ego.”
So much for keeping my smile in check. I feel it spreading across my face with abandonment. “Dutch?”
“American. I’m buying.”
I slide my gearshift into drive and stifle a laugh. “Come by later. We’ll figure something out.”
His gaze lingers on my face for a moment longer, and then he nods and straightens, waving before he turns and walks away.
The Chocolate Couture is packed when I walk in, tourists come to top off their lunch with something indulgent. As I step into the bustle, a familiar peace washes over me. Cold air falls from the vent above the entrance, but inside the shop it always feels warm to me. Maybe it’s the walls that are painted the color of melted caramel and cherry ganache, or the sweet air, as though the dust motes are coated in sugar.
Paige wonders why I spend so much time here. It’s because the only time I feel truly calm is when I’m immersed in busy work. Work is where I can forget about heroes who can’t be identified, parents who can’t be reconciled, and a longing for an ex-boyfriend that can’t be satisfied. I can get lost in the flurry of tasks, in tastes and aromas, in customers’ euphoric expressions when they taste something I’ve created. But today, something is on my mind that I don’t want to leave behind. Kai. His great smile, and his empty pockets, and our penciled-in plans for tonight.
Dad is at the register ringing someone up. He’s wearing his usual white dress shirt, black tie, and black apron, and a sheen of sweat shines beneath his thinning blond hair. There’s no one else behind the glass counters to attend the swarm of customers, and as I’m wondering where Paige and my sister Sophie are, I see them near the display window, bickering about something.
“Your dad said to work the counter,” Paige is insisting, hand on hip.
Sophie ignores her and continues with her meticulous arranging of gift boxes on a display shelf. A silky sheet of cropped black hair hides her face. Her natural color is showing at the roots, golden blonde like mine.
“Just because he’s your dad,” Paige says, “doesn’t mean you don’t have to—”
“Don’t you have something else to do?” Sophie says without looking at her. “You’re cramping my artistic process.”
“This isn’t art!” Paige grabs the boxes from Sophie’s arms and shoves them on the shelf in two untidy stacks. “Now come help me!”
Sophie is unfazed. “I think the Sundries Shack is hiring down the street. Why don’t you go work there, and you can pile things into baskets all day.” She rearranges the boxes, taking her sweet time, while Paige groans in exasperation. Sophie is only fifteen, but somehow manages to rule the place.
“I’ll help you, Paige,” I call out.
She looks at me, noticing me for the first time since I walked in, and releases a sigh of relief. “Finally. Someone who actually knows how to work.”
I follow Paige around the glass display case and greet Dad with a smile as I pass.
“Hey, Avery,” he says, “thanks for coming in on such short notice.”
“No problem.” I consider telling him about Mom’s manic behavior, but I don’t want to worry him. The lows always follow the highs, and it’s almost time for her to crash.
I tie on my black apron and get to work. The rest of the afternoon is filled with hazelnut truffles and mint squares and “Does that have nuts in it?” and “I’ll take three of those” and “Can I sample the bacon chocolate bars?” and “Wow, who knew curry and chocolate made such a great combination!”
Things finally slow down as the late afternoon sun breaks through the storefront windows. Dad takes the opportunity to fix a wonky hinge on the front door. Sophie goes to the kitchen to make a batch of caramel, and Paige and I take care of the last customers of post-lunch rush.
As I’m ringing someone up, the door chimes. I glance up to see Tyler, the sunlight behind him making his edges all soft. My knees go
So much for keeping my smile in check. I feel it spreading across my face with abandonment. “Dutch?”
“American. I’m buying.”
I slide my gearshift into drive and stifle a laugh. “Come by later. We’ll figure something out.”
His gaze lingers on my face for a moment longer, and then he nods and straightens, waving before he turns and walks away.
The Chocolate Couture is packed when I walk in, tourists come to top off their lunch with something indulgent. As I step into the bustle, a familiar peace washes over me. Cold air falls from the vent above the entrance, but inside the shop it always feels warm to me. Maybe it’s the walls that are painted the color of melted caramel and cherry ganache, or the sweet air, as though the dust motes are coated in sugar.
Paige wonders why I spend so much time here. It’s because the only time I feel truly calm is when I’m immersed in busy work. Work is where I can forget about heroes who can’t be identified, parents who can’t be reconciled, and a longing for an ex-boyfriend that can’t be satisfied. I can get lost in the flurry of tasks, in tastes and aromas, in customers’ euphoric expressions when they taste something I’ve created. But today, something is on my mind that I don’t want to leave behind. Kai. His great smile, and his empty pockets, and our penciled-in plans for tonight.
Dad is at the register ringing someone up. He’s wearing his usual white dress shirt, black tie, and black apron, and a sheen of sweat shines beneath his thinning blond hair. There’s no one else behind the glass counters to attend the swarm of customers, and as I’m wondering where Paige and my sister Sophie are, I see them near the display window, bickering about something.
“Your dad said to work the counter,” Paige is insisting, hand on hip.
Sophie ignores her and continues with her meticulous arranging of gift boxes on a display shelf. A silky sheet of cropped black hair hides her face. Her natural color is showing at the roots, golden blonde like mine.
“Just because he’s your dad,” Paige says, “doesn’t mean you don’t have to—”
“Don’t you have something else to do?” Sophie says without looking at her. “You’re cramping my artistic process.”
“This isn’t art!” Paige grabs the boxes from Sophie’s arms and shoves them on the shelf in two untidy stacks. “Now come help me!”
Sophie is unfazed. “I think the Sundries Shack is hiring down the street. Why don’t you go work there, and you can pile things into baskets all day.” She rearranges the boxes, taking her sweet time, while Paige groans in exasperation. Sophie is only fifteen, but somehow manages to rule the place.
“I’ll help you, Paige,” I call out.
She looks at me, noticing me for the first time since I walked in, and releases a sigh of relief. “Finally. Someone who actually knows how to work.”
I follow Paige around the glass display case and greet Dad with a smile as I pass.
“Hey, Avery,” he says, “thanks for coming in on such short notice.”
“No problem.” I consider telling him about Mom’s manic behavior, but I don’t want to worry him. The lows always follow the highs, and it’s almost time for her to crash.
I tie on my black apron and get to work. The rest of the afternoon is filled with hazelnut truffles and mint squares and “Does that have nuts in it?” and “I’ll take three of those” and “Can I sample the bacon chocolate bars?” and “Wow, who knew curry and chocolate made such a great combination!”
Things finally slow down as the late afternoon sun breaks through the storefront windows. Dad takes the opportunity to fix a wonky hinge on the front door. Sophie goes to the kitchen to make a batch of caramel, and Paige and I take care of the last customers of post-lunch rush.
As I’m ringing someone up, the door chimes. I glance up to see Tyler, the sunlight behind him making his edges all soft. My knees go
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