Page 4 of Christmas Candy

“So, what’s your poison?” He turns and places the boxes on the counter between us.

“Just whatever you have is fine.” I try not to look at the swirling lollypops, jars of jellybeans, or rows of frosted cookies. The caramel candy apples with chocolate drizzle almost catch my eye, but I look away before I become ensnared.

He sidesteps to the candy apple display. “Try one.”

“No.” I keep my tone level. “Just pack up whatever you want to donate, and I’ll be on my way.”

He smiles, and butterflies go to war in my stomach. Lightly tanned skin, bright eyes, and dark hair are still my weakness, almost as much as the mouth-watering candy apple he picks up and holds out to me. “Give it a try. I just put these out this afternoon. The apples are tart, and I made the caramel myself.”

I glance at the proffered treat. My sweet tooth demands that I take it, but my will is far stronger. “No, thank you.”

His smile grows, as if he already knew I’d decline. Then he raises the apple to his mouth and takes a bite. The perfectly ripe apple makes a delectably crisp crunch between his teeth. I watch as he licks the stray caramel from his lips, and I wonder just how sweet he’d taste.

“What was that?” He takes another bite.

“Hmm?” Lord help me, but I stare. Watch his Adam’s apple bob and follow the movement down into his flannel shirt right where the tan skin disappears behind the fabric.

He grabs a small plate and sets the rest of the apple down. “You just made a noise is all. Like a high-pitched sigh.”

My face burns bright red.A sigh?I made anoise?“No. I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, you did.” He grins. “Almost as if you’d enjoyed that as much as I did.”

“Can we just get down to business?” I give him my best “serious” tone.

“Sure.” He grabs a pair of tongs and starts arranging cookies in the bottom of the first box. “Can I ask you something?”

I itch to say no, but manners win out. “Yes.”

He stops what he’s doing and pierces me with his green stunners. “Why did you fight my shop so hard?”

Damn. I take a deep breath and pretend to be thinking over his question. Really, I’m just trying to figure out how to evade the question altogether. Nothing comes to mind.

He continues selecting goodies for the boxes. “I mean, surgeon general literature from the eighties and lab rat studies on the effects of sugar?” He laughs, the sound warming me far more than it should. “You really went all out. So, why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I shoot a look across the street at my studio. “I run a health and fitness business. You wanted to open acandyshop—a shop that undermines all the good I’m trying to do—right across the street. Of course I fought it.”

He stands and turns his back to me. His broad shoulders fill out the green and blue flannel shirt, and I wonder if he still runs and works out like he used to. When I let my gaze drift down to his jeans that hug his firm ass, I realize yes, yes he still does. My palms begin to sweat, so I strip my gloves off and tuck them into my coat pockets.

He’s doing something behind the counter. I walk closer to see. A single burner shoots an open flame onto the bottom of a small bowl of chocolate. He stirs and then adds a few marshmallows. I watch his wrist flick with each turn of the spoon, his hands expertly creating something delicious as the smell of warm sugar and chocolate fills the air.

“A little something extra on the hazelnut cookies,” he says over his shoulder and then clicks the burner off. With a little flourish, he drizzles the chocolate—now gooey from the marshmallow addition—over the cookies in the bottom of the second box.

My mouth waters, and the need to taste what he’s made almost overwhelms me. I hate my weakness, and I hate even more the brief mental image of me sucking chocolate from his fingers. I bite the inside of my cheek and wonder how in the hell I’m going to escape him and the candy shop without making a mistake.

Then my eyes flicker back to the small burner. An open flame in an area of the shop where customers congregate. Not exactly safe. Not within code. A smile creeps across my face. I’ve pulled myself back from the Hank/chocolate abyss. I’ve got this.

“Wow.” He packs up the rest of the treats. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled since you’ve been in here.”

“Are you finished?” I wrap my arms around myself even tighter. “I’d like to get what I need and go home. It’s long past closing time. I shouldn’t be out this late in the dark.”

He glances at the clock on the back wall that hangs above a huge glass container of brightly-colored gumballs. “Yeah, it’s pretty late. I’ll have to walk you home.”

“What?” I swallow hard.

He packs a few more sweets into the boxes and closes them up. “Like you said, you shouldn’t be out in the dark this late.”

“I-I didn’t mean that you need to walk me home. I’m perfectly capable of—”

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