by Violet Duke
A HUGE GRIN lit Luke’s face when he heard his shop door jangle open a half hour later.
“Are you out of your frickin’ mind?!” barked Quinn, storming into the shop at ten to eight, phone waving at him like a weapon. “I almost crashed the car when I heard your voicemail over my bluetooth. You want to shoot a commercial inside of Ocotillos?!”
“Dani did say to do whatever we wanted, however we wanted.”
Quinn erupted, questioning everything from his sobriety to his will to live.
Luke just laughed and stepped around her to start a batch of the pistachio whip white chocolate bonbon with honey crystals they’d be launching this week. Remembering at the last minute that he did indeed have a will to live, he plastered on his yes-Quinn-I’m-listening look before pouring the molten white chocolate he was holding onto their marble slab countertop. This tabling method, which he preferred over bowl seeding for white couverture in particular, was almost meditative, mainly due to how silent Quinn got when he began smoothing through the rich chocolate puddle with his metal spatula and putty knife. It was a phenomenon often displayed by customers as well. “You were saying?” he prodded amusedly without looking up.
She blinked. “I was saying you’re crazy,” she grumbled, her voice still hushed as if she were in a library while her captivated gaze watched the chocolate start to thicken and shine.
Funny, you’d think his spatula strokes were lulling a cobra.
Of course, nothing lasted forever. Quinn soon began arguing all the many reasons not to do their video at Ocotillos while he deposited the now cooled white chocolate into a bowl to bring its temperature back up and ready it for the bonbon molds. As he stirred, Luke listened to each of her very valid points.
Well, sort of. It was tough, what with Quinn starting to sound like the Peanuts cartoon teacher and all. When she launched into what he guessed was Part F of Reason Number Three, he moved on to brushing colorful honey crystals into the wells of the bonbon molds to make for a decorative tint on the finish. He threw in a solemn wow-never-thought-of-that nod as he ladled in the tempered chocolate next, cooling and coating it so only a thin layer remained in the grooves. Lastly, he piped the pistachio cream filling he’d made earlier into each chocolate-lined crater and then poured a final layer of white chocolate over it to seal the bonbons shut.
All that was left was refrigeration and later Rissa could pop them out of the mold trays. Checking the clock, Luke quickly washed up and went over to get the cordless, grinning all the while like a kid on April Fool’s Day. “Perfect timing. Dani should be starting her shift now.”
Quinn pinched her nose bridge. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said! I’m telling you, Dani’s going to have your balls for this. She’ll feed ‘em to you first, and then kill you—”
“It’s ringing. Unless you want Dani to hear you hollering, you may want to...”
She instantly pursed her mouth shut. Luke snickered; it was like he had a fun new app to torture Quinn with. And when the voice of that app greeted him on the line, his smile widened.
“Hi Dani, it’s Luke. I know this is late notice but do you think I could book Ocotillos for a video shoot tomorrow? We want to film a commercial to get the word out about our Valentine campaign, something really compelling to help it go viral. And, no two ways about it, your brewpub would be the perfect site for what we have in mind.”
He stifled a laugh over the dead silence that greeted his enthusiasm, picturing steam blasting out of Dani’s ears. “And hey, if you’re free, maybe we can grab a bite after the shoot—you know, to celebrate this throwdown getting into full swing and all... What do you say?”
Oh baby, let the fun begin.
* * * * *
DANI SAW RED.
Luke had the audacity to think she’d allow them to shoot their video ad at Ocotillos? Oh, she wanted to allow some shooting alright—a Glock at his big brass cojones sounded about fair.
“You’ve GOT to be joking,” she finally managed to sputter through clenched teeth.
“No, I’m not. Your brewpub is the perfect site for our video. Unless—” he paused just long enough to make her bristle, “you don’t want us to. I mean, you did say we should go all out but I’d understand why you’d be afraid...errr, I mean uncomfortable.”
He was smiling now; she could hear it. A tide of anger blanketed her eyes. “You can’t possibly think I’ll let you goad me into allowing a competing marketing ad to be filmed here,” she snarled back. His ludicrous request was insulting enough, but pairing it with his well-aimed taunting—and man, did he know how to piss her off—was a lethal catalyst.
“Trust me, honey. There’s no competition. You’ll see.”
She almost threw the phone against the wall. Instead, she exploded into a curse-drenched outburst, showing off the extensive vocabulary she’d picked up over the years behind the bar.
Awed chuckling rang out over the phone. “Wow, I usually get to know a girl before we get into this kind of pillow talk,” he provoked even more.
Okay, now he was just pushing his luck. Schooling her voice, she replied, soft and sugar sweet, “My actual pillow talk is far more inventive, Mr. Bradford...or at least that’s what I’ve been told.” A tiny off-white lie to poke his green-eyed monster in the misters, and an impressive delivery as well over all her glaring and teeth baring. Ire really was an excellent acting coach.
You could hear a pin drop.
Good, let him stew. Smiling now, Dani continued all business-like, “No problem, Mr. Bradford. You can do your little video shoot here. But, I will have to charge you double our normal fee because of the last-minute notice. And, you know, just because I want to.”
“Fine,” replied Luke with noticeably forced calm.
Oh, what she would’ve given to see his face. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Bradford.”
“For dinner as well?” he interjected quickly, his voice still gruff...but hopeful.
“What?” Seriously, a sackful of puppies could get exhausted by him.
He was back to sounding amused. “Were you agreeing to just the video or dinner too?”
“No, not dinner. The musicians are performing tomorrow night. I have to be here.”
“Another night then?” His voice softened. “Soon? All kidding aside.”
A pregnant pause followed as she tried to reel in her reaction to the man. “Sure. Dinner another night sounds great,” she replied eventually, her voice catching a tiny bit as unbridled thoughts recalling the events preceding the first time she’d agreed to dinner with him, probably all duplicitously sent by him via some alien telepathy, began swarming in her head.
When her pulse rate quickened to match his breathing, she shook herself and cleared her throat with an emphatic huff. “There you go again blurring the lines, mixing business with pleasure…err, I mean non-business things.” Searing hot embarrassment rushed into her cheeks. Her IQ seemed to belly flop a few dozen points around the man. “You can just bring your check for the rental fee tomorrow, Mr. Bradford. We’ll see you then,” she finished quickly, rushing to hang up the phone as if temptation incarnate were ready to jump out of it.
“Hey, Dani?” Luke’s voice was quiet, but just loud enough that she could hear him.
She brought the cordless back up to her ear at the last second. “Yes?”
Lord, she should’ve known better. In an unfair payback for her reckless verbal poke earlier, and probably to ruffle her a bit since she insisted on calling him Mr. Bradford just to annoy him, Luke slipped her a short, steamy preview of just how good his pillow talk could be.
Dani blushed right down to her toes.
His quiet, “Until next time,” signaled the end of the call. And that battle round for them.
Breathing shakily, she put the phone back in its cradle and put a cool hand against her ear, sure that it was singed from Luke’s hot words. The man should come with a warning label.
This competition was going to be torture.
> CHAPTER THREE
“THIS COMPETITION was inspired.”
Surprisingly, Quinn had to agree with Luke’s reverent review on this one. She knew the reason he’d pushed to have the video shoot at Ocotillos had mostly been to make Dani sparking nuts, but as it turned out, the location had indeed been perfect.
Just one minor nuisance…
Quinn looked to her left and gritted her teeth. Rylan Grey. She hadn’t noticed him leaving the stage, which was laughable because she’d been watching absolutely every move he’d made before that. Now here he was, standing beside her in the spot Luke had just vacated.
Great. She took a noticeable step away from him.
Rylan gave her a lopsided grin the moment she did. “Hey. It’s Quinn, right?”
God, that voice. With little more than a civil grimace, she pushed out a terse, “Yep.”
He raised a dark eyebrow in amusement, and his glittering gaze showed he wasn’t thwarted in the least bit. “Dare I hope you’re a fan here to watch us perform?”
She gave him her best ‘idiot’ dismissal and her no-fail testicle shrinking glance. “I don’t listen to whatever type of music this is you play.” Well done. Pinocchio would be proud.
Unfortunately, it seemed the man went for that kind of thing, because his eyes darkened with interest, apparently drawn to the unintended challenge she posed. “Really? Huh. I could’ve sworn I saw you singing along to one of our songs during warm-ups, which could only mean that you’ve watched us on YouTube since we don’t have any albums out. My mistake.”
He saw that? Her lips flattened and she willed her blood to stay out of her cheeks. “I’m just here to make sure things go smoothly for the video. Luke’s been a bit distracted lately.”
An epidemic at the shop, apparently. Since first seeing Rylan at Ocotillos a few days ago, Quinn had been having her fair share of distracted moments as well, all starring a certain too-hot-for-his-own-good musician. Worst of all, she was pretty sure he knew it too. Which would explain why he was still standing there despite her ignoring him for a good minute now. Probably amusing himself by torturing her. Bastard. Irked enough to finally steal a glance back at him—skewering glare in the chamber at the ready—she was horrified to find him peering around her. At the little blond preschooler clutching her hand.
“Hey buddy,” he said in the perfect tone of voice to pass a five-year-old’s bullshit meter.
That threw Quinn way off. She pulled her son closer. “He’s mine. My kid, that is.”
“Yeah, I figured he wasn’t a rental,” replied Rylan dryly.
With an arctic glower, she added archly, “Yes, well, I wouldn’t normally bring him to work but I don’t have an evening sitter; never needed one with my glamorous night life and all.”
Studying her thoughtfully, Rylan leaned in to ask quietly, “Does that tactic work well?”
Confused, she swung a cautious gaze at him. “What tactic?”
“I’m sure you’re aware,” he said, his voice pitched low so her son couldn’t hear, “the big eff-off sign you have across your forehead already has neon letters and flashing lights. You really don’t have to use your single mom status to scare off the guys who are interested in you.”
Her mouth fell open in utter astonishment.
He leaned in even more, his lips now at her ear. “Luckily, I don’t scare easy. And sugar, you bet I’m interested.”
Now, she was officially tongue-tied.
Of course, the aggravating man had to shock her even further by then kneeling down in front of her son to introduce himself properly. “Hi, I’m Rylan.” He stuck out his hand palm up for a low-five. “What’s your name, big guy?”
“Cooper,” answered the young boy, giggling delightedly as his hand tried over and over to slap Rylan’s now playfully evasive hand.
“Cool name. Played with a guitar guy with the same name once.” Rylan laughed heartily when Cooper finally managed to smack his open palm. “Aw, you got me! Rematch!”
Still thunderstruck silent, Quinn just stared at the now cackling duo.
“So Coop, I saw you bopping around to our music. You’ve got good taste. Since your mom is busy working, why don’t you ask her if you can check out our instruments on stage?”
“COOL!” Cooper turned his pleading blue eyes to Quinn. “Can I, mommy? Please?”
She shook off her confounded stupor and managed to nod. “Sure, munchkin. Go have fun. Don’t break anything.” A Texas-sized lump formed in her throat when she saw the rest of the band welcome her son with warm hellos and knuckle-bumps. He was given a new band cap to wear and a pair of drumsticks to bang out some beats. His squeals of delight filled the air.
Emotions all amuck now, Quinn spent the next ten minutes watching Cooper have a blast with Rylan and the band. Seeing the handsome singer really truly hang out with her son put a titanic crack in the ice blockade she had around her heart. The few men she’d dated in the past had just patted Cooper on the head and asked none too rudely when his bedtime was. Sadder still, they were all princes compared to the jackass noted as Coop’s father on his birth certificate.
But Rylan... He was genuinely enjoying spending time with her son, laughing and teaching him how to strum a guitar while wailing into the muted mic.
Maybe that’s what allowed the uncharacteristic chortle to escape her when she heard the guys ask Cooper what his favorite song was. The answer, as she knew it would be, was the song from a Disney show he watched religiously. Quinn’s humor turned to complete shock, however, when the guys nodded and began strumming out the cotton candy pop tune she’d heard far too many times over months of DVR replays. The two older members of the group, the ones wearing wedding rings, each gave Cooper a crinkly-eyed smile before starting to hum a raspy, masculine rendition of the harmony just as Rylan started singing a rocked-out version of the lyrics. It was awesome. Elated, Cooper began bouncing around and singing along. When Rylan reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately, Quinn felt irrational tears spring to her eyes.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered, grabbing at a nearby chair, “not another musician.”
Luke jogged up, concerned. “You okay there? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“No, I’m fine. Just finding a seat so I could view the prelim footage Evan made for us.” She innocently busied herself with her laptop, nodding at the flash drive in his hand. “Is that it?”
“Yup. He made sure to emphasize this is still pretty rough. Hey, you sure you’re—”
She pulled out the chair beside her. “Sit. Let’s watch it together.”
Anything to get him to stop scrutinizing her flushed appearance with such curiosity.
Mercifully, the prospect of a sneak peek at the commercial diverted Luke’s attention.
And for good reason. The video was great. The production hadn’t been extravagant—their lone employee, Rissa, had been the female lead, while the male lead was played by Evan, Quinn’s friend who’d taken care of the videography for the shoot as well. Putting a few clips from her interviews at the start of the commercial gave it an artsy film school vibe with cool folks off the street giving their candid reactions to the idea of Valentine’s Day and White Chocolate Day.
Then came the scripted portion:
Four men are at a table in a casual restaurant, engaged in a merciless three-on-one rag fest hailing the tallest in the group as king of the first-year scrubs due to the volume of grunt workload he’s been getting lately in their law firm. Fittingly, the three ask their waitress to bring a double shot of Crown Royal for ‘King Evan,’ who just laughs and takes it all in stride.
A table over, a trio of women are eating and talking grad school research. As the men await their drinks, one of the women catches Evan’s eye. And vice versa. Despite her shy but inviting smile—and his obvious interest—he plays the cool card, pulling his eyes away from her to focus back on his friends who are busy solidifying their plans to go to a concert this weekend.
When Evan casually slides his gaze back to the woman a little later, sadly, she’s gone.
Outside, the camera catches her stopping outside of Desert Confections, looking thoughtfully at a flyer about their Valentine’s Day chocolate-making class.
A few nights later, Evan and his buddies are on the dance floor amongst a packed house watching Rylan’s band in concert at Ocotillos. The camera zooms in on Evan’s eyes widening when he spots the same woman he saw the other day hanging out with her friends, not twenty feet away from him. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He heads right over to meet her.
But she gets swallowed up in the crowd. Evan searches every last corner of the deck until finally he frowns and gives up, turning around to head back to his friends.
Halfway there, however, someone taps on his shoulder.
It’s her.
The camera circles around them, slowing as the two stare at each other. The people all around slip out of focus, and the music morphs into the sound of a pair of heartbeats.
Gently, she presses something into his hand.
He looks down and sees a carefully crafted piece of chocolate in a clear candy box. Pleasantly surprised, he turns the box around to survey the intricate features of the finely detailed truffle. It’s striking. Beautiful in a masculine sort of way. Eyes soft with appreciation, he cradles the gift in his hand and looks up to thank her.
Only to find she’s vanished.
He immediately shoulders through the crowd to locate her but she’s nowhere to be found.
Frustrated, he inspects the truffle again, scanning the clear box all around and over to see if there’s some mysterious clue he missed.
There is.
A slow, sexy grin transforms his features and he immediately pulls out his phone to dial the number written on a tiny slip of paper underneath the chocolate.
* * * * *
“CRAP,” whooshed Xoey, as she clicked off the Desert Confections’ video ad on YouTube.
Dani shared her sentiments. The commercial was good—really good. Girls would no doubt fall in love with it and guys would secretly not hate it. Damn.
