With Strings Attached (6 page)

Matt groaned. “I should’ve added fries to her order. She always does that.”

“I just want a taste,” she said. “You don’t mind, do you?” And she batted her eyelashes at Dylan. Matt watched Dylan succumb as he pushed his plate closer.

“Help yourself,” he said.

Matt caught Corey’s eye and they shared a glance of amusement. He shook his head. He filled up a glass with ice and cola for himself and leaned against the bar while the three of them talked—about food and beer and baseball, laughing and joking and flirting a little with Corey, who seemed to be enjoying the attention of two guys. She always did fit in with the guys no problem, but never before had Matt felt this sense of competing for her attention. When she laughed at something he said or bestowed a smile on him, he felt bigger, stronger. When she reached over to swipe some guacamole off Dylan’s upper lip and then Dylan grabbed her hand and sucked her fingertip into his mouth, Matt felt like he was shriveling inside.

Damn. He should be happy they liked each other and they were all having fun.

He got called away to take some drink orders and was unreasonably annoyed. As soon as he had a chance, he returned to where they sat, served them more beers, spent time chatting and joking. Then Corey flipped open her phone to check the time. “I have to go,” she said. “I have to get up early to get to the farmers’ market.”

“Shit,” Matt said. “You okay to drive, Dylan?” He’d served him a lot of beers, not even thinking about him driving Corey home.

Dylan grimaced. “Damn. Probably not.” He glanced at Corey. “You had as many as I did.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll drive you guys home,” Matt said. “Things are under control here. We can get your car tomorrow.”

So they all piled into Matt’s Jeep parked out back. Not that he’d planned this, but he was glad Dylan and Corey weren’t leaving together. Alone. After all the sexy innuendos and all the drinks, who knew what would happen.

So what if it did? Thoughts kept going around in his brain, confusing him, even as he made lighthearted conversation with them on the way to Corey’s place. He dropped her off first, made sure she got inside safely, then headed for home with Dylan. Why the hell was he feeling so mixed up about Dylan and Corey?

It probably meant nothing. Corey was fun to be with and so was Dylan. Corey liked to be friends with guys, as evidenced by her friendship with him. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Although she and Matt had ended up in bed together. And she really liked sex. And…

Whatever was developing between Dylan and Corey, whether friendship or something else, was none of his business. He had to stop thinking about it. But that was easier said than done.

Chapter Four

The next morning, Corey rose early, carefully loaded all her precious, painstakingly packaged chocolates into the trunk of her beat up old Toyota, then slammed down the trunk lid. She dusted her hands off, pulled the keys from the back pocket of her jeans and slid into the driver’s seat. When she turned the key in the ignition…nothing.

She tried it again. And again. Click. Click. Click. Nothing.

Fuck!
She rested her head against the steering wheel for a moment. Now what was she supposed to do?

Goddamn this fucking useless piece of shit car!
It was old, it kept breaking down on her and she didn’t have enough money to pay for major repairs. How the hell was she supposed to get to the farmers’ market?

It was her best source of revenue right now. Until she had enough money to open her own store, the farmers’ market was the only way she had of reaching out to new customers. Yeah, she’d built up a client base, had enough special orders coming in that she’d been able to quit her waitressing job, but she needed cash flow, cash to be able to rent a storefront, to buy more equipment, and cash to live off. And if she didn’t get to the farmers’ market, she’d have no cash this week.

Well, next to no cash, anyway. She had the money she was saving, but now she was going to have to dip into it yet again to fix this damn car.

She blinked away the tears that stung the corners of her eyes, tried to start the car one more time, but it didn’t happen. She knew nothing about cars, dammit, so it was crazy to get out and lift the hood and stare helplessly into the engine, but she did it anyway. She bit her bottom lip. It couldn’t be the battery. She’d replaced it a couple of months ago. And the engine wasn’t making any noise whatsoever. Just dead. The starter? The alternator? Hell, she had no clue.

She blew out a long breath, ran a hand through her hair, shaking it down behind her back. What could she do? Think. Think.

She could take the bus. The bus ran to the park at the south end of the beach where the farmers’ market was held every Saturday and Sunday morning. She wouldn’t be able to take all her chocolates, but she could take some. Somehow. Her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, she started unloading her chocolates, taking some back into the house. She packed up as many boxes as she could carry and started hiking up the street to Deep Sea Drive, the nearest major street on a bus route. Her arms started to burn and by the time she reached the bus stop, she thought she might drop all her beautiful chocolates. She lowered them to the bench there, arms trembling, and tipped her head back. Geez. This was crazy.

She checked the bus schedule and used her phone to find out when the next bus would come along. Supposedly in ten minutes. Okay. Good. She sat on the bench beside her boxes of chocolates, one hand resting on top of them, and took a deep breath. The morning air still held a chilly dampness. Though she couldn’t see the ocean, she could sense the fog lurking around the beaches. She shivered a bit in her hoodie and pulled it closer around her. She watched the sparse Sunday-morning traffic whizzing by on Deep Sea Drive.

This wasn’t exactly the life she wanted. But she was getting there. She was going to get there. Soon. She’d left her boring job at Matterhorn Chocolate partly because she wanted do something more than work on shelf life and quality-specification settings, and partly because her heart had been broken by yet another commitment-phobic loser. She’d come to San Amaro, where she’d gone to college, where her good friend Matt lived, to start over. She’d taken a damn waitressing job while she tried to build her chocolate business, making chocolates so different from the blah waxy chocolate that Matterhorn produced. And she’d been doing well. Her chocolate was good. There were a lot of well-off people in San Amaro who were willing to shell out big bucks for high-end chocolate, and the beach town also attracted a lot of well-to-do tourists. She had many clients now who placed custom orders, but what she really needed was a storefront where she could sell her confections and build her business.

What she didn’t need was to be sitting at a bus stop with boxes of chocolates that she had to transport across town to sell. Shit.

Oh yay, there was the bus. She leaped to her feet but waited until the bus was close before picking up all her boxes.

Sunday morning didn’t have a lot of commuters, luckily, and she was able to pile her boxes onto a seat. Thankfully the morning was cool so her chocolates wouldn’t melt, and the ride to the market took only about twenty minutes. She gazed out the window and admired the town she now lived in. They passed Coast Boulevard, which led to the country club and Breaker Beach, turned onto Shore Drive, which ran along the beach. Sunday morning all the posh little shops were closed, other than the Black Bean Coffee Shop, but they all looked so pretty and elegant. Big pots held blossoming shrubs and flowers, and the red brick sidewalk shone from the early morning mist. Fog lurked along the edge of the ocean and shrouded the pier, even the palm trees looking pale in the low hanging clouds, but it was all still so beautiful it made her chest tighten.

The bus stopped at South Beach Park, a wide expanse of grass at the south end of San Amaro Beach, and she unloaded her chocolates and carried them across the field to the booth she paid to rent every Sunday. People were already arriving to start shopping, looking at all the different vendors—fruits, vegetables, flowers, hand-crafted jewelry, jams, pottery. And chocolates. She unpacked and set out her wares and pasted a cheerful look on her face even though she felt utterly frazzled.

A couple hours later, she was almost sold out, happy but frustrated by thinking of all the unsold chocolates at home. She looked up to see Matt and Dylan approaching her booth.

“Hey, guys,” she said, always happy to see Matt, and a little thrilled to see Dylan, though seeing him limp along in crutches pulled at her heartstrings. “What’re you doing here?”

“Checking out the market.” Matt held up a bag full of fresh vegetables. “Supper. Along with the steaks I have in my fridge. Wanna come over later?”

“Er…” She wasn’t sure how she’d get there. “Maybe.”

Matt’s eyes moved as he took in her nearly empty booth. “Hey, you did good today, Cor.”

She grimaced. “Not so much. My car wouldn’t start, so I had to take the bus here and I couldn’t bring all my stuff.”

Matt made a funny noise as Dylan picked up a small box of truffles wrapped in her signature glossy black paper tied with the black and white polka-dotted bow and a shiny white sticker with “Decadent Indulgence” printed in black script. “What are these?”

She smiled. “Those are my Dulche de leche truffles—cinnamon ganache and caramelized cream.”

He lifted startled eyes to her. “Huh?”

“Take them. My treat.”

“Hell no. I’ll pay for them.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “How much?”

“Thirty dollars.”

His hand stilled. “For this?”

“That’s a dozen fine truffles.”

“Ah. Okay.” And he flipped through the bills, handing over a ten and a twenty.

“Here you go. Enjoy.”

“For thirty bucks, I better.” But his easy grin softened his words, and besides, she was confident in her chocolatier skills.

“I’m sure you’ll love them.”

“What’s wrong with your car now?” Matt demanded, frowning.

She sighed. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t start this morning.”

“Oh for Chrissake. Why didn’t you call me?”

She gave him a level look. “I can look after myself.”

He pressed his lips together briefly. “I suppose you left half your stuff at home?”

“Well. Yeah. I told you, I couldn’t bring it all.”

“What time is it? I’ll go get the rest for you. You’re already almost sold out.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he said, his words measured. “I want to.”

She swallowed through a tight throat, hating that he had to do that for her. “It’s okay, Matt.”

He didn’t say a word, just pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “Coming with me, Dylan?”

Dylan grimaced and jerked his chin toward his crutches. “It’s a long way back to the parking lot. How about I stay and keep Corey company while you go?”

Matt nodded. “Sure. I’ll be back soon.” He disappeared into the throngs of people.

Corey looked at Dylan and gave him a small grimace. “My car’s really old.”

“That sucks. Maybe Matt can get it going. He used to be pretty good with cars.”

“Oh, no, I’ll just get it towed to a shop.”

He shrugged and opened the glossy black box that held the truffles. He selected one and went to pop it in his mouth. She held up a hand and he paused with the truffle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Don’t devour it. Would you guzzle down a whole glass of fine wine?”

He grinned. “I don’t often drink fine wine. I’m more of a beer kinda guy.”

She shook her head, smiling. “You know what I mean. This isn’t just any chocolate. Take a bite and savor it.”

He took a small bite, melted it in his mouth. His eyes widened. “Wow.”

Pleasure rippled through her. “Thanks. See what I mean?”

He nodded and took another bite, closing his eyes to enjoy it. “Amazing. What makes it so good? So different?”

“Other chocolate makers buy bulk chocolate, but I buy the beans and make it myself. Right now I’m buying cacao beans mostly from a plantation in Brazil that I’ve developed a relationship with.”

He blinked at her and finished off the truffle. “Brazil. Wow.”

“It’s like wineries who make wine from grapes from their own vineyards, rather than buying juice from a whole bunch of different vineyards and combining it. I buy beans from one place and I have control over all the ingredients and all the steps in the process. I roast the beans and do the processing into chocolate and I make sure I only use the best ingredients.”

“No wonder they’re so expensive.”

“They’re worth it,” she said with a toss of her head.

“Totally,” he agreed.

“You might have noticed that my chocolate has a light fruity undertone and doesn’t have that bitter, earthy taste some dark chocolate has.”

“You sound like you’re talking about fine wine again.” Dylan grinned.

“It’s kind of the same. Like wine, the
terroir
makes a difference.”

“Huh?”

“The
terroir
. The influence on taste from soil conditions, the weather, the amount of shade, fermentation and roasting. Even fruit or nut trees grown near the cacao trees can have a subtle impact on flavor.”