“Also true, butoh my God. Do you realize you could get a job as a professional taster?”
“Because being a plumber isn’t sexy enough?”
She frowns at me, and if she’s not channeling her grandmother in this moment, I don’t want to know what more terrifying beast she might be channeling instead. “Dylan Alfred Wright, there isnothingwrong with being a plumber, and you are averygood plumber, and I’m incredibly grateful you know what to do with pipes and faucets and hot-water heaters, but there’s also nothing wrong with being told you have a gift that you apparently didn’t know you had.Do you understand me?”
“Ah, Alfred isn’t my middle name.”
“I don’t remember your middle name, so I made it up, because this is a middle name moment.You are worthy no matter your occupation.Are we clear?”
Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun, much like it always is when she’s playing with chocolate—and I say that with all due respect, since I think it’s cool she loves her job this much—and she’s in a pink tank top, no bra, and loose pants made of some kind of shimmery material that I have no name for.
Don’t care what it’s called.
I’m just glad it looks like it’ll be easy to pull off her when we’re done with the chocolate.
“So if we found out I had a talent for knitting, would you tell me I should leave behind plumbing and go knit?”
“Would it make you happy?”
“Ah, so you’re assuming it would make me happy to sniff chocolate all day long.”
Her eyebrows do a funky dance across her forehead. “I’m sorry, did you just hear yourself?”
She’s so earnest I can’t stop a smile. “Might not love it so much if you had to do it every single day.”
“Hello,I do it every single day, and I love it, and I wish I had your nose.” She frowns. “But for real, how do you deal with the stinkier jobs when your nose is that sensitive?”
“Used to it, I suppose.”
“Could you be any more like a superhero?”
“Stop.” I pluck a chocolate off the small plate and hold it out to her. “You sniff. What do you smell?”
“That one’s a champagne truffle, and this one’s ginger, and that one’s a brown butter ganache, which I think you may recall helping make.”
I remember finally carrying her upstairs to have my way with her on some dusty cushions in the choir loft when they were finally done last night. Also, I took that mental high five from high school me for scoring in a church choir loft, and I have zero regrets. “Cheating.”
She grins.
It’s not her public smile. Or the smile she gives to Pebbles, or the smile she aims at Bridget and the other teenagers around town.
This one is pure impish fun.
Tavi Lightly is an utter joy when she’s stripped out of her makeup and the expectations of the world.
“Why don’t you smile like that for your socials?” I ask her.
The fun slips away, and I want to kick myself. “Because it’s easier to handle the world trying to tear me down when I know it’s notmethey’re criticizing.” She grimaces and turns, grabbing a box to line up the truffles for shipping tomorrow. “I get enough of that from my family.”
“Your mom?”
“I know she’s not trying to be cruel when she tells me what I should and shouldn’t eat. She’s trying to protect me from what the world would say and make me a better—no, amore successfulperson. But it just ...”
“Makes you feel like you’ll never be good enough?”
“Something like that.”
“My first stepfather thought the best way to make me tough was to talk about how strong and smart my brother was so I’d want to compete and keep up.”
