Free How Sweet It Is by Bonnie Blythe Page B

purchased in Orange
County from a retiring candy maker.
    Delphine smiled, feeling a rush of affection
for Brad—mixed with a clinging sensation of guilt. “I couldn’t have
done it without you. Not to mention the tremendous amount of money
I’m saving by not having to hire professional contractors—”
    Brad raised his hands. “Hey, you’re making me
blush.”
    “You really must accept some kind of
payment.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, knowing she had
nothing really to offer. Except chocolates.
    “Think of it as a work-study program for
me,” he said with a grin. “I’ll put the experience on my
résumé.”
    “Still, how can I ever repay you?”
    Brad surveyed her for a moment, then put his
hands on her shoulders. The warmth of his hands came through the
thin fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t decipher the expression in
his eyes, and was only aware of an odd breathlessness, of an
unnamed expectation surging through her.
    The clock in the back ticked out industrial
minutes, and beyond the shop windows, the sounds of traffic
permeated the otherwise silent room. Brad’s hand strayed to her
hair, smoothing an errant strand from her face. Delphine’s heart
leaped into her throat. She stood motionless, watching him,
wondering what he’d do next.
    What if…what if he kisses me again?
    What if he doesn’t?
    His expression subtly faded. He lowered his
gaze, dropping his hands.
    Anticipation melted away under the weight of
disappointment.
    Delphine tried to keep the regret from
showing. She took a deep breath. “Um, I’m anxious to start my first
batch of candy in the new kitchen. Want to watch?”
    “Are you going to make chocolate candies?”
he asked, his blue eyes gleaming again.
    She suppressed a smile. Never had she known
such a hopeless chocoholic. Nodding, she headed into the kitchen
and looped an apron around her waist.
    “Can I help?” he asked, following close
behind.
    She turned around. “You mean do more than be
my taste-tester?” At his guilty expression, she smiled her assent.
“First, we wash our hands.”
    They stood at the sink side by side,
scrubbing their hands, creating mountains of bubbles. Brad insisted
on doing everything the silly way, and managed to get soap on his
face as well as his hands. She went to the stock room and collected
a small supply of ingredients and put them next to the marble slab,
which was set on one end of the wood prep table. Brad plopped onto
one of the nearby stools.
    His enthusiasm was infectious, but Delphine
was at a slight loss as to understand it. She made chocolates
because she had a knack for cooking, and while she could discern
good flavor in the product, she was more interested in excellence
of quality than just eating it for fun.
    “First,” she said in an instructor’s tone,
“I have to check the temperature of the air conditioner to make
sure it isn’t too warm, or else the chocolate won’t set up.”
    He jumped up from the stool and headed for
the thermostat. “I’ll do it. What temp do you need?”
    “Below seventy degrees.”
    “We got sixty-nine.” He came back to the
stool, his gaze fastened on the eleven-pound slab of chocolate on
the worktable.
    She nodded her approval.
“ D’accord . Now for
dipping chocolate, we need what’s known as courveture , and I’m using Callebaut,
one of the best brands.”
    She broke off a chunk at the segment mark and
put it in a double boiler on the stove. Brad slid from the stool
and came up to the stove to watch more closely. She smiled at him.
He didn’t notice because his gaze remained fastened on the
chocolate.
    Once it began a slow melt at a low
temperature, Delphine pulled a professional grade electric skillet
from one of the shelves and set it on the worktable. Next, she put
out trays lined with wax paper, along with a tray she’d prepared
earlier filled with soft caramel centers to dip into the
chocolate.
    “It’s really melting,” Brad said, his voice
tinged with awe. “Is