Blake is looking at me, and I can tell he's doing his best to turn on the charm. If he was anyone else, it would totally be working.
His eyes are a mesmerizing hazel—green shot with gold and the toasted amber of Fall leaves—and his James Dean jawline and chin make me wonder what the scratch of his stubble would feel like against my—
I give myself a hard mental kick. He's the enemy, Aaron, I tell myself. He's the reason you keep your heart in a steel box.
I notice that his upper lip catches on a slightly crooked tooth when he smiles, and I hate how cute it makes him look.
When he says he doesn't remember me, I'm not sure whether to be relieved or furious. Then again, maybe the thing that almost destroyed my life was just another laugh to him. A moment of amusement, not even worth a thought after the fact.
While my brain tries to decide whether I want to laugh or die, I answer his question.
Leaning over the counter, I look down at the day's creations. "What do I recommend? Well, what kind of flavors do you like?" I ask.
He shrugs, and I notice his eyes are still on me and not the candy. "I like sweet–but I like bitter, too. Sometimes I just want the smoothness of milk chocolate. Other times I want something a little more... adventurous."
Adventurous, eh? Well, that I can do.
I open the case and pull out my latest experiment. It's a dark chocolate truffle, dusted with cacao powder and spiked with cayenne pepper.
"Here—try this."
He takes it and—eyes still locked on mine—pops it into this mouth.
You know how they say you'll know porn when you see it? Well, I swear if someone made a film of this guy eating chocolate, people would think it was porn.
His eyes roll back in his head, and he lets out a moan that makes me really glad that Mrs. Garcia and her little girls are gone already. I can see him rolling the truffle around on his tongue, sucking on it until he finally bites down and gets to the spicy center.
His eyes slide open, and they have this weird, unfocused look. He's literally breathing hard, and when he swallows I can't deny that my pants are feeling a little tighter than they were before.
"Oh... my... God...! That was amazing!" he gasps. "What was that?"
"Um... A South American inspired... hot truffle," I say, and hate myself for the blush I feel spreading over my cheeks. I can't help it. Suddenly, 'hot truffle' sounds like some sort of dirty sex act, and I think I'm going to have to rethink the name.
"Wow. That's, like, my new favorite thing. I don't think I can handle another right now though."
He looks a little dazed, to be honest.
"What do I owe you?" he asks, pulling money from his wallet like a drunk guy at a strip club.
"For the truffle? Nothing. It was a sample."
"Seriously? Well... at least let me buy another toffee then," he says, searching the case. "Oh no... are you all out?"
"Of what?"
"The... the toffees with the pistachios," he says, looking like a kid who lost his puppy.
"Uh... No, I only make those on Mondays. Do you like nuts?" I ask, and then give myself another mental kick.
He nods. "I love nuts."
God, kill me now.
"Okay, try this." I hand him a chocolate-caramel-pecan cluster.
"Oh, better put it in a bag," he says. "I only eat one a day."
I raise a skeptical brow at him. "Really?"
"Yep. One treat a day."
"Okay," I say, and put the nut-cluster in a little wax paper bag. "Dollar-fifty," I say.
He gives me a five. "Keep the change," he says. Then he grabs the bag and practically runs from the store.
What. The. Fuck.
~♡~
When he's gone, I turn the sign, pull down the blinds, and close the store. There's a half-hour left until closing time, but the end of the day is always slow, and I just can't handle anything more right now.
I grab a rag and start cleaning the finger-prints off the display case, but after a few swipes, I stop. I let the rag fall from my hand, and sink to the floor. There's a pain in my heart I haven't felt in years. It's something I thought I'd buried so deep I'd felt sure I'd never feel it again.
When I was sixteen, Blake Welling broke my heart and almost destroyed me, and apparently he doesn't even remember who I am.