Page 2 of This is a Kissing Book

“Absolutely. Chocolate preference says a lot about a person.” His voice turns even more intimate.

I’m acutely aware that I’m alone in the office. Wendy and Carmen are already at our staggered lunch breaks. Feeling like I could blow away on the wind, I unwrap another one, deliberately letting the foil crinkle near the phone. “Oh, really. Do you have a degree in candy psychology?”

His laugh is rich and genuine. “Maybe I do. Let me guess, you‘re eating one of those round Lindt chocolate truffles.”

I nearly drop the phone. “How did you⁠—?”

“The wrapper has a very specific sound. Also, they’re pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” I’m grinning now. “How about outstandingly delicious?”

“Nah. I stand by my claim.”

“What about Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?”

“Basic.”

“But delicious. Snickers?”

“Too much going on. It’s like they can’t decide who they want to be. Plus, the peanuts crowd out the other flavors.”

I giggle. “You have very strong opinions about candy.”

“I have very strong opinions about most things. But I’m willing to hear your defense of the Lindt chocolate truffle.” His voice drops into yet a lower register.

My stomach flips. Then, remembering where I am, I sit up straighter, ready to debate. “First of all⁠—”

We talk about chocolate, and I insist the Lindt hazelnut truffles are the best flavor (he playfully disagrees). Next thing I know, I’m telling him about the time my brothers started an underground candy market at school, trading lunch money for their trick-or-treat stash.

“Did you aid and abet?” He sounds impressed.

At a whisper, I confess something that not even my mother knows, “I stole from them.”

“That’s either genius or the start of a criminal career.”

“Both?”

We laugh and I’m twirling a piece of my hair now.

“I like the way you think.” The words wrap around me like sunshine.

I tingle inside and the space between our words crackles, is charged. Like the air before a summer storm.

I glance at the clock. I’ve been talking to a stranger for fifteen minutes and completely forgot about the provenance reports waiting on my desk, my outfit for tonight’s outing, and everything except the voice on the other end of this line.

“This has been charming,” I say to break the spell. “You never told me your name.”

The line clicks. Someone cuts in—sharp, impatient, and unmistakably my boss. “This is Frank Andresen.”

My stomach drops. Frank Andresen. The CEO. My boss. The man whose name alone makes grown professionals straighten their ties and check their reports twice.

I start to apologize, to explain, but the phone transfer must’ve belatedly gone through. The line clicks again before I can speak. It goes silent.

Still holding the phone, my heart hammers against my ribs. The office feels too quiet, too empty. Did Frank Andresen just hear me laughing about Halloween candy? Did he hear me call his—relative, colleague, friend—charming? Can you hear my internal panic on the top floor of the building?

More importantly, who was I talking to?

I hate my boss is not a thought I should be having, but he interrupted the closest I’ve had to a flirty moment in forever.