Page 5 of Bittersweet Valentine

"No," Eleanor agreed, her voice gentler now. "You're not. You're a successful businesswoman who's built something wonderful here. Which is exactly why this might be the perfecttime for paths to cross again. You're equals now, dear. Both accomplished in your fields, both sure of who you are."

Before I could respond, the door chimed again. This time, the winter air that swept in carried a hint of familiar cologne, and my hands stilled on the ganache bowl. I didn't need to look up to know who had entered.

"Good morning," Roman said, his voice deeper than I remembered. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Eleanor's smile brightened. "Roman Archer! Welcome home." She gathered up her flower arrangement. "I was just leaving. Kandi, I'll need those chocolate roses by Tuesday, if possible?"

"Of course," I managed, still not looking up from my work. "I'll start them tomorrow."

"Perfect!" Eleanor headed for the door, pausing briefly beside Roman. "It's good to see you back where you belong," she said softly, though not softly enough that I couldn't hear. Then she was gone, leaving behind the scent of roses and an awkward silence.

I forced myself to keep working, carefully piping ganache into the chocolate shells I'd prepared earlier. Each movement was precise, practiced, professional. I wasn't that teenager anymore, nervous around her first crush. I was a chocolatier in my own shop, preparing for the biggest competition of the year.

"Your technique has improved," Roman said, moving closer to watch me work. "Though it was always impressive."

"That's what happens when you spend years training in Europe." I kept my voice neutral, professional. "Was there something specific you needed, Mr. Archer? The competition meeting isn't until three."

"Mr. Archer?" He let out a soft laugh. "Come on, Kandi. We've known each other since kindergarten."

"Exactly." I set down my piping bag, finally meeting his gaze. Those blue eyes were just as striking as I remembered, though they held something new now—a hint of uncertainty that the teenage Roman would never have shown. "We have history. Which is why you should probably assign another judge for the competition."

"I'm perfectly capable of being objective." He moved closer, studying the rows of perfectly formed truffles in my display case. "The competition guidelines are clear, the judging criteria established. Personal history won't factor into it."

"Won't it?" I reached for a fresh piping bag, needing something to do with my hands. "You didn't seem very objective about my chocolate experiments in high school."

A smile tugged at his lips. "As I recall, you were trying to convince me that wasabi and white chocolate were a natural pairing."

"They are, in the right proportions." Despite myself, I felt an answering smile forming. "You just didn't have an adventurous palate back then."

"And now?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning beyond chocolate preferences. I busied myself with cleaning my workspace, buying time to steady my voice.

"I guess we'll find out during the innovation round," I said finally. "I assume you've reviewed the competition format?"

"Three rounds over two weeks." He nodded, professional mode engaging. "Technical skills first—basic chocolate work, tempering, ganache preparation. Then innovation, wherecontestants can showcase their creativity. Finally, the signature piece that will be displayed during the Valentine's festival."

"Correct." I moved to the sink to wash my tools, maintaining physical distance. "So you understand why having an emotional connection to one of the contestants might be problematic?"

Roman was quiet for a moment, and I could feel his gaze on my back. When he spoke, his voice was softer, more like the boy I'd known. "The emotional connection ended ten years ago, Kandi. We're both professionals now."

I turned to face him, gripping the edge of the sink. "Did it? End?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still the guy who walked away from everything we planned. Who decided his career was more important than…" I caught myself, straightening my spine. "Never mind. You're right. We're professionals. And I have work to do before the meeting."

Something flickered in his eyes—regret? Frustration? But his voice remained steady. "For what it's worth, I've followed your career. Reviews of your work in Brussels, the features in food magazines. You've built something remarkable here."

"I have," I agreed, turning back to my workbench. "No thanks to your reviews, which have been noticeably absent."

"I couldn't review your work," he said quietly. "It wouldn't have been fair. To either of us."

The admission hung in the air between us, a tacit acknowledgment that whatever he claimed about objectivity, our history still affected his choices. Still mattered.

"Well," I said, reaching for the cayenne pepper, "you'll have to review it now. I hope you're ready for something a little... spicier than you remember."

He watched me measure out the cayenne, his expression unreadable. "Is that a warning or a promise?"

"Consider it both." I met his gaze steadily. "The competition starts Monday. Three rounds, three chances to show exactly what I've learned in the past ten years. I suggest you prepare your palate accordingly."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Looking forward to it." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "For what it's worth, Kandi? I always knew you'd do amazing things. I just didn't expect you to do them here."

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