Page 3 of Bittersweet Valentine

"Here to judge it fairly," I corrected, stepping out into the cold. "Good to see you, Liam."

We shook hands, and I noted the calluses on his palm—still working as a carpenter, then. Some things really didn't change. Liam had been my best friend in high school, the one person besides Kandi who'd known about my dreams of becoming a food critic. He'd also been the one to tell me I was an idiot for letting her go.

"Fair, huh?" His gaze flickered to The Chocolate Hart, then back to me. "That include your ex-girlfriend's shop?"

"I'm a professional," I said, probably too quickly. "Personal history won't factor into my judging."

Liam's laugh echoed off the snow. "Right. Because you've always been so objective when it comes to Kandi Hart."

Before I could respond, the door of The Chocolate Hart opened, and Meredith Plum stepped out, carefully cradling astack of burgundy boxes tied with gold ribbon. She spotted us and waved; her smile warm but slightly reserved when it landed on me.

"Roman! Welcome home." She shifted the boxes to one arm to give me a quick hug. "Though I suppose it's Mr. Archer now, given your reputation."

"Just Roman is fine." I nodded at the boxes. "Business seems good at Sugarplums."

"Oh, these aren't ours—they're Kandi's creations. She supplies us with specialty chocolates." Meredith's eyes twinkled. "You should try them. Her maple caramels are to die for, and she's been experimenting with some interesting spice combinations lately."

The idea of Kandi experimenting with spices brought back another memory—her parents' kitchen, sophomore year, the two of us covered in cocoa powder as she tried to convince me that chili and chocolate were a natural pairing. I'd been skeptical, but she'd proved me wrong. She usually did.

"I should get these back to my grandmother," Meredith said, adjusting her grip on the boxes. "Will you be at the pre-competition meeting this afternoon?"

"Three o'clock at the town hall," I confirmed. "Need to review the judging criteria and meet the contestants."

"Well then." She exchanged a knowing look with Liam. "This should be interesting."

As she walked away, Liam clapped me on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll buy you coffee. You can tell me all about life as a famous food critic while we wait for Helen to get your room ready."

I followed him down the snowy sidewalk, but my gaze was drawn back to The Chocolate Hart. Through the window, I couldsee Kandi working with focused intensity, her hands moving with practiced grace as she poured something into molds. The morning light caught her hair, turning it to gold, and for a moment I was eighteen again, watching her work in her parents' kitchen, dreaming of the future we'd planned together.

"You know," Liam said quietly, following my gaze, "she worked damn hard to get where she is. Trained in Brussels, did an apprenticeship in Paris, could have opened her shop anywhere. But she chose to come home."

The unspoken question hung in the air: Why hadn't I?

"I had my reasons for leaving," I said, turning away from the window.

"Sure you did. The question is, do you have reasons for coming back?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer, really, because I wasn't entirely sure myself. The competition was a convenient excuse, a way to write about traditional artisanal techniques in an era of mass production. But I could have assigned another critic. Should have probably, given my history here.

Instead, I'd practically begged my editor for the story. "Small-town Vermont chocolatier takes on urban food scene," I'd pitched. "Artisanal craftsmanship in the modern market." All the right buzzwords to make it sound like just another assignment.

We reached the corner café—not Sugarplums, thankfully—where I knew I’d be peppered with questions from Kandi’s best friend—and found a table by the window. The place was quiet this early, just a few regulars nursing coffee and reading papers. Through the glass, I could see more of the town coming to life. Eleanor Pembrooke was arranging Valentine's floral displays in The Velvet Vine's window. The hardware store was putting outsidewalk salt. A dog walker passed with three bundled-up golden retrievers, their breath steaming in the cold.

"So," Liam said, sliding a mug of coffee across the table. "Want to tell me the real reason you're back?"

I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic, buying time. The truth was, I'd been restless lately. Ten years of reviewing the finest restaurants in the country, and something was missing. Maybe it was the authenticity of places like Kings Valley, where food wasn't about trends or Instagram, but about craft and tradition and love.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

"The competition's a big deal in the culinary world now," I said finally. "Ten years of building reputation, bringing attention to traditional techniques. It's a good story."

"Uh-huh." He stirred sugar into his own coffee. "And the fact that Kandi's favored to win has nothing to do with it?"

"I didn't know she was entering until I got here," I said, which was mostly true. I'd known she was back in Kings Valley, had seen the occasional mention of The Chocolate Hart in regional food magazines. But I hadn't known about her participation in the competition until after I'd committed to judging.

"Right." Liam's tone made it clear he didn't believe me. "Just like you didn't know she was teaching chocolate-making workshops that have people driving up from Boston. Or that Food & Wine magazine featured her maple bourbon truffles last fall. Or that three different developers have tried to convince her to open locations in Burlington and she's turned them all down."

I blinked, surprised both by the information and by how closely Liam had been following Kandi's success. "You've kept tabs on her."

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