Page 37 of Story Of My Heart

When we arrive at the VFW, there are already a few people milling around outside. I don’t know if it was the catering, the cornhole, or the actual algorithm, but whatever Tate and I are doing with the app launch seems to be working. There’s an air of excitement as I start unloading the few things from the car that Fallon couldn’t get her hands on at either the VFW or the resort. She’s done an excellent job of setting the kitchen up to my specifications. I barely have to lift a finger to arrange everything just how I like it. She seems in a good mood today, chatting with the couples that showed up early and chugging a coffee the size of her head. That is, until Leo walks in.

Neither speak to each other, but it’s obvious that they make eye contact when he walks through the door. Fallon bends first, turning on her heel and striking up conversation with the guy from the cornhole tournament. She shoots a quick glance behind her, and when she notices that Leo is already making pleasant small talk with another girl, Fallon makes a show of linking her arm with her new partner, dragging him to the most visible chocolate making station, the one set up the closet to mine.

“Look at Fallon playing the field,” Tate whistles, sipping at a paper cup of coffee and grimacing. It’s the instant stuff they had laying around the VFW, and I can’t imagine it holds a candle to the small batch stuff he grinds for himself every morning.

“Or…” I take a sip from his cup, my desperation for caffeine overriding my distaste for the poor quality coffee. “Playing hard to get.”

He looks from Fallon to Leo, Leo to Fallon, and then back to me with a raised eyebrow. “Fallon? With Leo?”

“She likes him. He’s not showing how he feels the same way. She’s pulling back and making a point.” The moment the words fall from my lips, I start to see the wisdom in her plan. It’s a bold move, and a gambit that I’m not sure will pay off, but I understand the impulse. She just wants him to show that he cares. Even if she has to upset him to do it. Any reaction is better than none.

“Games are so unnecessary.”

“Protecting her heart isn’t playing a game. It’s hard to keep putting yourself out there and never get anything in return. The constant feeling of rejection…” I let my words trail off, everything suddenly hitting too close to home.

“Who hurt you, Piper?” Tate teases, scanning the crowd of couples waiting for us to get started, rolling up his sleeves.

If he only knew. “You’re going to beat someone up on my behalf?”

“No,” he deflates, shoulders slumping as his arms drop to his sides. “But as I recall, Gibson is great at that. Maybe he could stand in for me.”

It’s so odd to me that this entire conversation can feel so relevant to our current situation, but Tate doesn’t see it at all. Despite what happened last night, his words, his actions, his current detachment and casual attitude are starting to make me worried again that all of this is just as fake as it was when we started. I can’t sit here pondering my eventual hurt feelings, not when I’m supposed to be teaching a bunch of strangers how to make truffles.

“No fisticuffs needed,” I insist, slipping my apron over my neck and tightening the strap at my waist. “Let’s get started.”

Daisy sweeps into the VFW hall with the grace of a seasoned event planner, her arms laden with fresh herbs and wildflowers, local touches that breathe life into the space. She spots us immediately, her smile brightening the already sunlit room.

“Piper, right?” she extends a hand, her voice as warm as the summer air outside. “Fallon’s told me so much about you. It’s great to finally meet Tate’s...” she trails off, a playful glance at Fallon cutting her off.

Fallon laughs, stepping in to save Daisy from the awkward pause. “Piper’s the magician behind today’s chocolate extravaganza,” she interjects, giving me a conspiratorial wink. “And possibly other kinds of magic, too, since my brother is acting almost human since he got here.”

At Tate’s blush, Daisy’s laughter is a gentle, melodic sound that makes you want to join in. “I brought some lavender and mint from my garden. Thought it might add a nice touch to your chocolates,” she says, unpacking her bounty onto a nearby table. The scents mingle beautifully, the lavender’s soothing aroma promising a hint of calm amidst the chaos of preparation.

Her mention of Tate’s younger brother, Hudson, is casual, dropped into conversation like a pebble into still water, creating ripples that hint at deeper stories beneath the surface. “He used to help me pick these in high school,” she muses softly, more to herself than to us, arranging the stems with practiced fingers.

As I watch her, a part of me is drawn to the ease with which she carries her past, a stark contrast to the way I’ve seen Tate wrestle with his own. Her openness about Hudson paints her history in strokes of fond nostalgia rather than regret, and I find myself wondering about the strength it must take to look back so kindly on what might have been. I also wonder if I’ll ever get to meet Tate’s elusive brother.

As Daisy finishes arranging the herbs, she turns back to us with a more contemplative look, her gaze lingering on the bustling setup around us. “It’s amazing to see how these gatherings pull the community together. It’s like weaving a tapestry—everyone adds their thread, and somehow, it all turns into something beautiful.”

I nod, struck by her analogy, feeling the truth of it as I look around at the familiar and new faces mingling in the hall. “It’s my first time experiencing something like this,” I admit, a bit sheepishly. “I’ve always lived in bigger cities. The sense of community here is... different. More personal, I guess?”

“Definitely more personal,” Fallon chimes in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Everyone knows your business, but they also have your back. It’s a double-edged sword, but mostly, it’s just comforting.”

Daisy smiles, a soft, knowing smile that speaks of years embedded in this community’s heart. “You get used to it,” she assures me. “And sometimes, you find it’s exactly what you needed—a place where people don’t just pass by in your life; they actually stay and become a part of it.”

Her words echo in my mind, resonating with a longing I hadn’t fully acknowledged. The intimacy of these relationships, the depth of the bonds they suggest, it’s alluring in a way I hadn’t expected. It makes me wonder about the roots one could grow in a place like this, and whether, despite the complications and the past I’m tangled up with Tate, I could find a semblance of this community warmth for myself.

As Daisy and Fallon exchange a look that speaks volumes of their shared history, I’m struck by the depth of connections that seem to underpin every interaction here.

“Come on, let’s get these chocolates started before everyone starts thinking we’re only here to chat!” Fallon declares, her energy infectious as she leads the way to the set-up area. Daisy follows, her movements graceful and unhurried, yet every step is purposeful.

I trail behind them, absorbing the warmth and laughter that fills the room. Daisy pauses to introduce me to some of the VFW regulars, her introductions rich with anecdotes and fond teasing. Each person beams at her words, their respect and affection for her palpable. It’s clear she’s more than just the resort manager; she’s a beloved part of this community fabric.

The VFW hall resonates with eager chatter as couples gather around our makeshift chocolate workshop. My hands, confident and practiced, dive into the rich, molten chocolate that awaits its transformation into decadent truffles. I address the group with a smile, thrilled to share the art that has long been my passion.

“Alright everyone, let’s see if we can’t make some chocolate magic happen today,” I begin, feeling a surge of excitement as the couples lean in, their eyes fixed on the bowls of chocolate before them. “Remember, making truffles is a lot like a good relationship—messy but incredibly rewarding.”

Laughter ripples through the group, and I guide them through the process of scooping and rolling the ganache. A few enthusiastic attempts result in more chocolate on hands and faces than in the forming trays. One gentleman, in a valiant effort to impress his partner, ends up with a splatter of chocolate across his forehead, earning a peal of laughter from his date when she makes a half-hearted attempt to lick it off.

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