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I picked at a stitch that was coming loose on the blanket. “When I was in Italy, I met a man named Alessandro. We dated for a while, and I brought him back to New York with me. He got a work visa and stayed for two years, but then he needed a green card. I thought I loved him, so I flew us to Vegas to get married.”
“What happened?”
“The doors opened for me to walk down the aisle, and he was standing at the altar hand in hand with someone else.”
“What?” Sid sat up. “Kat, I’m so sorry.”
I shrugged. “It embarrassed me more than anything else. He used me to fund his life here while he tried to make it big as an artist. And all the while, he was banging someone else and planning on marrying her.”
“Shit,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
“Joke’s on him, though. I called immigration on his ass and made sure the landlord didn’t let him back into the apartment I was paying for.”
“Damn.”
I laughed. “Yeah. That was when I came to Oak Springs. I got on a flight and flew right here. I’d hit rock bottom and needed a change. It was a wake-up call. I couldn’t continue to live my life for other people.”
Sid wrapped me in a hug and kissed the side of my cheek. “I’m sorry I judged you harshly for so long. You’re nothing like what I originally thought.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
I was about to ask him what happened with his almost engagement when his phone rang.
“Shit. I need to take this.” He jumped out of bed and walked into the bathroom. I could hear the low timbre of his voice as he answered the phone.
He came back out a few minutes later with a towel around his waist. “I’m going to hop in the shower, and then I need to get back to work.”
“Oh, okay.” I pulled the blanket up higher, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
He walked over and kissed my forehead. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”
“Sure.”
Something had changed, and Sid was pulling away again. I felt sick. I had just opened up and spilled my heart out, and it could bite me in the ass. This was worse than the Alessandro situation because Sid had my heart.
“THIS HOT CHOCOLATE IS to die for,” I said.
Rebecca nodded. “Elouise’s husband, Pierre, is a retired chocolatier from Paris.”
“Shut up! Why did I not know this?”
She shrugged. “Everyone in town knows, but no one really talks about it. He doesn’t like it when people make a huge deal out of it. But at Christmas, he goes all out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Anything you have that’s chocolate, Pierre made it.”
“This peppermint bark?” I asked, holding up the amazing, crunchy, pepperminty goodness.
“Yep. And the hot chocolate, the fudge, the chocolate Santas, the lumps of coal…Pierre does it all.”
“Riley would die.”
Rebecca laughed and nodded.
“I have to make sure I get my hands on a box or bag or whatever he sells it in. I want it by the pound.”
Rebecca laughed.
