Once Upon A Chocolate Kiss

Uh-oh, Samantha thought. “I did not,” she protested. “I just, um…” She shrugged, unable to come up with an appropriate excuse in time.

“You find him interesting! I don’t believe it,” Angela exclaimed. “For ten years you haven’t seriously looked at a man. Then you run one down in a dash for your truck and you fall for him?”

Samantha scowled. “Very funny.”

“You actually brought him here, you talked with him….”

“For Pete’s sake, Angela. I nearly broke his leg!” Samantha looked toward the door, hoping her voice hadn’t carried.

Angela simply shook her head, grinning.

“I haven’t had time for a man,” Samantha interjected, thinking of her grandmother upstairs who, after two strokes, required a part-time nurse to sit with her. All of those expenses demanded that Samantha run a successful business.

“You should be married by now,” Angela said dreamily.

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Spare me your adolescent ideas of love. I haven’t had time for a man.”

“Hey, all of my uncles are married and my dad—”

Samantha sighed. “One day, maybe. It’s not that I don’t want to be married….” She thought again of her grandmother, the shape the store was in, and then shook her head.

“Our guest needs ice.”

Angela continued to grin. Twisting the cap on the ice bag she patted the bottom to make sure it was secure. “This conversation isn’t over,” Angela warned before leaving.

How well Samantha knew that. This conversation was far from over. Angela wouldn’t rest until she’d heard every detail. The woman had too much imagination and too much time—a dangerous combination.

Still, Angela was her dearest friend, closer than a sister, the only real family she had. She could forgive Angela anything. She would do anything for her, too.

Samantha quickly slipped into the main part of the kitchen and set to work fixing up a tray of treats and hot drinks. She could hear Angela talking to the man in the main room.

The deep timbre of his voice as he answered floated gently back into the kitchen, surrounding her with such peace. How long had it been since she’d been so at peace? His voice invited rest. The sure, soothing tones made her think he was a man well in control of himself at all times. How she wished she had a bit of that control. It’d be nice to have it in her business. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a good businessperson, though she dearly loved to create the recipes her grandmother had made. Instead, she was watching the business slide further and further toward bankruptcy, toward the end of an era, a way of carrying on her family’s tradition through her recipes. She’d been so used to working, trying to make this store a success, that she’d forgotten the joy of simply being in the company of a man—especially a man who radiated such gentleness. What would it be like to enjoy making the candy again without worrying about overhead and competition and falling sales?

Lifting the tray, she returned to the main room. The stranger had removed his coat and was relaxed in one of the cushioned chairs, his foot propped up on a stool.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate and dark bread.”

“Rye?”

She shook her head. “It’s a sweet bread.” Placing the tray down, she seated herself on the old-fashioned sofa. She couldn’t help but notice how well the charcoal-gray suit fit him. It looked tailor-made, curving over his shoulders, tapering in at the waist, buttoning over his flat stomach.

She realized she was still in her frumpy blue dress and wondered if he noticed how wrinkled it was. She hoped not.

“I was telling Mr. Moore that you’ve lived here most of your life.”

Angela’s voice reminded her that she should be serving the company, not staring at him. After cutting a piece of the fresh bread, she handed him a plate and a mug of cocoa.

“You know the town well, then?” he inquired politely.

Samantha nodded. “I suppose so, though I spent most of my time here with my grandmother instead of running around town.”

“You enjoy cooking?”

Samantha handed Angela a cup and then picked up her own mug. “I enjoyed being with my grandmother who enjoyed cooking and passed the skill on to me.”

“I like to cook as well,” he commented, and took a sip of the cocoa.

Surprised, Samantha paused, cocoa halfway to her lips. “Really?”

“Cinnamon and…” he paused, his gaze drifting. “Hazelnut? Freshly ground?”

“How’d you know that?” she asked, stunned.

His gaze refocused on her. “I apologize, Miss Hampton. As I said, I enjoy cooking and have spent years at it.”

“It’s Samantha. May I ask if you’re a chef?” Samantha found it hard to believe she’d found a man interested in cooking.

Richard Moore’s gaze turned to his cup. “No. I’m not really a chef. At one time, perhaps, but no more.” He swirled the contents before taking another sip. “Now I do a bit of everything, I suppose.”

“Is that why you’re here? To find a job?” Angela interjected, leaning forward, her golden hair slipping over her shoulder before she brushed it back. Angela was full of energy and curiosity this evening, Samantha thought, but didn’t try to quell her. She wanted to know the answer to that question, too.

“Actually, yes. I’m from out of town and just arrived to work at a new store in the mall that’s going up.”

“I love the mall going in. I’ve met so many new people—some with accents like yours. Do you know, the guy who runs the Mexican restaurant is from Zimbabwe! And then there is the woman who sounds French but is really from Louisiana and is Cajun, like a relative of mine—the Cajun works as a waitress there. And this guy who owns a shoe store has an accent just like yours, and then—”

“Angela,” Samantha said politely.

Angela looked a bit guilty for running on, but that didn’t stop her. “So, have you found a place to live yet?”

“Angela,” Samantha warned, beginning to feel embarrassed at Angela’s persistence in ferreting out all of Mr. Moore’s secrets. “He might not want to tell us everything.”

“It’s not a secret,” her guest said, but Samantha had just the opposite feeling.

The muted emotions in the man’s dark eyes made her wonder if he really didn’t enjoy talking about himself at all. Angela, however, didn’t seem to notice the sudden reserve in his demeanor as he continued.

“I’m living in a nearby hotel until I find an apartment to rent.”

“Which will take longer now that you can’t walk on your foot.”

Samantha turned three shades of red. “Angela!”

“What?” she asked, her eyes all wide and innocent—too innocent.

Samantha’s gaze narrowed.

“Your employer didn’t mean to run me over, Angela,” he chided gently. “It’s not her fault I can’t walk.”

Angela smiled. “Of course it is. She as much as admitted it to me in the supply room—which brings me to my suggestion. You should stay here in the upstairs apartment until you can go house hunting on your own.”