Page 16 of I Love a Good Challenge

Chocolate may hate me, but I’ve always tried to be true to it. And while I’ve seen the microwave utilized for chocolate, I made a vow not to. I have enough trouble with the stuff without adding radioactive waves.

“I’m going to crush D’Artagnan for teaching you his ways,” I reply without spite, utilizing the nickname I gave Rafe when he first arrived in town last fall before I even knew he is actually French. I amaze myself with my perceptiveness at times. Still, my effort to deflect the conversation is waning.

And suddenly, I’m tired. “Okay,” I relent. “What do you want to know?”

Sparrow’s eyes widen like she can’t believe I’m suddenly willing to get it off my chest. The truth is, I know telling her will be a relief.

“All of it.” She pulls a stool out from under the counter and sits, crossing her legs and leaning in as if she has all the time in the world.

“Who’s watching the front?” I peek through the window on the kitchen door and spot Anna. Thank goodness we’ve hired more people to help us at the bakery.

“Now, Lily,” Sparrow sings.

“Graham and I met . . . over two years ago,” I blurt out.

She nearly falls off the stool before righting herself. “Two years ago? But that’s—”

“Right after your father died, yes. We met in LA while I was at the chocolatier-intensive course.” Her mouth drops open. I choose to power through. “We dated.”

“You . . . dated?” Sparrow yells, grabbing onto the counter.

“You may want to sit on the floor before you hurt yourself,” I deadpan. “Because there’s more.”

“More?” Sparrow reaches for a coffee croissant from the baking racks nearby and takes the largest bite she can manage.

I use the opportunity to reveal the rest. “The first day we met, I challenged him not to lie to me. In reality, he should’ve gotten me to sign something. Anyway, we kissed . . . a lot and had a mad few weeks of being everything to each other.”

At this point, Sparrow is sputtering and coughing so much it’s enough for Anna to peek into the back kitchen to find us, my face blushing and red and Sparrow choking on stray pastry flakes.

“Are you okay?” she asks with concern.

Sparrow nods. She clears her throat and chucks the half-eaten croissant over her shoulder, where it lands on the counter with a satisfying thud. Anna takes this as a cue to retreat.

“You mean to tell me . . . you . . . Graham . . . kissed?”

I nod.

“Wait. I remember telling you how radiant you looked on our video calls. You told me it was all the chocolate and sun!” Sparrow exclaims. A look of understanding crosses her face. “That’s why he was looking at you like you were a ghost at Rafe’s birthday party! There is some serious chemistry between you two. Almost like . . .”

“Lightning?” I ask softly.

“I was going to say love.”

I fight the burn behind my eyes. “He loved me once.”

I know Sparrow enough to realize that she’s agitated and heartbroken. She’s so sweet and has the best heart. She can’t help but feel fire and pain for those she loves.

“There was a ring,” I confess.

“A ring?” Sparrow reaches for the abandoned croissant and takes another bite, the café crème filling spilling onto her fingers. She lifts her hand. “Wait, wait, wait . . . if he had a ring . . . he didn’t hurt you, did he? Because Rafe seems to think that Graham has been hurt, and I . . .” She trails off, a question in her eyes. “I’m just wrapping my mind around this,” she says somewhat unintelligibly as she stands and begins pacing back and forth.

“I hurt him,” I admit. “Shattered him, really.”

Sparrow studies my face, and I fight the emotion of it all. It’s rough when friends who know you so well can read you better than a meteorologist reporting the weather (thankfully).

My best friend slumps visibly. Her brow furrows. “So, you’re acting like you hate him because . . . you’re mad at him for being here?”

I shake my head. “I’m mad at myself.”

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