It’s been my mission since before I knew it was my mission.
Now, since I bought the farm, whenever I’d travel away from Costa Rica to live myreallife, I’d email Naomi and browse for truffle recipes for inspiration, and sometimes I’d walk into chocolate shops just to ask if they had any vegan, sugar-free truffles, when really, I wanted to smell that delicious, rich scent of heaven.
Most people on my support staff know I cheat on my diet on occasion, and after a lifetime of growing up with my grandmother, I learned to buy people’s loyalty with compliments and air-kisses and hefty salaries and occasional loud, public professional breakups that made the other person look bad, though I only did that once because I felt so awful about it that I puked for three days afterward. Then there were the nondisclosure agreements and employment contracts and termination clauses as backup. But I still didn’t ask for nearly as many truffles as I wanted to sample.
Not when my mother’s voice would ring in the back of my head.
Octavia, you know what that will do to your figure.
But today?
Today, after waiting for me by the lake with the most delicious coffee I’ve ever had in my life, once I’ve finished showering and sneak into the church basement, Dylan’s waiting for me with rows of open truffle boxes lying on my worktable.
I’ve barely shut and locked the door behind me before the decadent scent makes my mouth water. “One, how did you get in here, and two,oh my God, where did these come from?”
“Don’t know much about getting into the chocolate game, but I know you have to know your competitors if you want to stand out.”
I sniff again, then pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream.
“I keep asking myself why you’d want to hang out with me, and I think I finally get it. It’s the chocolate, isn’t it?”
“We have to work on your self-confidence here.”
“I was making a joke.”
“Uh-huh.” He points to a purple box sitting among gold, green, and wooden boxes. “This is the one I send my mom when I’m trying to get out of trouble. And that’s the one I send to Willie Wayne when I need to ask him to sign off on a permit with short notice or one that he’s not going to like, like when I told him we were making Jane’s garage into an industrial-grade kitchen so she could sell her beer.”
I’m drooling. Not even kidding, I amdrooling. “She really needs socials if she’s going to grow.”
“Hasn’t wanted to grow. This is a self-sustaining hobby, and she spends a lot of time debating with herself over whether she’d still enjoy it if it was her job.” He points to the wooden box. “And I sent those to Hannah and the asshole when they got married. Wanted to make sure he knew thatIknew how to send her better gifts than he does.”
“You like chocolate. I mean, youseriouslylike chocolate.”
“A little.”
He grins again, those dimples popping out, and I have to hold myself back before I tackle him with another hug and a kiss.
Instead, I point to the table while I let Pebbles down to run around the kitchen, which I shouldnotdo when making truffles for public consumption, but for me to taste-test, it’s totally fine. “This is nota little.”
“Okay, Ms.Bought a Chocolate Farm.” He squats to greet my dog, and my heart melts.
All of it.
“Has anyone ever told you they’re glad you were a total shit as a kid?” I ask him.
He laughs. “No.”
“Well, I am.”
He shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”
“I am.”I point to the boxes of truffles too. “Do you know how much work those took to go from a little seed in the ground to beans on a tree to finished product? You could’ve said,Fuck it, being one of those awful overdried Halloween taffies in the orange-and-black wrappers is enough, but instead, you took the time to turn yourself into a gourmet chocolate truffle with layers and depth. If you hadn’t had your bad years, if you’d been an average kid with average problems instead, maybe you would’ve grown up to be a pack of M&M’s. They’re decent, but they’re not what you send when you want to put your best foot forward. But you had to work for it. You had to pay attention to the little things. And now, you’re a gourmet truffle. You deserve better than being something someone takes for granted. You deserve to be someone who’s savored and appreciated for every bit of what went into making you who you are.”
He’s staring at me like I’m six trees short of a forest.
And now my face is getting hot, and once again, I wish mornings didn’t exist.
“Never mind.” I flap my hands, because I don’t know what else to do with them. “I hate mornings. I don’t make sense in mornings. I—”
