Emmy, maybe more truthful than she should be, said, “The only disappointing thing about any of this is the idea you have to leave. The rest of it is honestly fine. I really am glad you feel like you can talk to me about your mom. And you don’t have to, but if you want to, I’d like to hear about her.”
Karl’s hand tightened on hers. He ducked his head, smiling crookedly again, then met her eyes to say, a little hoarsely, “You’re a really nice person, aren’t you? I’m incredibly glad I met you, Emilia Jones. And,” he added, taking a very deep breath, “I’m now going to insist on buying us an egregious dessert and paying for dinner, as an apology for getting all sad-eyed and weepy on you.”
Emmy squeezed his hand and leaned in, trying to make her expression very serious. “All right, but I need you to understand something first: Ilovedessert. When you say ‘egregious,’ I say ‘sounds like a good start.’”
Karl leaned in, too, just as solemnly, his gaze fastening on hers in a mix of challenge, humor, and—as far as Emmy was concerned—roaring heat. “I’ve been on trail rations for ten days and haven’t had a decent dessert in at least a month. Bring it on.”
“Steven?” Emmy raised her voice a little without breaking eye contact with Karl. When the gastropub owner appeared at the side of their table, she said, “Could you bring us the two most appallingly huge, amazing desserts that Chef Charlee can come up with in half an hour?”
Karl laughed, which broke their intensely shared gaze, and Steven, who was bear-sized even as a man, actually went, “OooOOOOOooooh!” and rubbed his hands together. “You want a Chef Charlee Special?”
“Oooh! Is that a thing?” Emmy looked up hopefully, and Steven went beyond a chortle all the way to a cackle.
“I bet it will be in half an hour. Sit tight and we’ll see what she can come up with.”
Thirty minutes later, Charlee herself came out bearing aplatterof desserts that made Emmy and Karl sit back from their conversation and gape in awe at her offerings.
The concoction could, Emmy thought, be called a brownie sundae, if a brownie sundae had put on its Sunday best and gone out to parade around town. The base was definitely a brownie, more than an inch thick and soaked with a hot fudge sauce that justlookedso rich it was clearly a ganache: closer to frosting, really, than sauce. Small, delicate scoops of dark chocolate ice cream alternated with strawberries to hold up a thinner-cut brownie, upon which a larger scoop of vanilla, also surrounded by small dark chocolate scoops, balanced like a princess at the top of a tower. The entire thing was festooned liberally with drizzles of hot fudge, swirls of whipped cream, berries, praline pecans, and maraschino cherries.
And there was a second one for Karl. Emmy said, “Oh myGod,” in genuine awe.
Chef Charlee, who was about Emmy’s age and weight, but several inches taller and decked out in a chef’s coat and hat, grinned like she’d been given an unexpected gift. “Steve said I had to out-do myself. Am I out-done?”
“I haven’t even tasted it yet,” Karl said reverently, “but yes. You have. Are. Unquestionably. I’d say it’s almost too pretty to eat, but I am onehundredpercent going to eat that.”
Charlee’s grin grew even wider as she offered them dessert spoons, presented with a flourish. “Don’t be shy on my account,” she told them both. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you approve.”
“I don’t even know where to start.” Emmy moved her spoon around, trying to decide where to dig in, then finally edged it into the bottom brownie, getting a spoonful with ganache and brownie and the littlest bit of chocolate ice cream. She popped it in her mouth, eyes closed as she lingered over the bite, until suddenly her eyes opened wide and she froze with the spoon about to dig into a second bite. “Is that araspberrybrownie? Is that a…aflourlessraspberry brownie?”
Overwhelming glee shot across Charlee’s face in the form of the world’s broadest smile. “Not quite flourless, but there’s not much at all, no, compared to the chocolate and raspberry. Is good?”
Emmy made a sound she would normally reserve for the bedroom and dug into a second bite, ate it, and moaned again. “Oh my God, Charlee. Karl, oh my God, you have to try it, you can’t just sit there watching me eat.”
“I think I could,” he said in a tone almost as reverential as his last comment. “But I did promise I’d eat this, so…” He took a bite himself, then covered his mouth and actually started giggling. “Oh my God. That’s amazing. Good grief. Oh my God.”
“Right?!” Emmy smiled wildly at him, and Charlee went away beaming with triumph.
Steven remained at the table just long enough to say, “Now look what you’ve done, this is going to have to become a house special,” in a not-at-all-convincing rebuke before following Charlee back to the kitchen.
“Is this how Virtue works?” Karl asked in astonishment when they’d worked their way through most of their desserts and were both too full to continue and determined not to stop. “You go into a restaurant and ask for something unique and for you alone, and they just whip that up for you?”
“Not everywhere,” Emmy admitted around a groan of fullness. “But sometimes, yeah. Small towns can be great that way.”
“Well, I think I understand why you don’t want to leave,” Karl said with a happy sigh. “I’m not sure I do either.”
Emmy’s heart lurched hopefully. “You can always come back when you’re done with your pilgrimage.”
“Pilgrimage.” He looked thoughtfully at her. “That’s kind of what I’m on, isn’t it? And you’re right. I can. I think I just might. But!” Karl lifted a finger in a dramatic motion. “But first, for tomorrow, I have aplan.”
CHAPTER6
Karl woke up much too early for a man sleeping in a bed for the first time in over a week. The B&B had good mattresses, too, just the right balance between firm and soft. He lay there awake, luxuriating in the new dawn light spilling around the curtains and reveling in the perfection of the mattress until it led him to a pleasant contemplation of his firmness and Emmy’s softness. Then he jolted out of bed into the shower, as if someone would catch and scold him for thinking lusty thoughts about the B&B’s proprietress.
He was somehow surprised to see Emmy in the breakfast room at eight in the morning, even though the business’s entire purpose was, of course, bed and breakfast. She wore a soft blue hippie wrap dress with short flouncy sleeves and a flowing skirt, and for a few seconds all Karl could think was how incredible it would be to unwrap her from that dress. And herboots. They looked like soft leather and came to her knees, with criss-cross lacing all the way up.
She could leave her boots on, as far as Karl was concerned.
God. He’d just gotten out of the shower, and needed another one. A cold one. Instead he got himself some cereal, but Emmy came over with a hot breakfast menu and said, “Shh. Only for my favorites,” with a wink.
