful expression, and his face clears with sudden understanding. “Ah,” he says, rubbing his neck a little bashfully. “I see. I’m not going to like the next part, am I?”
I shake my head, giving him a tender, regretful smile. “Can we go sit down?” I ask.
Over a truly terrible cup of instant coffee that he makes me (which I augment with a few sprinkles on the sly to give me an additional boost of courage for what I have to do), we sit in lounge chairs on the deck and chat, the plate of cookies between us. The day is cool and gray, but beautiful. We watch seagulls wheel overhead and blue herons hunt in the shallows near the shore as I explain why I cannot say yes to a relationship with him.
“You are lovely,” I tell him honestly. “Absolutely lovely. It’s not that I couldn’t see a life with you in it. It’s more that I can’t see how our lives fit together. I don’t want a relationship that’s a lot of long distance and the occasional weekend or break between filming. Henry, my life is here. I can’t jet off to Vietnam or Argentina or Norway like you do. I have an ailing mother and a young child and a small business to take care of. I’m not portable at this stage of my life. And I want to share my life with someone, all the sweet, small, everyday things, right here, together.”
Henry stirs milk into his tea and smiles regretfully. “I thought you might say that, Emmie, and in truth I don’t blame you. Bad timing, I guess. I was just hoping perhaps I could convince you, but you’re right. It isn’t fair to you or Gus or Gwen for you to have a partner who is absent so much of the time. I’d miss so much life here. I think we’d end up regretting our choices, but I had to at least try and see what you thought. No hard feelings. I’d like to still be friends, if you’re willing?” He looks hopeful.
“Of course!” I reach across the table and we shake hands, a friendship pact.
“Some man is going to be incredibly lucky to get you,” Henry says, biting into a cookie. I blush beet red.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
Henry smiles. “It’s okay,” he assures me. He dips the edge of his cookie into his tea. “You’re a wonderful woman, Emmie—a caring mother and a devoted daughter, and you have such a creative mind when it comes to chocolate. I have no doubt you’ll succeed in whatever you choose to do, and I’m glad to be your friend. I hope we can see each other when next I’m in town?” He bites into the cookie and looks at me hopefully.
It sounds like a question. “Of course, Henry,” I reassure him quickly. “I’d love that. And anytime you want to come back, we will welcome you with open arms.”
