Page 12 of Bittersweet Valentine

I took the candy heart and let it melt on my tongue. Simple dark chocolate ganache, but there was something else..."Is that cardamom?"

He smiled. "I was inspired by your innovation round. Thought maybe a little spice was exactly what this needed."

"The chocolate or us?"

"Both." His hand found mine, warm and sure. "Kandi, I know I'm supposed to be judging this competition objectively. And I will—your work stands on its own merits. But I couldn't go another day without telling you that coming back here, seeing you again, watching you work... it's made me realize what I really want."

"And what's that?"

"A chance to start over. To be part of the magic you create, even if it's just appreciating it properly this time." He squeezed my hand. "If you'll let me."

I looked up at him, studying his face in the warm light of my kitchen. The boy I'd loved had grown into a man who understood the value of the past. Who'd learned to temper chocolate just to speak my language.

"You're still judging the final round," I said, but my voice had lost its edge. "And I'm still competing to win."

"I wouldn't want it any other way." He smiled, reaching up to brush a spot of chocolate from my cheek. "Your work deserves to be judged fairly. And when the competition's over..."

"When it's over," I finished, "we can talk about starting over. But first..." I glanced at my workbench, where the sketches for my signature piece waited. "First I have something to prove. Not just to you, but to myself."

"I look forward to it." He stepped back, professional demeanor sliding back into place, though his eyes still held warmth. "Good luck with your preparation, Ms. Hart."

As he turned to leave, I called after him. "Roman? Your tempering technique really does need work."

His laugh echoed through the shop. "Maybe I need a better teacher."

After he left, I stood in my quiet kitchen, surrounded by the tools of my craft and the possibility of second chances. Then I turned to my sketches, to the chocolate sculpture that would either win me the competition or prove that some risks aren't worth taking.

But as I began conditioning chocolate for the base of my piece, I smiled. Sometimes the sweetest victories come with a hint of spice. And sometimes old things can be made new with a little bit of heart.

Chapter Eight

Roman

The morning of the final round dawned clear and cold, perfect February weather for Valentine's Day. The Queens Inn ballroom had been transformed into a showcase space, with pedestals arranged in a circle for each contestant's signature piece. In a few hours, the room would be filled with judges, reporters, and townspeople eager to see what Kings Valley's chocolatiers had created.

I arrived early, needing quiet time to prepare myself. This wasn't just any competition judging—this was the culmination of two weeks

that had changed everything I thought I knew about success, about home, about second chances.

Through the ballroom's tall windows, I could see The Chocolate Hart across the street. Lights already burned in the kitchen, where I knew Kandi would be assembling her showpiece. I'd purposely avoided visiting her shop since delivering my chocolate messages, wanting to maintain some semblance of professional distance for this final round. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face as she'd read those messages, heard her voice as she'd critiqued my tempering technique, felt the warmth of her hand in mine.

"Early as usual," Granny Mae said, appearing beside me with two cups of coffee. She handed me one, the rich aroma mixing with the subtle scent of vanilla that seemed to follow her everywhere. "Some habits never change."

"Some do," I replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. "I never used to appreciate good chocolate properly. Now I can't stop thinking about tempering temperatures and ganache consistency."

She smiled knowingly. "And the chocolatier behind them?"

Before I could respond, the ballroom doors opened, and the contestants began arriving with their pieces. Each creation was covered, waiting for the official unveiling. But it was Kandi's station that drew every eye—a large structure hidden beneath burgundy silk, the same shade as her shop's signature packaging.

The other judges arrived, clipboards ready. This round would be different from the others. While technical skill and creativity still mattered, the signature piece was meant to tell astory, to capture something essential about both the chocolatier and the spirit of Valentine's Day itself.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I announced once everyone was settled. "Welcome to the final round of the Kings Valley Valentine's Chocolate Competition. Today's signature pieces represent not just skill and creativity, but heart. Please unveil your creations."

The silk coverings fell away, revealing each contestant's vision. Maria had crafted an elegant chocolate fountain, honey-sweetened chocolate cascading over delicate tiers. James's piece celebrated love across cultures, with symbols and flavors from around the world. Thomas had built a classical Valentine scene, complete with chocolate cupids.

Then Kandi unveiled her piece, and the room fell silent.

She had created Kings Valley itself in chocolate—but not just the buildings. She'd captured the spirit of the town, the way winter light caught on snow-covered roofs, the warm glow from shop windows, the sense of history and future intertwined. The Queens Inn stood proud in dark chocolate; its wraparound porch detailed in white. Sugarplums Café seemed to radiate warmth, tiny chocolate croissants visible in the windows. The Velvet Vine bloomed with chocolate flowers so delicate they looked real.

---