A Thankful Heart (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 2) Page 2

  His slightly crooked nose gave him character, making his handsome face more interesting and rugged. A nice contrast to his smooth skin. Dakota was a fan of the razor-stubble look, but perhaps there was something to be said for clean-shaven.

  He stared at Dakota. “What?”

  She held the tray and used the silver tongs to offer him a piece. Thankfully, her hands were steady. “Would you like to try a sample?”

  Or me.

  Whoops. Where had that come from?

  “No, thank you,” he said.

  She must be more tired than she realized, but that was what happened after a sleepless night worrying about her proposal and the animals. “The chocolate is processed here by our shop’s owner. The best in Montana.”

  “No, thanks.”

  His full lips—how had she missed those?—parted. So sexy.

  Dakota stared, mesmerized. She would love to see how he ate a piece of chocolate. Would he nibble on one edge, take a bite, or chomp the piece in half?

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t want a taste?” she asked.

  “I don’t like chocolate.”

  Huh? Dakota knew better than to be annoyed by a customer, but that was exactly how she felt. Don’t react. She kept a practiced smile on her face. “Copper Mountain Chocolates are special. Everybody likes them.”

  He shrugged. “Guess I’m not everybody. Sell anything else?”

  Who was this guy? And why was he here if he didn’t like chocolate? “Hot chocolate.”

  “That’s not so bad, but I don’t have time. I have a list of what I’d like to buy.” He thumbed the screen on his phone. “Two fudge truffles, two milk chocolate salted caramels, and a piece of the dark chocolate cherry hazelnut bark.”

  He might not be from around here or like chocolate, but his order contained top-selling items. Strange.

  Dakota placed the candy in a bag and rang up his order. She told him the amount.

  He pulled out a leather billfold that was as fancy and polished as his shoes.

  Anticipation built. He could be anyone passing through town, but she would soon know his name from his credit card.

  He scanned the shop with a cursory glance, pulled out a twenty, and handed it to her.

  So much for finding out who he was.

  Strangely disappointed, she gave him the change and his bag of chocolates. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “You, too.” He opened the door and looked back at her. “Nice shop.”

  With that, he walked out onto Main Street and passed in front of the big window.

  She watched him.

  Did the guy have a better-than-you attitude or was he merely distracted? Maybe a combination of both?

  Either way, Dakota found him interesting. A little…intriguing.

  Warning bells sounded.

  No. No. No.

  Dakota would not allow herself to be intrigued by any man, let alone a stranger. She had no idea who the guy was. For all she knew, he could be the worst possible Mr. Wrong, a combination of those who’d come before and allergic to pet dander. He could be a psycho stalker. Or worse.

  Time to phone Kelly and meet for a session of their Chocolate Is Better Than Men Club, aka CIBTMC. Chocolate and a girls’ night at Grey’s Saloon was a wonderful combination. A good time, too, even if she and Kelly were the only club members due to everyone else falling in love. Still, a CIBTMC meeting would get Dakota’s mind where it should be—off men.

  Including handsome, nameless strangers buying chocolate they didn’t eat.

  Chapter Two

  Staring out his father’s living room window at the gray sky overhead, Bryce Grayson knew one thing—November would be the longest month of his life.

  No cars on the street. No people on the sidewalk. No signs of life outside his father’s house.

  The muscles in Bryce’s neck bunched into marble-like balls. He fought the urge to groan. This would be rush hour back home in Seattle, but not here in the middle of nowhere Marietta. If boredom didn’t kill him, the quiet would.

  Still, spending the month with his dad was the right decision, even if Chelsea Fordham, the software project manager he’d been dating, had been less than understanding. She didn’t want to be put second, even though his father needed help.

  When she’d issued an ultimatum to keep Bryce from heading to Montana, he’d told her to find someone who could put her first. Funny thing was he didn’t miss her and had only occasionally thought of her since then. A good thing he hadn’t taken that relationship further.

  His friends, who’d gone from one half of a happy couple to divorce court, made Bryce think marriage wasn’t for everyone, including him. He’d spent too many nights listening to the woes of the recently split or newly divorced, which had only soured him on making the ultimate commitment with a woman. He’d thought Chelsea wasn’t interested in anything serious based on what she’d said.

  Lip service.

  Now he had one less distraction in his life. He could focus on his dad and the proposal he would submit when he returned to Seattle. It could be a huge opportunity for his design firm.

  A pickup truck drove past. That was the first vehicle he’d seen since walking home from Main Street earlier. “Not a lot of people out.”

  “That’s why I love this town,” his dad said in a contented tone. “So peaceful.”

  Bryce faced his father, who sat in a worn leather recliner with a brand-new wheelchair on the right. Casts covered both of his legs. He’d sustained the broken bones from a fall off a ladder at one of his construction sites. According to Dr. Jack Gallagher, Walt Grayson was lucky to be alive.

  Lucky.

  The word gave Bryce nightmares.

  His dad had always seemed larger than life, invincible even after the death of his mom four years ago. But now…

  Bryce rubbed his eyes, blinked, and then refocused. “Doesn’t seem like there’s much to do around here.”

  “There’s enough,” his dad said.

  It didn’t seem that way to Bryce, but that wasn’t the reason he wanted his father to recognize the downfalls of the small town he now called home. Montana was closer than Pennsylvania, where Bryce had grown up, but living so far apart from each other wasn’t working. He needed his father to be closer, both in times of emergency and day to day. “Maybe if you’re into cow tipping.”

  “Marietta isn’t like Seattle.”

  “Totally different.”

  Bryce missed the noise, the rain, the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Marietta couldn’t compare to the vibrant, cosmopolitan city he’d called home during his four years of college and the ten years since then. He walked to the recliner, picked up the fleece blanket that had fallen onto the hardwood floor, and covered his father so he wouldn’t catch a chill.

  Somehow, Bryce would find a way to survive the month and convince his father to leave Marietta after Thanksgiving. “More cows and horses than people.”

  “Most of the time, yes, but during the rodeo and the Christmas stroll, the streets are jam-packed with people.”

  From one extreme to another.

  No, thank you.

  A town this size couldn’t handle the influx of crowds, cars, or additional livestock. “Hard to imagine.”

  “If you stay longer, you won’t have to imagine it.”

  The challenge in his dad’s words brought a smile to Bryce’s face. He expected no less from his father. “I have a better idea. Come to Seattle and see how much the city has to offer. Not just for Christmas but year round.”

  “I’m happy where I am.” His dad didn’t hesitate with his answer.

  Not unexpected, but heat rose inside Bryce. His fingers curled. “With two broken legs?”

  “Could have happened to anyone.”

  “It happened to you.” Remembering the call from the Marietta hospital made Bryce’s stomach churn. He’d never forget the panic. Waiting at the airport for a flight to Bozeman had made him feel useless. Reaching his father quickly wasn
’t possible. “Might be time to make some changes.”

  The lines on his father’s face deepened. “Changes?”

  “Cut back on your workload. Consider retiring.”

  The corners of his dad’s mouth curved downward. “You make sixty-two sound ancient. I’m as capable and fit as I was at forty.”

  “I’m not saying you’re old.”

  Bryce couldn’t push too hard. Walt Grayson was mule stubborn when he wanted to be. This house was a perfect example. His father had made a fortune when he sold their luxurious family home and his successful construction firm, yet he’d chosen to purchase a modest three-bedroom, one-story house instead of a Victorian mansion over on Bramble Lane or one of the luxurious log houses outside of town.

  Still, Bryce wanted to start the conversation while he had the chance. “But climbing ladders and working on rooftops might be better left to the younger people on your crew.”

  “I’d leave it to you if you lived here.”

  An unfamiliar taste coated Bryce’s mouth. Guilt, perhaps? He’d attended college at the University of Washington and decided to stay after graduation. He hadn’t always flown back to Philadelphia for the holidays, either. Or vacations. “My life—my business—is in Seattle.”

  “You can design buildings anywhere.”

  “You can do construction work anywhere.”

  They’d had this discussion before and reached an impasse, but that was before his father’s fall. Bryce wouldn’t let it go this time. He couldn’t. He had to convince his dad to leave Marietta. That would be best…for both of them.

  “There’s plenty of opportunity where I live. People are always remodeling. I know subcontractors and crews. If I get awarded this new project, I’m going to need more help,” Bryce added. “Why not try Seattle for a season or two?”

  “I don’t want to move. I like this town.” His dad stared at a framed photo of Bryce’s mother sitting on the mantel. “Marietta was your mother’s favorite place to visit. She dreamed of moving here someday, so I did it for her.”

  Bryce felt a pang. If only his mom hadn’t kept quiet about not feeling well, but she hadn’t wanted to worry anyone. Typical of her, but by the time his father realized how sick she was, there hadn’t been much time left. Bryce had flown to his hometown to be with his parents, and his mom died soon after.

  Not going to happen with his dad.

  Bryce couldn’t let sentimentality imprison his father in Marietta. Compromise was an option, too. “You said the past winter was worse than the year before. You could live here during the summer months when the weather is better and spend the rest of the year with me in Seattle.”

  “In the rain.” Disdain laced each of his father’s word.

  “It doesn’t rain every day.”

  “Almost every day.” His father rubbed his chin. Even with broken legs, his dad shaved each morning because his mom had preferred that. “You’d get tired of having me around.”

  “Never.”

  “See how you feel at the end of the month. You said the town was quaint. You might like Marietta better by then and want to move here.”

  No way would that happen, but Bryce wouldn’t say that aloud. “Who knows?”

  Even though he did.

  The sooner he could get his dad out of the western-themed Podunk town full of men who wore Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots and women who chased the same men based on the size of their shiny belt buckles, the better.

  Though he recognized a little bit of the small-town appeal. People acted friendly and were always smiling. Especially the ones who worked in the stores. Speaking of which…

  “Want some of that chocolate I bought?” Bryce asked.

  “It’s not for me. I had you buy my friends’ favorites, so I can give it to them when they come over.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you.” And so unlike his dad, who had often forgotten anniversaries and birthdays due to being busy on a job site. His mother’s death had devastated his father, but moving to Marietta three years ago had changed him.

  “You’ve seen the amount of food they’ve brought over for us. That’s the least I could do.”

  “True.” The food was delicious and surprisingly healthy for small-town cooks without access to gourmet or organic grocery stores. “Need anything right now?”

  “Nope.” His dad touched Bryce’s arm. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

  The cement roller driving across his chest made him struggle for a breath. “Me, too.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Another one of your female friends delivering dinner?” Bryce hadn’t cooked—other than warming up food—since he’d arrived. The women in town kept his father’s fridge full. “Better get that chocolate ready.”

  “No one texted that they were stopping by.”

  “Maybe one of your female admirers wants to surprise you.”

  “Not admirers, just friends.”

  “So you keep saying.” Bryce hoped his dad was telling the truth. The fewer attachments he had in Marietta, the easier moving him to Seattle would be. “Better see who it is.”

  “If it’s a kid trying to raise money for school, buy whatever they’re selling.”

  “You act gruff and tough, but you’re just a big softie.”

  “Nah. I’m still a mean SOB. I just have more disposable income now, so I can support groups in the community. You don’t really think I’m going to eat all those boxes of cookies in the pantry, do you?”

  “Then why are there so many empty boxes in the recycle bin?” Without waiting for an answer, Bryce opened the front door.

  He expected to see a middle-aged or older woman holding a casserole covered with aluminum foil, not a pretty twenty-something woman with light brown hair and two dogs—a large, part German shepherd mutt and a smaller Pomeranian mix. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

  Her eyes widened. “It’s you. I mean, you were at the chocolate shop earlier. I work there.”

  The friendly salesclerk. Except… “You look different.”

  “No apron.”

  Bryce didn’t remember what she’d been wearing. All he’d wanted to do was get back to his father’s house as quickly as he could. “I—”

  The larger dog bounded upward, like a stallion rearing, and pushed two front paws against Bryce. The weight sent him back a step. The memory of being chased by a big dog when he was a kid sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

  He raised his hands to protect himself.

  “Off,” a woman yelled.

  Something licked Bryce’s cheek. Cringing, he turned his face away.

  The weight against him disappeared.

  The dog, either on its own or by force, returned to the woman’s side.

  Good. Bryce wasn’t a fan of big dogs. All they did was get in the way and act menacing. Although, this one stared up at Bryce with what appeared to be a goofy canine smile. Still, the glint in its eyes shouted pure mischief.

  “I’m so sorry.” The woman shortened the length of the leash on the larger dog. “Rascal is still learning how to act around new people. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Bryce wiped the dog slobber off his cheek with the back of his hand. “No thanks to that beast of yours.”

  “Rascal’s a friendly sort of beast.” She didn’t seem embarrassed by her dog’s bad behavior. “We’ve been working to mend his Sasquatch ways, but canine manners take time. Especially with excitable puppies. On the bright side, he didn’t wet on you. That’s progress.”

  If she expected him to laugh or play along, Bryce wouldn’t. Though he had to admit that slobber was better than urine.

  “By the way, I’m Dakota Parker.”

  Her easy smile had caught his eye at the chocolate shop, and it was what made him take a second look now.

  Warm brown eyes. Clear, smooth skin. French braided light brown hair. She wasn’t that tall—the top of her head came up to his nose—but above average height.
Pretty. The multi-colored striped scarf around her neck looked hand knitted based on the random color pattern and lopsided lines.

  Her baggy gray sweatshirt didn’t tell him much about the curves underneath, but the way her jeans hugged her hips hinted at…possibilities. The jeans weren’t the skinny type that the fashion-obsessed Chelsea preferred. Definitely not designer ones, either.

  Dakota’s casual style was surprisingly refreshing. Pouncing, slobbering dog aside. At least the smaller mutt behaved and stayed at her side.

  Amusement gleamed in her eyes. “Would you like me to turn around so you can get a better look?”

  Her directness was attractive, but he wasn’t interested in anyone or anything related to Marietta. Best to shut this down before she got the wrong idea. “No, thanks. I’ve seen enough.”

  “Well, then.” She sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “I’d say a handshake should come next, but I don’t want Rascal planting another wet one on you or mistaking you for a tree.”

  Did his pants resemble a tree trunk?

  Not wanting to take the chance, Bryce stepped back, though he doubted distance would stop the mutt from doing whatever he wanted. “Appreciate that.”

  Her gaze softened. “In spite of his behavior, Rascal is a sweet boy.”

  Was his owner sweet? Best not to think about that. Her. Not when she had a bodyguard dog who probably wouldn’t appreciate any man getting close.

  Bryce eyed the beast warily. “A sweet boy with pointy, sink-into-flesh teeth.”

  “As long as you’re not wearing Eau de Bacon, you should be fine.”

  He’d give her points for having a sense of humor. Not that he was keeping score. “Should, not will?”

  She grinned. “Well, how am I supposed to know if you’re a bacon lover who also moisturizes with cheese fondue? But no worries if you are. I have a tight grip on Rascal’s leash. He’s not going anywhere, but I think he jumped on you because he likes you.”

  Bryce didn’t quite know what to make of Dakota or her wild dog, but he found himself smiling and enjoying their conversation. “Well, I did have a BLT for lunch.”