“I…I don’t know,” he squeaks, shifting next to me.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I ask, my patience wearing thin, that tempting breath of his coasting across my chin, making my body recall all sorts of long-forgotten sensations. Standing this close, I’m painfully aware of the delicate slope of his chin and the pink hue to the tip of his right earlobe, the pink starting to bleed further down his neck.I did that. I made him blush.A ridiculous, immature sense of pride courses through me, and I quickly collect myself.
“No one ever told me, sir,” he states matter-of-factly. “And I never asked.” He shrugs, his gaze downcast as if he’s almost waiting for me to disapprove of him or tease him about it. An unfamiliar feeling of unrest rises inside me. For some reason, I suddenly feel angry, and Idon’t know why or at whom. I’m just angry.No one ever told me.Shit. I continue reading, trying to focus on the words in front of me.
Date of Birth: April 15th, 2001.
“You’re an Easter baby,” I blurt, my mouth going all rogue on me.Easter baby? For the love of God, pull yourself together, East.
“Yes,” he nods. “Easter Sunday, sir,” he adds, his voice quivering. “It was quite…inconvenient…” he trails off, avoiding my stare.
“Inconvenient?” I repeat brusquely. I really am an old arsehole.
“Yes,” he nods solemnly. “I shouldn’t have come around until after the holidays,” he says. “So, as you see, quite inconvenient, sir.” He articulates every syllable carefully, almost as if they carry some sort of special meaning to him. Perhaps they do. I just feel increasingly angrier, my fingers threatening to tear his CV apart.Inconvenient. How can a child be fucking inconvenient? That’s a load of bollocks.Unexpected houseguests are inconvenient. A fucking blizzard or a delayed train, yes. But a child?Although I don’t have nor do I particularly want some of my own, I am, however, of the firm belief that you should only acquire a child if you truly desire one. Taking a deep breath to stave off the anger that’s slowly but steadily turning into wrath of biblical proportions, I read on, the letters dancing in front of me.
Skills and Qualifications:
1. Easter specialist
2. Vast knowledge of cocoa beans
3. Online Master Class completed in tempering chocolate
4. Extensive knowledge of fillings and decorating techniques…
Jesus fucking Christ, why am I even contemplating this? This…inconvenient kid,this Benjamin-I-don’t-know-what-the-B-stands-for has disaster-waiting-to-happen written all over him. He may as well have a big fat NO! stamped on his forehead. And yet, I find myself carefully folding the paper together, placing it in the front pocket of my charcoal linen apron, and speaking the words I would least expect, “So, Benjamin B. Sable, when can you start?”
Chapter Two
Benjamin
What does one wear for the first day of work as a shop assistant in one of the most well-renowned chocolatiers in the UK? And why didn’t I just ask my new boss Mr Bennett what the appropriate attire for such an esteemed position would be?You know why, Benjamin. Because you were too busy smelling him, ogling him, dreaming of…Yes, yes, I know, but oh gosh, was he dreamy looking. I mean, a little standoffish and grumpy, but oh so very,veryhandsome. Dashing, actually. With his golden-blond hair and clear blue eyes. I wonder how old he is. He seemed old because he was very serious, but I didn’t notice any grey in his hair, although it was rather hard to tell because it was oh so very golden. And his skin… beautiful and soft-looking, with a few fine lines around his eyes.
Trailing my fingers along the different coloured dress shirts displayed on a table in the high street shop,Meredith’s Modern Men’s Wear, I recall what Mr Bennett was wearing. Dark jeans. A navy-blue button-up. And that charcoal apron wrapped around his broad chest and slim midsection, the grey colour clashing with theicy blue of his inquisitive eyes. His gaze wasn’t hostile per se, just intense. It felt like he could see right through me, into the very core of me, peeling off the top layer of my well-rehearsed polite persona, only to reveal all my flaws and failures. All my mishaps and mistakes. Because there are indeed many, and my shortcomings were always thrown at me at every opportunity during my childhood.
‘Look at you, Benjamin. Always such a mess. Can’t go an entire day without messing up to save your life, can you?’and then, of course, Father’s preferred phrase:‘You even had to ruin your mother’s Easter luncheon, didn’t you? It’d have been easier for everyone if you’d never been born.’
It’s true, though. It would’ve been easier. At least, there’s never been any doubt in my heart that my parents felt that way because they never failed to point it out every chance they got. And over the years, my brothers learned how to copy my parents’ behaviour to get in their good graces. Needless to say, I haven’t had any contact with any of them since the day I left home at eighteen.
“Can I help you, love?” A cheery voice sounds next to me, a pair of friendly grey eyes regarding me.
“I’m just…I’m just looking, thank you,” I murmur, letting go of the soft cotton fabric. Lavender with a frail bluish undertone. My favourite colour.
“Well, if there’s anything, then do let me know. I’m Meredith and this is my shop,” she beams.Oh, blast.It’s never easy—well, almost impossible, really—to steal from someone once you know their name. AndMeredithis such a lovely name, and she even seems lovely. It’s even harder if they treat you with kindness. I’m addicted to kindness, you see. Growing up without any can turn even the strongest of us into a kindness junkie. I don’tshoplift very often, but sometimes, when I see something very pretty and fluffy usually, the urge strikes.
“I uhm…Can I ask you something?” I lower my voice, throwing a glance at the only other customer in the shop. I’ve never been to this place before, although it’s on the high street in Nettle Green in Kent where I’ve lived all my life. Maybe it’s new.
“Of course you can, love,” Meredith chirps.
“What would you wear for your first day of work as a shop assistant in a chocolate shop? A high-quality chocolate shop,” I hastily add, shifting nervously on my feet. The worn leather of my old shoes is soft against my feet, but as much as I love them, they’re doing a poor job of hiding that they’re falling apart.
“Well…” Meredith’s smile is friendly as her eyes coast along the row of dress shirts. “I would go for smart but practical. It needs to give off a good first impression since you’re dealing with customers, but it also needs to be something that you can move around in freely.” She taps her bottom lip deep in thought before she reaches for a dark green long-sleeved polo on a shelf next to her. “This one, dear. Try this one. The moss-green will go perfectly with your hair colour and your beautiful eyes,” she practically glows while handing me the polo.
Beautiful.No one has ever used the word beautiful while referring to my eyes—or any other part of me, for that matter.
‘Stop looking at me like that, with those beady eyes of yours. You only have yourself to blame.’Yes, it’s true. It is my fault. All of it. Looking down at the green polo, I reach for it and the tips of my fingers connect with the silky-soft fabric. So similar to Bunny’s fur. So smooth and warm and just overall lovely.No. Don’t go there, Benjamin. Don’t.
“It’s…it’s very delicate,” I whisper, a lump building in the back of my throat, the ghost of Bunny’s sweet familiar scent lingering in my nostrils. “But it’s too nice…” I trail off. “I’ll only ruin it.”
