Page 2 of Bittersweet Valentine

"I thought you should hear it from a friend before the gossip mill started up." She glanced around the shop, taking in the Valentine's preparations. "You know how this town gets around February fourteenth. Eleanor at The Velvet Vine is already taking bets on whose romance will bloom this year."

I did know. Kings Valley lived for its festivals, and the Valentine's Day chocolate competition had grown from a small local event into something that drew attention from across Vermont. Having Roman judge would only increase the spotlight. The winner would be featured in Vermont Living magazine and receive a grant to expand their business. But more than that, they'd earn recognition in the artisanal chocolate world. The kind of recognition that could put a small-town chocolate shop on the map—exactly what Roman and I had once dreamed about together.

"Thanks," I managed, turning back to my molds. The chocolate was starting to set, which meant I needed to flip them. "I'll have your order ready in just a minute."

But as I worked, muscle memory took over again, and my mind drifted. Roman had always been ambitious, even in high school. While I was learning to temper chocolate in my parents' kitchen, he was writing restaurant reviews for the school paper, dreaming of becoming a renowned food critic. We'd shared those dreams once, planning how his reviews would help put my future chocolate shop on the map. We'd been so young, so sure we could have it all.

The hollow thud of chocolate shells releasing from their molds brought me back to the present. I have my own dreams now. The Chocolate Hart was everything I'd worked for—my own shop, my own creations, my own success. I wasn't that starry-eyed teenager anymore.

Walking to my storage room, I pulled out fresh boxes for Sugarplums' order. The burgundy and gold packaging had been my first major investment when I opened the shop two years ago. "Presentation is half the experience," Jean-Marc used to say, and he was right. Every detail mattered.

I carefully packed two dozen dark chocolate truffles dusted with cocoa, and a box of maple caramels that Granny Mae insisted were the best she'd ever tasted. My hands moved automatically, tying the ribbon into a perfect bow, smoothing the gold foil sticker with my shop's logo—a heart drawn in flowing chocolate.

"Here you go," I said, handing the package to Meredith. "Tell Granny I'll drop by later to discuss the Valentine's Day display."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Meredith asked, concern etching her features. "I know Roman's return must be a shock."

"I'm fine. Really. It's been ten years. We were kids then." I straightened my chef's coat. "Now we're professionals, and this is just another competition."

Meredith nodded, but her expression said she didn't quite believe me. "Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. And Kandi?" She paused at the door, her hand on the brass handle. "Your chocolates are amazing. Roman's going to see exactly what he missed out on."

After she left, I stood in my quiet kitchen, surrounded by the tools of my craft. The competition was in two weeks. Romanwould taste my chocolates, judge my work. The thought sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the winter chill.

The golden light of sunrise was just beginning to paint Kings Valley's snow-covered streets. Soon, my assistant would arrive to help with the morning rush, and I'd need to have the display cases filled with fresh batches of truffles, caramels, and chocolate-dipped fruits. But for now, I had this quiet moment to think, to plan.

Well, let him judge. I wasn't the same girl who'd cried over his goodbye letter. I was a chocolatier who'd trained in Brussels and Paris. Who'd come home to Kings Valley not because I had to, but because I chose to. Who'd built something real, something mine.

Squaring my shoulders, I turned back to my workbench. The ganache needed to be started, and I had a new spice blend to perfect. Something bold, unexpected. Something that would show Roman Archer exactly what he'd walked away from.

I reached for the cayenne pepper, a small smile tugging at my lips. Valentine's Day was about passion, after all. Let's see how he handles a little heat.

Let the competition begin.

Chapter Two

Roman

I eased my rental car down Main Street, the fresh snow crunching beneath the tires. Ten years had softened the edges of my memories, but some things about Kings Valley remained unchanged—the historic brick buildings with their detailed cornices, the wrought-iron lampposts wrapped in evergreen garlands, the way smoke curled from chimneys against the crisp winter sky.

The silence struck me first. No horns honking, no subway rumbling underground, none of the constant percussion of city life I'd grown accustomed to in Boston. Just the soft

crunch of snow and the distant sound of church bells marking the hour.

The Queens Inn rose before me, its Victorian architecture as impressive as ever. I'd booked a room there for the duration of my stay, though "booked" might be too formal a word for the conversation I'd had with Helen Worthington, who'd known me since grade school and insisted on giving me my "old usual room." As if I were just returning from a weekend away, not a decade of building a career that had taken me from Boston to New York to Chicago and back.

My editor at the Globe had raised an eyebrow when I'd pitched this story. "Small-town chocolate competition? Bit beneath your usual beat, isn't it?" But there was something about artisanal chocolate-making that fascinated me. The precision, the creativity, the way something as simple as cocoa beans could be transformed into art. The fact that it was in Kings Valley...well, that was just an interesting angle for the piece. At least, that's what I'd told myself.

I pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine, but didn't immediately get out. Across the street, a shop caught my eye. The Chocolate Hart. The name was painted in elegant gold lettering on the window, and through the glass, I could see display cases gleaming in the early morning light. My heart did a familiar flip as I spotted movement inside—a figure in a white chef's coat working at a marble counter, honey-blonde hair caught up in a neat bun.

Kandi.

She looked exactly the same and completely different. The teenage girl I remembered had grown into a woman who moved with confidence and precision, her hands sure as they worked with what looked like tempered chocolate. Even from here, Icould see the expertise in her movements, the professional grace that came from years of training.

I hadn't known she was back in Kings Valley. Hadn't let myself follow her career after she'd left for Brussels, though I'd caught glimpses over the years—her name mentioned in articles about up-and-coming chocolatiers, a feature in a food magazine about artisanal confections. She'd done well for herself. Part of me had always known she would.

A tap on my window startled me from my thoughts. I looked up to find Liam Parker grinning at me through the glass, his breath fogging in the cold air. Rolling down the window, I mustered a smile despite the nervous flutter in my stomach.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against my car door. "The prodigal son returns. Here to shake things up at the chocolate competition?"

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