Page 59 of That Reunited Feeling

It’s long and narrow, with a glass counter at the far end displaying rows of neatly stacked and labeled chocolates. Behind it and along both side walls are rows of cabinets with shelves above, laden with wrapped and boxed chocolates, as well as some bars and chocolate-related goodies. The lower cabinets are pink. The shelves above, yellow.

The rest of the space is taken up by tables set out classroom-style for the workshop, each one topped with an identical layout of equipment and ingredients.

“God, it smells so good in here,” I tell Delia and take a sip of wine.

“That’s what everyone says.” She beams. “It makes me so happy.”

“How many others are coming?” Tom asks, his eyes scanning the tables.

“Six more,” Delia says. “I actually thought you’d all arrive together.”

Tom looks quizzical and his mouth opens, presumably to ask why a bunch of strangers would all show up at the same time, but before he can, the door bursts open and six women pour in.

They’re giggling and wearing matching hot pink T-shirts with writing on them. One woman sports a veil, the rest of them have penis head-boppers in a variety of colors. A waft of alcohol follows them into the shop.

“Oh, fuck,” Tom mutters and downs half his glass of fizzy wine.

I scan their shirts. The one worn by the woman with the veil obviously readsBride.

Another isMaid of Honor, and then there’sBridesmaid #1andBridesmaid #2.

The two older women are apparentlyMother of the BrideandMother of the Groom.

Smiling, Delia hands a glass of wine to the bride, and the others help themselves before she can get to them.

“How come you two don’t have shirts?” Delia looks from Tom to me. “What are you?”

“Um, not at all connected with the wedding,” I tell her.

“Oh.” Delia’s eyes pop as wide as the chocolate wagon wheels on the shelf behind her. “This was supposed to be…” She casts a glance over the women, who’re fanning out around the shopoohing andahing over the goodies on the shelves, then at Tom, who looks like he’s about to discover previously untapped sprinting skills.

“No one mentioned a bachelorette party when I booked,” he says.

“Oops.” Delia slaps her hands on her cheeks. “I thought you must be the two people missing from the party who’d decided you could come after all.”

Tom downs the remaining contents of his glass, rests his hand on the small of my back, and gazes down at me with a look that says we need to get the fuck out of here. “Like you said, we can just go to the pub instead.”

For a man used to owning the space around him, he is obviously incredibly uncomfortable. Endearingly uncomfortable. Verging on hilariously uncomfortable.

I step away from his touch and point at him. “Oh, no. You, Mr. Organizational Skills, Mr. I Can Organize My Own Personal Life, are going to stay and enjoy the party.”

“Perfect.” Delia claps her hands once. “You can join in the fun.”

Behind us erupts a squeal that’s high enough to split an eardrum, shatter the glass chocolate cabinet, and set off an early warning system for a global disaster.

I turn to discover Bridesmaid #1 holding up a small chocolate mouse.

“Look,” she squeaks. “It even has a tiny little hat.”

It does, indeed, have a little chocolate hat.

“Or…” Tom takes my hand and steps toward the door. “We could just go.”

He continues moving until my arm is at full stretch, my feet stuck to the same spot.

It might not exactly be payback for breaking my heart, and maybe there’s not even a need for that now, but I sure am going to love watching him endure this.

“Nope,” I say, with a smile sweeter than the entire contents of this store. “You were thoughtful enough to book me a chocolate-making lesson. And a chocolate-making lesson is what I want. Like Delia says, it’ll be fun.”

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