Free The Chocolate Bear Burglary by JoAnna Carl Page A

while I fixed up the boxes of chocolate. He didn’t refer to a list, which I found awe-inspiring. I couldn’t remember the names of my twelve closest relatives without looking them up. He kept writing, but it seemed that whenever I looked at him, he was looking at me. I began to feel as if I should say something.
    Finally I thought of a question. “How is your congressional campaign going?”
    “It may not go at all.”
    “Oh? The newspaper says you’re the front-runner.”
    “I suppose I have a good chance, since the incumbent isn’t running and my mother’s pulling in all her chits. But I’m not sure that’s how I want to spend the rest of my life.” He smiled. “That’s one reason we’re down here without any staff. I’m trying to make up my mind.”
    His mother had already made hers up, judging from her comments the day before. I didn’t bring that up, just smiled and kept working. And Hart kept writing. And staring at me.
    As I worked I reminded myself that Hart VanHorn was a politician, so eye contact would be his standard operating procedure. Though I did remember that the Grand Rapids Press had identified him as one of Michigan’s most eligible bachelors.
    I was impressed with him. His selection of gifts was tactful—equal, but easy to tell apart. And he didn’t seem embarrassed to credit his mother with the inspiration for the twelve boxes of chocolates. That was interesting, too, though I wasn’t sure of its significance. Was he a mama’s boy? Or simply secure enough to admit her influence? Was she making the decisions on his campaign? Or was he? How long were her apron strings?
    I tied up the final box and took out a large white shopping bag with “TenHuis Chocolade” printed near the bottom in the classy sans-serif type Aunt Nettie uses in her logo.
    “Anything else?” I said. “Are there any children on your shopping list?”
    Hart VanHorn grinned broadly. “Do I want fries with that?”
    I laughed. “Retail sales are not my specialty. But I’m trying to learn all the tricks. How about a box for your mother?”
    “Your aunt gave Mother a box yesterday.”
    “Then how about a free sample for yourself?”
    “Sure!” Very few people refuse a sample of TenHuis chocolate. Hart VanHorn picked a double fudge bonbon (“Layers of milk and dark chocolate fudge with a dark chocolate coating”) and ate it with eyerolling relish. Then he sighed and leaned his elbows on the counter next to the cash register.
    “Ms. McKinney,” he said, “I know I’m being what my mother would call forward. But honestly, I’d love to get out of dinner with her and Uncle Tim one night this week. They’re not going to be good company. And you would be. Would you consider going out to the Dock Street and splitting a pizza with me tomorrow?”

Chapter 6
    I almost clasped my hands to my bosom and said, “Sir! This is so sudden.” In spite of the eye contact and chitchat, I had not been expecting Hart VanHorn to ask me out.
    Not that I don’t get asked out now and then. But I’ve never accepted too many invitations. When I was in high school, I was a drudge. I knew I’d have to put myself through college without much help from my parents, so I always had a job, plus I was still afraid of serious relationships because of my parents’ divorce. I was too cautious for either commitment or casual sex. It made for a lot of boring Saturday nights.
    But during my senior year my mom and dad decided I might be less gawky and lacking in poise if I did something public, so they pushed me into the beauty-pageant circuit. That didn’t help my social life. A little success there, I discovered, meant the guys I met were either awed or thought I must be easy. I never liked either kind—a date who was too scared to say anything or a date I had to fight off before he bought me a Coke.
    College didn’t change much. I still lived with my mom—couldn’t afford a dorm or my own place—and the pageant circuit didn’t