Bittersweet Valentine (Valentine’s Sweethearts)

Chapter Three

Kandi

The spiced ganache was just starting to set when Sophie gasped, nearly dropping the piping bag she was holding. "Oh my goodness—is that him?"

I kept my eyes fixed on my work, carefully stirring the cooling chocolate. "I assume you mean Roman Archer?"

"He's gorgeous," Sophie whispered, abandoning all pretense of working. "How did you not tell me your ex looked like that?"

"Because it's not relevant." I tapped the spatula against the bowl, noting with satisfaction how the ganache held its shape. Perfect consistency. "He's here as a judge, nothing more."

But I couldn't help stealing a glance through the window. Roman stood across the street with Liam Parker, their breath fogging in the winter air as they talked. Ten years had been kind to him—his dark hair shorter now, styled in that carefully casual way that probably cost more than my first set of chocolate molds. The boyish charm I remembered had matured into something more polished, more sophisticated. His wool coat and leather briefcase screamed big-city success, a far cry from the teenager who'd written restaurant reviews for the school paper.

"He's looking this way," Sophie reported, her voice rising with excitement. "Should I wave? No, that would be weird. Should we pretend we don't see him? What's the protocol for ex-boyfriends who become famous food critics?"

"The protocol," I said firmly, reaching for the cayenne pepper, "is to focus on our work. The morning rush will start soon, and these displays won't fill themselves."

I measured the spice carefully, adding it to the cream I was heating for my next batch of ganache. The competition piece I had planned would tell a story through flavor—starting sweet and familiar, then building to something bolder. Something that would make the judges, especially one particular judge, sit up and take notice.

The bell above the door chimed, and Eleanor Pembrooke bustled in, her silver hair dusted with snow. "Good morning, ladies! I need your expert opinion on something."

She set a large arrangement of red and white roses on the counter, their perfume mixing with the chocolate-scented air. "For the Valentine's display. I'm thinking of adding some of your chocolate roses to complement the real ones. What do you think?"

I welcomed the distraction, moving to examine the arrangement. Eleanor had been one of my first allies when I'd opened The Chocolate Hart, regularly incorporating my chocolates into her flower arrangements. We'd built quite a business doing wedding favors together—her flowers and my chocolates creating perfect matrimonial memories.

"Beautiful work, Eleanor." I studied the composition, already imagining how chocolate roses in varying stages of bloom would enhance the display. "I can do dark and white chocolate roses, maybe some with gold leaf detail?"

"Perfect!" She clapped her hands together. "And speaking of perfect timing..." She glanced meaningfully toward the window where Roman had been standing. "Quite the coincidence, him coming back now."

"It's not a coincidence," I corrected, returning to my workbench. "He's here to judge the competition. That's all."

"Mmhmm." Eleanor's knowing smile said she didn't believe me for a second. "Well, whatever the reason, it should make for an interesting Valentine's season. Nothing like a second chance at first love to warm up these cold Vermont nights."

"There won't be any second chances," I said, perhaps too quickly. "Roman made his choice ten years ago. And I've made mine. This is my home now, my business. I'm not that lovesick teenager anymore."

"No," Eleanor agreed, her voice gentler now. "You're not. You're a successful businesswoman who's built something wonderful here. Which is exactly why this might be the perfect time for paths to cross again. You're equals now, dear. Both accomplished in your fields, both sure of who you are."

Before I could respond, the door chimed again. This time, the winter air that swept in carried a hint of familiar cologne, and my hands stilled on the ganache bowl. I didn't need to look up to know who had entered.

"Good morning," Roman said, his voice deeper than I remembered. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Eleanor's smile brightened. "Roman Archer! Welcome home." She gathered up her flower arrangement. "I was just leaving. Kandi, I'll need those chocolate roses by Tuesday, if possible?"

"Of course," I managed, still not looking up from my work. "I'll start them tomorrow."

"Perfect!" Eleanor headed for the door, pausing briefly beside Roman. "It's good to see you back where you belong," she said softly, though not softly enough that I couldn't hear. Then she was gone, leaving behind the scent of roses and an awkward silence.

I forced myself to keep working, carefully piping ganache into the chocolate shells I'd prepared earlier. Each movement was precise, practiced, professional. I wasn't that teenager anymore, nervous around her first crush. I was a chocolatier in my own shop, preparing for the biggest competition of the year.

"Your technique has improved," Roman said, moving closer to watch me work. "Though it was always impressive."

"That's what happens when you spend years training in Europe." I kept my voice neutral, professional. "Was there something specific you needed, Mr. Archer? The competition meeting isn't until three."

"Mr. Archer?" He let out a soft laugh. "Come on, Kandi. We've known each other since kindergarten."

"Exactly." I set down my piping bag, finally meeting his gaze. Those blue eyes were just as striking as I remembered, though they held something new now—a hint of uncertainty that the teenage Roman would never have shown. "We have history. Which is why you should probably assign another judge for the competition."

"I'm perfectly capable of being objective." He moved closer, studying the rows of perfectly formed truffles in my display case. "The competition guidelines are clear, the judging criteria established. Personal history won't factor into it."

"Won't it?" I reached for a fresh piping bag, needing something to do with my hands. "You didn't seem very objective about my chocolate experiments in high school."

A smile tugged at his lips. "As I recall, you were trying to convince me that wasabi and white chocolate were a natural pairing."

"They are, in the right proportions." Despite myself, I felt an answering smile forming. "You just didn't have an adventurous palate back then."

"And now?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning beyond chocolate preferences. I busied myself with cleaning my workspace, buying time to steady my voice.

"I guess we'll find out during the innovation round," I said finally. "I assume you've reviewed the competition format?"

"Three rounds over two weeks." He nodded, professional mode engaging. "Technical skills first—basic chocolate work, tempering, ganache preparation. Then innovation, where contestants can showcase their creativity. Finally, the signature piece that will be displayed during the Valentine's festival."

"Correct." I moved to the sink to wash my tools, maintaining physical distance. "So you understand why having an emotional connection to one of the contestants might be problematic?"

Roman was quiet for a moment, and I could feel his gaze on my back. When he spoke, his voice was softer, more like the boy I'd known. "The emotional connection ended ten years ago, Kandi. We're both professionals now."

I turned to face him, gripping the edge of the sink. "Did it? End?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still the guy who walked away from everything we planned. Who decided his career was more important than…" I caught myself, straightening my spine. "Never mind. You're right. We're professionals. And I have work to do before the meeting."

Something flickered in his eyes—regret? Frustration? But his voice remained steady. "For what it's worth, I've followed your career. Reviews of your work in Brussels, the features in food magazines. You've built something remarkable here."

"I have," I agreed, turning back to my workbench. "No thanks to your reviews, which have been noticeably absent."

"I couldn't review your work," he said quietly. "It wouldn't have been fair. To either of us."

The admission hung in the air between us, a tacit acknowledgment that whatever he claimed about objectivity, our history still affected his choices. Still mattered.

"Well," I said, reaching for the cayenne pepper, "you'll have to review it now. I hope you're ready for something a little... spicier than you remember."

He watched me measure out the cayenne, his expression unreadable. "Is that a warning or a promise?"

"Consider it both." I met his gaze steadily. "The competition starts Monday. Three rounds, three chances to show exactly what I've learned in the past ten years. I suggest you prepare your palate accordingly."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Looking forward to it." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "For what it's worth, Kandi? I always knew you'd do amazing things. I just didn't expect you to do them here."

"That was your mistake," I said softly. "Thinking there was nothing amazing to be found in Kings Valley."

After he left, I stood at my workbench, staring at the spices lined up before me. The cayenne seemed to glow in the morning light, bold and challenging. Like a dare. Like a second chance.

Sophie emerged from the back room where she'd been pretending not to eavesdrop. "So... that was intense."

I laughed despite myself. "That wasn't intense. That was just the warm-up." I reached for the dark chocolate, already planning my competition pieces. "Wait until he tastes what I have planned for the innovation round."

"Are you really going to spike his chocolate with cayenne?"

"Not his specifically." I smiled, measuring out the cocoa. "But every judge will taste every entry. And I intend to make sure he remembers every bite."

The morning light streamed through my windows, catching on the gold lettering that spelled out The Chocolate Hart. My heart. My home. My choice.

Roman Archer might be back in Kings Valley, might even be judging my work, but I wasn't that starry-eyed teenager anymore. I was a chocolatier who knew exactly what she wanted.

And what I wanted was to win this competition on my own terms.

The fact that it might make Roman Archer's taste buds tingle in the process? Well, that was just the cherry on top.

Or in this case, the cayenne in the ganache.