Page 22 of I Love a Good Challenge

It’s clear to me now that Lily has the right idea in trying to drive me out of this town for her own self-preservation. And I was right to tell her we can’t do this again. One of us is staying in this town, and one of us is leaving. But if I play my cards right, in an alternate twist of fate, maybe we can both stay here together. I want the last version so much I can feel it humming between my ribs.

At that moment, in Sparrow’s Beret, the place I was once banned from and now find myself standing in, I decide to show Lily that I’ll always be the man she found in the movie theater. This stubborn, gorgeous woman needs to know that while I didn’t go after her the first time, if she lashes out again, I’m responding in kindness. If she’s out for blood, I’ll bring the bandages. She might want to fight, but I will come in peace. I’m rewriting the narrative. And I know where to start.

Chapter Nine

Lily

It’s been three days since Graham told me—challenged me, rather—to bring a plus-one to Sparrow and Rafe’s wedding. My stomach is in knots. I’ve eaten two croissants this morning and five macarons but drank only one cup of coffee. In short, I’m clearly ill. Even my “pain of chocolate” apron (a snarky spin on pain au chocolat) isn’t motivating me to work.

I don’t want to ask anyone to go with me to the wedding. I don’t need anyone. They’re my best friends, for crying out loud. I’m irritated by his challenge and irate that I’ll have to see him with someone else. While we satiated the wild children in this town by handing out chocolate bunnies, I thought for a moment that we might be able to work side by side. Surely, we could form a type of truce, if you will. But his challenge has completely wiped me of any hope for reconciliation. He clearly wants us to move on. He’s probably trying to get me to go out with someone else so that I drop my crusade to run him out of town. I should’ve expected it, prepared for it.

Wrist-deep in my last batch of pains au chocolat for the day, I’m taking all my frustration out on this dough, and I know it. My apron is plastered with chocolate from the day’s work, accompanied by sugar and flour smeared across it as well. While I’m typically covered in chocolate, spring is the time I’m bathed in it. At Christmas, there’s an uptick, but it’s just the prelude to the season. From Christmas onward, I spend hours and hours making chocolate hearts, boxes, and roses. Then, I’m hit with Easter and spring wedding orders. Plus, ever since I was a teenager, I have made chocolate treats to give to some of my favorite people in town. At Easter, I’ll usually donate a bunch of my handmade creations to surrounding homes and pretend that the Easter Bunny brought them.

After everything that happened with Graham during my brief stint in LA, you’d think I would be a little opposed to chocolate, but I crave it even more now. Graham used to watch me practice melting and making decadent chocolate creations in his gorgeous LA kitchen. He’d sit on a stool and watch me, a comforting presence, even if he was working on a case. Though we’ve been apart a long time, there have been moments when I’m melting chocolate, and I can almost hear his steady encouragement. Now, the scent of warm chocolate unlocks memories of laughter and love. If I loved chocolate before, he made me love it more. And I think, in my mind, I’ve been trying to transport my way back to those moments ever since.

Hence, why I’ve been spending even more time locked away in the bakery’s kitchen, making every chocolate delight I’ve ever learned—except for the one I’ve pretended hasn’t existed for the past couple of years. No matter how much I longed to recreate it again, I wouldn’t let myself. Now, at Sparrow’s request, today is the day I have to put my emotions aside and try to convince myself it’s “just cake,” even though, to me, it’s anything but.

Despite how much I work with it, the running joke is that chocolate hates me. I must admit, it does seem that way. But I don’t let it win (except when it does). I have a huge passion for utilizing the potential of chocolate to create the most delectable baked goods and sweets possible. I may not have ended up traveling around the world, making things out of chocolate, but I’m doing my darndest to be the greatest chocolatier Birch Borough has ever heard of. I expect my mastery of the chocolate arts to take me years, but I’ve already invested so much. Leaning into my passion is what this town, Sparrow’s family legacy, and, quite frankly, I deserve.

The swinging door whines. I look up to find Sparrow standing just inside the doorway with a flush on her cheeks—and not the kind she has when she’s seen Rafe.

“Um . . . Graham is here,” she says quietly, as if she didn’t just gut me with this announcement.

I’m still not used to him coming into the bakery. It’s enough to deal with him in town, let alone having to see him in my space too. This is my chocolate cave, and I am the clever troll who guards its entrance. Despite my internal protests, though, in some small and hidden way, I want him to witness this special part of my life that he missed by not being part of it. He has been in possession of every other area of my heart before now. Might as well let him see this part too, on his farewell tour.

“Send him back here,” I finally manage to say.

“Are you going to be nice?”

I barely hold back the roll of my eyes and focus intently on whisking chocolate and cream for a silky-smooth ganache. I made and frosted a cake earlier this morning. I have been waiting until this moment to pour the final drips of chocolate goodness over the top as the finishing touch.

After the heavy cream and chocolate melt together in a pan on the stove, I stir and stir. My thoughts swirl like the mixture coming together before me. This ganache has to be the best one I’ve ever made. It just has to be. With a final flick of my wrist, I shut off the stove and set the pot on the industrial counter to cool before turning back to Sparrow.

“I’m not going to commit a crime. Don’t worry. I like Rafe too much for that. Plus, can you imagine me in a jumpsuit? No, thank you.” I give her a grin, but my heart isn’t in it. Instead, I’m thinking of all the ways I’m going to attempt to hide Graham’s effect on me and still avoid touching him. I’m thinking of how my heart and my hope are about to collide because of a cake. My “famous” chocolate cake, which is waiting in the blast chiller behind me for its final cascade of rich ganache.

And before you question whether it’s worthy of the title, trust me, it is. I came up with this recipe when I was a teenager. Sparrow has asked me to make and sell them in the shop, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it quite yet. Making this monumental cake when I feel like it is one thing; having to make it on the regular is another. I want it to be special and something people look forward to seeing when I can’t resist the urge to make it.

There aren’t many things I can confidently make on my own without the recipes Sparrow’s parents left behind, but my chocolate cake is one of them. Sparrow insists this is the cake she wants to serve at her wedding. She doesn’t want a fancy cake made by a stranger or even another bakery in town. She has been determined from the beginning to have her wedding cake made by me. And because I’ll do anything for her, I agreed.

“I just want today to be a happy day.” My friend looks at me with expectation written across her face.

“I’ll attempt to behave. Scout’s honor.” I smirk in her direction.

“You were never a scout, Lils.”

I grab a stray piece of chocolate and chuck it in her direction without a word. Sparrow simply laughs and ducks as the flying candy whizzes past her head.

Today, Graham is under the impression that he is just here for a cake tasting. It’s a common enough duty when you’re part of a wedding, albeit it is a little strange for the best man to tag along. Rafe hasn’t ever experienced my cake yet, so Sparrow and I asked him to stop by and taste it to make sure he’s on board. Since she is so nice, the bride-to-be invited Graham too. Little does she know he’s already tasted it.

Over two years ago, I made it for him. When he took the first bite, I thought he was going to cry. He was in love with it. I’m not sure if it was the chocolatey goodness or that we were so lost in each other, but I haven’t been able to make the cake since. I remember too clearly the smudge of chocolate on the corner of his mouth, a hint sticking to his upper lip in a way that should be illegal. I remember his eyes widening and then closing when I told him I made it from scratch. And I remember the way he bit his lip before asking if he could have more.

At that time, we had been seeing each other for about a week when I decided to make my famous chocolate cake to impress him. Looking back, I recognize it as a sign from early on that I would dream of being with him for the rest of my life. Some men might have been intimidated by such a gesture. Graham, however, was immediately smitten.

Sparrow doesn’t realize what asking me to make this cake again means. Graham doesn’t know what he’s walking into today. If there’s any trace left of the man who used to watch me practice my chocolate-tempering skill, telling me that I melted him too, then I know the memories will hit him. The good ones. Memories you want to live in and still miss because they are so beautiful. I just hope I haven’t done so much harm that they’ve been wiped away too.

“Where’s Rafe?” I continue, noticing that I don’t hear his laugh or the strumming of a guitar anywhere—the usual signs of his presence.

“He’s on his way,” Sparrow replies with a lovesick smile.

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