My mouth waters, and the need to taste what he’s made almost overwhelms me. I hate my weakness, and I hate even more the brief mental image of me sucking chocolate from his fingers. I bite the inside of my cheek and wonder how in the hell I’m going to escape him and the candy shop without making a mistake.
Then my eyes flicker back to the small burner. An open flame in an area of the shop where customers congregate. Not exactly safe. Not within code. A smile creeps across my face. I’ve pulled myself back from the Hank/chocolate abyss. I’ve got this.
“Wow.” He packs up the rest of the treats. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled since you’ve been in here.”
“Are you finished?” I wrap my arms around myself even tighter. “I’d like to get what I need and go home. It’s long past closing time. I shouldn’t be out this late in the dark.”
He glances at the clock on the back wall that hangs above a huge glass container of brightly-colored gumballs. “Yeah, it’s pretty late. I’ll have to walk you home.”
“What?” I swallow hard.
He packs a few more sweets into the boxes and closes them up. “Like you said, you shouldn’t be out in the dark this late.”
“I-I didn’t mean that you need to walk me home. I’m perfectly capable of—”
“It’s okay if you didn’t want to come right out and ask me.” His smirk reappears. “I understand.”
“No. I can walk myself home, thank you very much.” I reach for the boxes.
He scoops them into his arms and jerks his chin at the front door, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. “Wait there. I’ll just get my coat.”
Hank
“Do you keep up with anyone from school?” I walk along beside her, the boxes of sweets in my arms.
“You really don’t have to walk me. I’ve been walking myself home every night for years.” She sticks close to the row of shops and turns her head toward the darkened windows of Burt’s Hardware as a car passes, the tires hissing on the slick street.
I plow ahead. “I still talk to Greg Freemont sometimes. Brandon Yearling, too. He has a farm about twenty miles from town. We get together and shoot pool out at Cooter’s at least once a month.”
“What about Linda?” She asks the question in a rapid huff, then bites her lip as if she wishes she could take it back.
I haven’t thought about Linda in years. We dated in high school. The typical cliché—she was a cheerleader and I was an athlete. But it ended right after senior year. Now she’s married to the police chief’s son and has three cute kids. What interests me is Olive’s jealous tone. Jealousy means she’s got feelings. Feelings mean I’ve got a chance.
I keep my voice even. “I’ve seen her around town with her kids sometimes since I’ve gotten back, but other than that, no.”
She nods quickly. “Right, her kids. She’s married and all.”
“Yeah.” We turn right at the end of the block and head toward the oak-lined street marking the start of the more residential part of town. “So, what about you? Anyone you still talk to?”
“Candace Turley, though she’s Candace Lincoln now, and a few others.”
Now it’s my turn. “What about Pace?”
She glances at me, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “What about him?”
“Didn’t you two date senior year?” I distinctly remember wanting to beat the ever-living shit out of him when he’d bragged in gym about going all the way with Olive.
“Pace?” She stops and shakes her head at me. “Pace Beverly and me?” She laughs, but no amusement colors her tone. “You think the quarterback dated me?”
I realize I look like a fool with my nose wrinkled up and confusion stretching across my face, but I can’t help it. “You didn’t date him?”
“No.” She takes a few more steps before stopping again and facing me. “Pace never said two words to me in school. None of you did.” Her eyes narrow. “In fact, this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”
Mayday, mayday. “I was just trying to—”
“If this is some dumb game for you, it’s not funny. Maybe I was your joke in high school, but now I’m an adult. I live my life, I have great friends, and I run a business I’m proud of.” She holds her arms out. “Give me the boxes. We’re done here.”
“Wait. Look, I’m sorry.” When her expression softens the slightest bit, I barrel onward, “I know we didn’t talk in high school, and we didn’t exactly hit it off well when I opened my sweets shop across from your studio, but I …” I swallow hard and my palms begin to sweat and stick to the boxes.