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“Yes, a Manhattan would be great. Catch up with me down the row. I’ll make note of anything worth seeing.” He moves down the table while I backtrack to the bid sheet and put twenty thousand dollars down. It’s a crazy bid, but I want it for him and Luke. Something tells me that a romantic getaway would be important to them.
When I return with his drink, he is rounding the last corner. Fifteen minutes later the bids are closed and dinner begins.
Malcolm and I sit under the watchful eye of my parents who ask lots of questions about his career and his family. Turns out that Malcolm’s father is a lawyer, and Malcolm is a partner in the firm.
Near the end of dinner, Mom asks, “Will you two be seeing each other again?” Hope gushes from her like a geyser.
Malcolm lays his hand on my shoulder and gives me a silent I’ve-got-this. “Yes, I’m going to be an uncle to Maddy’s children.”
Mom’s geyser stalls mid-air then sputters to a stop until her hope and happiness are capped off. It’s heartbreaking to watch, but she deserves no less for meddling in my love life one too many times.
The man announcing the high bid winners silences my parents. I sit on the edge of my seat and wait for my name to be called. When it is, I smile because I know even though love isn’t in my future, it’s in Malcolm’s and Luke’s.
When the evening ends, Malcolm and I exchange numbers and hugs. Mom and Dad didn’t find me a husband. They found me a friend.
Two
MADDY
Three days after the auction a package arrives with my name on it. It’s special delivery and comes wrapped in a pink bakery box. I know it’s from Malcolm. No doubt he’s sent me chocolate filled croissants to thank me for my gift. We text constantly and he’s always teasing me about my sweet tooth. He’s quickly become the light to my boring days with his wit and wisdom.
I untie the white string and open the box to find a handwritten card that says,
Enjoy,
Future Uncle Malcolm
Beneath the card is one perfect chocolate croissant. I lift it to my nose and inhale. There’s nothing more comforting than the smell of fresh-baked bread, mixed with sweet chocolate.
I hold the box under my chin to catch the crumbs as I take the first bite. I nearly melt into a pond of pleasure right there. I’ve never had sex, but I can’t imagine it being better than this. I eat the whole thing while standing in the hallway, and when I lick my finger to press it against the crumbs in the bottom of the box, I notice it’s not empty. The recognizable red envelope from the auction is there.
At first my heart thuds at the thought that Malcolm is sending my gift back, but I know that’s not the case. He sent me a French pastry, and that means something else is in the envelope, and I know exactly what it is.
I grab the envelope and let the box fall to the floor, crumbs and all. With the swipe of my wet finger, I open the envelope and look at the gift. It’s a five-day course by world-renowned chef Ripley Stark.
Like a child, I dance around the marble entry of my parents house and chant, I’m going to Vail, over and over again.
“What’s all the ruckus?” Mom peeks her head around the corner and frowns. Her eyes go directly to where the flaky crumbs sit on her black, marble floor. I told her black was a bad idea, but she never listens to me.
“Malcolm bought me a gift.”
Mom joins me in the hallway and jumps up and down beside me, no longer caring about the crumbs. It isn’t because of the gift, but simply because her hope is renewed. Surely there must be an attraction if gifts are arriving.
“See sweetheart? He likes you.”
I nod like a bobble doll. “Yes, he does.” I rush upstairs to my room and grab my phone to text Malcolm.
“You crazy man, I want to hug you and throttle you, but first I want to thank you.” When you’re rich, no one thinks to buy you gifts. The thought is always, what can I get them that they can’t get themselves. The answer is, a gift. No one wants to buy their own gift.
He doesn’t respond right away, but the three dots that keep flashing on my screen tell me he’s writing.
“Thanks for the getaway for Luke and I. We’re excited to have time dedicated to us.” Under his message is a link. “Check out Ripley Stark, I hope you love his class. I did some checking up on him. No cover model. That’s him. If you’re lucky, maybe he can fill your croissant.”
I press on the link and gasp, there are hundreds of photos of Mr. Dark and Delicious. My whole body shudders at the idea of being close to a man who looks like sex dipped in chocolate.
“Behave yourself.”
He pastes in a devil emoji. “Never. Get used to it. Now that you adopted me as your brother from another mother, my dirty mind is part of the package. Class starts next week, so get ready. I think it’s a perfect idea for that hunk of a man to put a bun in your oven.”
