Birthday Suit

by Lauren Blakely

  “So glad to hear.” She glances around, surveying the aisles of the show. “I didn’t expect to see you here. It didn’t occur to me. That’s so dumb. Isn’t that dumb? Of course you’d be here.”

  Laughing, I scratch my jaw. “I didn’t expect you to be here either. Maybe that’s dumb too.”

  “I thought you were still in . . . Where exactly were you for the last year or so?”

  “South America. I thought you were in California.”

  She needed to get away from New York, far, far away, she’d told me the last time I saw her, nearly two years ago, through tears and mascara-stained cheeks.

  “I’m here now. Now you see me.” She gestures to her trim frame. She’s a sexy carrot today.

  “You look . . . great.” That’s the understatement of the century. She’s always looked fantastic, but the happiness in her eyes has been restored. At least I hope it has.

  For a moment, her smile slips off, and in that sliver of time, I can see all the ways the last decade didn’t go how she expected.

  How any of us expected.

  I blink away the past, shucking off the pangs of regret. Fuck regret. I hold out my arms for a hug.

  She moves in closer, and I tense for a moment. But as she embraces me in return, I don’t feel what I used to feel.

  I swear I don’t.

  Years of training has paid off.

  Lulu Diamond, I am so over you.

  2

  Lulu

  If Leo were chocolate, I’d easily add up the ingredients that comprised him. With a touch of pepper and a dash of spice, he’d be a strong, full-bodied dark chocolate, bordering on bittersweet. You’d pair him with a rich red wine and enjoy him by the fireplace.

  Fitting, I suppose, with that whole tall, dark, and brooding thing he works like a charm. It suits him, with his nearly black hair, a Henry Cavill–style swoop to it, and a jawline the actor with the most coveted jawline would surely covet. Leo’s light skin is more tanned than the last time I saw him. The other side of the equator must have done that.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised to bump into him here. But still, I was when I spotted his familiar silhouette at the Heavenly booth. I didn’t think he was back in the country.

  In some ways, I’ve never been able to truly add up what makes Leo tick. He’s been both an open book and a complete enigma. Except one thing has always held true—the man can rock a suit. I gesture to his Tom Ford ensemble, minus the jacket he’s surely stowed behind the counter. “I can’t believe you’re in a suit at the chocolate show.”

  “Would it have been better if I’d worn my safari shorts?”

  I press my palms together, loving that image. “Please tell me you own safari shorts.”

  “Of course. How else would I have ventured into the depths of South America to find the best cocoa beans?”

  “Ever the explorer,” I say, since that is Leo to a T—always checking things out, wanting to test, to try. “Was it just like Romancing the Stone?”

  He laughs, a rich, deep sound that warms my heart. “Exactly like it. I trekked to the heart of the Amazon, zip-lining through the forest to uncover chocolate and develop co-ops.”

  I punch his arm, like an old friend, since that’s what we are. Old friends tethered across the years by someone else. Someone who was the sun, and we were his moons.

  Now, Leo and I are untethered, and I don’t know how we’ll orbit without our star.

  “It’s kind of mind-blowing to see you again.” I press my fingertips to my skull and mime an explosion. “I haven’t seen you since . . .” I gulp. It’s still hard to say. I don’t know when it’ll stop being hard to say.

  “Yeah. It’s been a while.” He exhales like he needs to take a breather too. “How was California?”

  Maybe we’ve both moved on from all the stuff that went down. I know I had to. So I chose to, long ago. “San Francisco was great. Exactly what I needed. I worked with Christopher Elbow, sort of like an artist in residence.”

  “But a chocolatier in residence.”

  “Exactly. I built up my line there while you were in—where exactly did you go in South America?”

  “Brazil, Chile, Argentina, Peru.”

  I can’t help but smile. “You always wanted to see those countries.”

  He nods, drags a hand through his hair. “A dream come true, as they say. It was a great way to spend a year. Mostly.”

  I tuck that “mostly” away in my mind, knowing I’ll come back to it later, knowing it means something he’s not saying. “And now you’re here in New York again?”

  He points to the booth behind him. “I’m back in the corporate offices, working on new biz dev deals. What brings you to this coast? Are you just here for the show?”

  I start to answer, but as the words take shape, I wonder why I haven’t reached out to him sooner. Maybe because I needed a fresh start in the city, unattached from all the men in my past, and from all the ways they were attached.

  That’s not the only reason. Leo was a fixture in my life for so long, but now he’s finally found someone to be a fixture in his. Amy, his fiancée, seems lovely, from the little he’s told me. Of all the women I’ve seen try to win his heart over the years—and plenty have stepped up to the plate and taken a swing at that fastball—she’s seemed best suited for it.

  But that’s hardly an answer to his question, and I owe him one. “I returned to Manhattan a month ago and found a place in Chelsea, all so I could relocate Lulu’s here and open my second shop. I’m all moved in now, and the important items are even put away. The shoes, my chocolate-making tools, and my collection of antique cookbooks.”

  Whew. That was a mouthful of news I dropped on him.

  “Wow. I can’t believe you’re in New York. It’s like old times,” he says.

  But it’s not really like old times. It’s new times, so I focus on what’s new—me forging ahead at last in my business. Now nothing, and no one, holds me back. “I opened my new shop in the Village.”

  He stares sharply at me, his eyes narrowing, the dark brown in them oddly icy. He heaves a sigh, shakes his head. “You’re in so much trouble for not telling me.”

  I crack up, grateful for the tension relief. I poke him in the chest. I’m a toucher. It’s my mom’s fault. I was raised by a hugger. “It’s not like you were exactly accessible in the last year. Every time I checked your Facebook page, you were posting pictures from Machu Picchu or Rio.”

  “Spying on me, Lulu?”

  “I’ve always been curious.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  I park my hands on my hips. “That you didn’t post often enough for me to glean any clues.”

  “And trust me, it took all day to post now and then. The internet service was terrible.”

  “Poor Leo. Struggling without his first-world broadband.”

  “It would’ve been a struggle for you too. Waiting for Etsy to load for your daily online shopping ritual would have killed you.”

  “Hey, I’m industrious. I’d have shopped locally.”

  “Good to know you’d have had a solution to a shopping dilemma.”

  “So what’s your agenda here at the show? I don’t suppose you’re still sourcing cocoa.”

  He tips his head in the direction of the chocolate fountain. “Besides trying to figure out how many people dipped their heads under that and licked it? Like that person is doing right now?”

  I jerk my head toward the fountain once more, and sure enough, it’s a repeat of my friend’s kid’s birthday party when the guest of honor shotgunned chocolate.

  Admittedly, I was tempted too.

  If I had my own private chocolate fountain, I’d absolutely dart out my tongue into the stream every day. I’ll be honest—I do love me some high-end chocolates, but every now and then, I like to slum it at a chocolate fountain.

  Right now, an intrepid teenager in a skater T-shirt—likely on a dare from his buddies—is drinking a stream of ch
ocolate. He’s adjusting himself under the liquid, bumping the silver trough slightly.

  “I feel like that might be a signal to skedaddle.” I glance at my watch. “Plus, I have to do a demo in fifteen minutes on the center stage.” And yet, I don’t want this time with Leo to end. “But I’d love to catch up. Do you want to go to a hot chocolate tasting class later? There’s one at three thirty. I hear this buttoned-up sommelier is running it. We could ask crazy questions and try to stump him. Even throw riddles at him. I'm sometimes a bar, but I'm not made of metal. I’m sometimes a chip, but I'm not made of potato.” I’m talking too fast. I’m nervous. Seeing Leo is stranger than I thought it would be.

  Or rather, seeing him by myself is what’s throwing me off.

  “The answer is chocolate.”

  I stomp my foot dramatically.

  “You gave me an easy one. Regardless, I would love to stump a chocolate sommelier and also hear what you’ve been up to,” he says, as the guy in the skater shirt hoots victoriously, thrusts his arms in the air, and then takes off running, his buddies by his side. Yes, definitely a dare. We scoot closer to Finger-Licking Good to avoid being trampled. The fountain gurgles louder. “But first, what demo are you doing?”

  I smile, proud of my news. “I was asked to appear at the James Carson booth.”

  His eyes widen, flickering with astonishment. “You won that award?”

  “I did.”

  “Damn, Lulu. That’s amazing.” He reaches for me, to tug me in for another hug perhaps.

  But it’s not a hug that comes next.

  Out of nowhere, a sharp pain radiates in my arm, and it takes a millisecond to register that someone has knocked into my shoulder blade, so I bump into the chocolate fountain. Leo yanks me away.

  But my heel catches on the rug.

  Then on something slippery.

  And wet.

  Heels are the devil, and my shoe snags as the world tilts and I lose my balance, the scuffle knocking me off-kilter. Everything goes belly-up as I careen, ass first, toward the floor.

  But before I slam my back, my skull, and surely my tailbone too, Leo’s right here like Superman, diving after me, grabbing me, and shielding me.

  It all happens so fast, I can barely register the order of events.

  The next thing I know, he’s rolled me onto his chest, and I’m staring down at him. He’s looking up at me, breathing hard.

  Chocolate seeps into the side of my dress, since it appears the fountain spilled over.

  But that’s not what stands out most. What I notice above all is how firm Leo’s chest is and how strong his arms feel, holding me.

  I’ve never experienced an embrace quite like this.

  Brown eyes have never looked at me so fiercely.

  I swear, it’s as if the armor he wears disappears for a split-second as he stares at me, swallowing sharply, a gust of breath crossing his lips.

  Then, in an instant, the wild, foreign sensation is gone.

  3

  Leo

  Positions I’ve dreamed of being in over the years? This would have ranked top of the list.

  Wait. Not true. Only because I’ve pictured so damn many positions with her, how the hell can I possibly rank them all?

  All fours is definitely up there.

  Bent over the bed.

  Reverse cowgirl.

  But yeah. Fine. Lulu on top of me has to be near the peak.

  And before other matters peak, I need distance. A lot of fucking distance.

  Somehow, I disentangle from her at the speed of sound, lifting her up and off me as Ginny races over. “Are you okay? Or do I need to get you to the infirmary inside the Willy Wonka chocolate factory?”

  Ginny’s always ready with a Band-Aid or a joke.

  Lulu cranes her neck to stare at the back of her lovely orange dress that’s not so lovely anymore. Even with my dive-and-grab roll, she still bore the brunt of the chocolate mess.

  “I’ll live,” Lulu says to Ginny, deadpan.

  “Do you want my shirt?” Ginny offers, plucking at her red pullover top.

  “Only if you’re interested in walking around in just your bra. And since I don’t want to ask you to do that the first day we meet, I suspect I’ll have to make do.”

  Ginny laughs. “But the second day would be okay?”

  “Oh, definitely. We’ll trade shirts tomorrow.” Typical Lulu—roll with the punches.

  I peer behind me. The back of my white dress shirt sports a tire track of chocolate. Meanwhile, a stocky dude who must be running the Finger-Licking Good joint marches over to us. “What in the ever-loving heck happened here? Did you jump into my fountain? Try to take a bath in it? Splash around and roll in the goodness like a pig in mud?”

  I scoff, because he couldn’t have it more wrong. “Are you kidding me? Your fountain bubbled over, and some kid had his face under the stream. That’s what ruined your fountain. He must have bumped into it and that sent it spilling all over the floor.”

  His jaw drops. “Someone drank from the fountain?”

  “Shocking, isn’t it?”

  The man scratches his jaw. “Come to think of it, that’s not so shocking. It’s kind of like a dream, isn’t it? Chocolate flowing from a fountain. Drinking it straight from the source. What could be better?”

  “Gee. I don’t know. Maybe literally everything.”

  “Well, I’d say you should try it, but you clearly don’t have a fun bone in your body. Now, where did this fountain-knocker-overer go, because I don’t have time to mess around.”

  Lulu flails, pointing dramatically down an aisle. “He went that-a-way. Black skater shirt. Checkered Vans. You can probably still find him if you run fast enough.”

  “I gotta catch him. My boss will kill me if anything happens to the fountain, and if I’m home late, my wife will kill me.” The Finger-Licking Good Guy mimes slicing his throat then makes a spooky, don’t-mess-with-the-wife sound. With a brash nod, the square-shaped man takes off, running down the industrial-grade carpet, chasing a chocolate-drink stealer he likely won’t catch.

  I take a closer look at the woman I toppled to the floor with. “You look like you’ve taken a mud bath.” I can’t help it. I laugh. I laugh so fucking hard because she’s absolutely coated in chocolate.

  She laughs too. “We’re quite a sight.”

  “We are indeed.”

  Her laughter ceases. Her brow furrows. “Shoot. I have my demo. How the hell am I going to do it looking like this?”

  That sends me into action. My job isn’t to stand around and let other people solve problems. “Stay here.”

  I dart into our booth, duck behind the stand, root around in a box, and find a chef’s jacket and a hand towel. Ginny follows, and she’s by my side, whispering, “The pepper chocolates?”

  “Yeah?”

  “They were hers.”

  I arch a brow as I grab a plastic bag. “No kidding?”

  “Swear on my fourth grader.”

  I shoot her a most skeptical look.

  She huffs. “Hey, I like my kid. But fine, I swear on my love of chocolate. Now do you believe me?”

  “Indeed, I do. They were amazing. Did Lulu give them to you?”

  “I snagged some from a booth. She wasn’t even there. Do you know what this means?”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means this was meant to be.”

  “If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d say you planned this.”

  “But you’re not a conspiracy theorist. You just believe in fate.”

  “Ha. I do not whatsoever believe in any such mumbo jumbo. If I believed in the poetic notion of some grand kismet scheme, I’d be in a whole different position than the one I’m in now.”

  The position I’m in now has nothing to do with fate, I remind myself privately.

  Like I need the reminder.

  But I repeat the mantra in my head anyway.

  There is only choice or no choice.

 
; My choice right now, amid the noise and clatter of this epic chocolate show fail, is singular—fix shit. Save the day for Lulu. Demos at The Big Chocolate Show are career-making. Lulu can’t miss hers.

  I rush out of the booth, rejoin Lulu, and hand her the towel. Quickly, she wipes down her arms. As I guide her through the crowds, I tell her she can wear the chef jacket for her demo.

  She darts into the restroom and pops back out a minute later with clean hands and arms. She takes the chef jacket from me. “You saved the day.” Her smile shines with the wattage of the sun.

  “See how it fits first before you pronounce me king of awesome.”

  “I’ll make it fit, and then pronounce you ruler of awesome.”

  I go into the men’s room, wash up, and unbutton my shirt. The back is covered but my shirt is, fortunately, the only collateral damage. My pants are fine. I stuff the shirt inside the plastic bag and take a minute to breathe, checking out my reflection in the mirror. I’m wearing a white T-shirt. Not my most professional style but it’ll do in a pinch. Good thing I haunt the gym regularly.

  I take a moment to add up the facts, only the facts.

  Lulu is here.

  She’s living in New York.

  I’m living in New York.

  I’m about to add in one more fact, but I can’t in good conscience go there.

  Besides, my heart is pounding too fast.

  It’s from the incident, I tell myself.

  It’s from the adrenaline rush.

  It’s not from feelings.

  I don’t feel a thing.

  I leave the men’s room, take a drink from the water fountain, and wipe my hand across my mouth.

  When I look up, she’s there.

  With outstretched arms, she spins in a circle, waiting for an appraisal of her new outfit.

  Her new, jaw-dropping, sexy-as-sin, might-as-well-throw-in-the-towel-and-raise-the-white-flag-of-surrender outfit.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I clearly wasn’t using my brain at all. Because she’s even more alluring in this garb.