In short order, I fixed my own mug of chocolate and gestured for her to go ahead of me into the living room. It didn’t escape me how she created more distance by tucking a foot under her ass and sitting so her knee jutted across the cushion between us. An awkward silence descended as we sat on opposite ends of the couch and sipped our drinks.
Chessly broke it. “This is really good. How did you learn to add straight cocoa powder to hot chocolate mix?”
I shrugged. “It’s how my dad likes it.”
Eyeing me over the rim of her mug, she asked, “What about your mom?”
“Two scoops of chocolate powder and a shot of peppermint schnapps.” I shuddered at the thought. “I don’t have a clue how she can drink it that sweet.”
I liked the way her eyes warmed as she listened to my descriptions.
“What about your parents? Sweet or chocolatey?” I licked some marshmallowy foam from my lip.
All the playfulness that had replaced the awkwardness ran from the room. In trepidation, I watched her pull her shoulders in, protecting herself. For a long second, I thought she wouldn’t answer.
“Dad only drinks black coffee.” She held her mug in both hands in her lap, adding another layer of protection. “I remember Mom drinking hot chocolate with me when we’d have little winter parties on snowy days, just the two of us, but I don’t remember how she liked it.”
The waves of sorrow rolling off her pulled me to the middle of the couch where my thigh almost brushed her knee. “Chess?”
“I lost my mom when I was eight,” came out on a whisper. Sad eyes found mine. “A car accident on an icy road.”
“Jesus, Chessly. I’m so sorry.”
Clearing her throat, she said, “It was a long time ago. I don’t know why sometimes little things trip me up—like not remembering how she liked her hot chocolate.”
A picture of my mom swatting my hand away from the cookie dough when I’d try to sneak some to go with my hot chocolate flashed through my head. “I can’t imagine how hard it was growing up without your mom.”
A wan smile crossed her mouth. “It was.” Her smile warmed. “But Dad’s done a good job at being both parents. He’s pretty great, actually.”
“It’s just you and your dad? No sisters or brothers?”
“Just me and my dad.” Her eyes dropped to where I was still running my palm over her knee and along the outside of her thigh. I pulled away as though I’d touched a hot stove.
“Sorry.” I bumped my knuckles on the bottom of my mug, and chocolate dripped onto my jeans.
A touch of mischief quirked her smile as I brushed at my clothes.
“What about you? Brothers and sisters?”
“One sister. Nikki. She’s a senior in high school and a royal pain in my ass whenever I go home.”
“Why is she a pain? Did she take over your room or something?” Chessly’s eyes danced.
“No. She’s smarter than that. But she’s totally clueless when it comes to guys.” My fingers flexed around my mug. “She dates the dweebs who have no game whatsoever, guys who are going absolutely nowhere. It pisses me off that I have to run one of them off every time I go home.”
Her brow shot up. “Overprotective much?”
“My sister’s too good for any of the guys in her school—or in any of the schools in our area. She’s so damn smart, and she has big ideas for how to run the farm—ideas my dad gives serious thought to.”
Chessly’s face lit up. “Your sister wants to run your family’s farm?”
“Good thing too since I don’t want to run it.”
“A farm kid, huh?”
I nodded.
“But you didn’t like it.”
