Chapter 2 JAMIE
The chocolate shop was hectic; it always was.
Between dealing with customers, working in the kitchen, and occasionally take a working break out in the snow to offer samples, I was literally never off my feet.
And sometimes all I wanted was to be . .
. well, on my back, knees to my chest, ass up and . . . you know the rest.
“Jamie,” my father called to me after I’d finished dealing with the handsome mustachioed man who’d come in.
There were two sections to the kitchen, one where people could stand at the window and watch as my father and older brother made these Santa models from chocolate, and the other where he stood now out of view of the public.
“Yes,” I said, dusting my hands off on my apron and smiling.
“I think you might’ve spent a little too much time with that one customer,” he said, nodding as if trying to get me to nod along in agreement. I did agree, but I’d spent a long time with him for a reason—he was attractive.
“He was looking for something in particular,” I said. “I can’t help it if a customer is picky.”
“But you can encourage them to look on their own,” he said.
“I know, I know, but I was just trying to be helpful.”
My father nodded, clicking his tongue. “You should be getting as much training in as possible. You’re an apprentice, and you’re incredibly lucky to be part of this legacy. I want great things for you and your brother.”
I also had an older sister, but she’d moved out and started teaching at some fancy college for rich people a little further north from here. “I know, and I’m going to ace the exams,” I told him. “You don’t have to worry about me, Dad.”
My mom came in behind me, and pressed her lips to my cheek and kissed me.
“Got a little lipstick on you there,” she chuckled, rubbing it in—or away with her thumb.
My mom had thick ringlets of red hair, all pulled together inside a large clip.
My dad and other siblings were all brunettes, so I think that made me Mom’s favorite.
“Rachel, I was just telling our son that he should be focused more on practicing,” my father said, trying to get my mom to add to the discourse.
“Richard, give the boy a break. Plus, I saw that he was busy in the kitchen all day.”
I nodded with her. “I was busy, and I only went outside to offer my samples. I think I brought in tons of people.”
My father stared at me over the rim of his glasses, not entertained. “Jamie, when I retire, I’m leaving this place to you and Peter.”
With a shrug, I knew I was annoying him, but my mom was by my side sticking up for me.
And it ended with the agreement that I needed to get more kitchen hours in.
I agreed with that as well, but I wasn’t as skilled as my brother and father who were able to make these intricate chocolate designs and statues.
My father started this chocolate shop back when he was in his mid-twenties and fresh out of culinary school.
Snowflake Springs wasn’t as big now as it had been, or so he told me.
When he gave the tours to people, they were always captivated by the way he spoke about the history of this place and the town.
I wondered if most of it was just to sell the chocolate to them, and I’d tried to be more like him, but I wasn’t nearly as serious.
I had a playful soul, and several stuffed teddies who could attest to that.
* * *
My phone was either broken or I’d misread the signals. If there had been any signals. That whole thing might’ve been in my head, and if that was the case, then I was probably going to need to listen to my father and really get my head in the game—the game of work.
Sitting at the end of my bed, I stared at my phone, and with it in hand, I fell back into my pile of teddies.
Living above the chocolate shop meant I was still living with my parents.
It wasn’t ideal for anything. I couldn’t invite anyone over for .
. . fun, but to my benefit, there were a lot of folk who visited during the holidays, and they were usually some of the most available and attractive people.
I’d been to the local resort and some hotels for fun with guys I’d met, but nothing stuck, and they were usually turned off by my wanting to beg, call them Daddy, and asking them to give me just the lightest spanking for my sass.
As I showered and got into a cute Christmas onesie, my mom called me for dinner. She’d made a thing of ham with mashed and roasted potatoes, carrots, and a side salad. I still carried hope that my phone would buzz, and I couldn’t carb load if I was about to . . . you know, get down.
The table was set with four plates. We weren’t a religious family, but my mom still said grace under the guise of in case it’s real. And we all gave a head bow with her.
“Jamie, tomorrow you should use the chocolate dispenser to practice on your shell work,” Peter said.
“No work talk,” my mom said. “How’s everyone been?” she asked, although she was with us all day so she knew what we’d done. “I’ll begin if nobody wants to. I’ve been good. Jamie, how about you?”
I nodded, sticking a fork into the sliced ham on my plate. “I’ve been good too.”
“Distracted,” my dad interrupted.
“Richard, come on, let Jamie speak,” my mom said.
“I have been good. It’s Christmas, it’s the best season,” I said.
My brother cleared his throat. “I would argue Easter is better, you know, with all the eggs and sales we get during that period.”
I rolled my eyes hard at him, which I hoped he could see even though we were sitting on the same side of the table. “Okay, so I’ve been fine, then.”
“No, sweetheart, you can say how you feel,” Mom said.
“Stressed,” I answered. “Dad is pushing hard, Richard is a show-off, and I’m trying to have fun wherever I can find it.”
“Good,” she said. “But no work talk. I’m glad you’ve expressed yourself, though.”
It was almost like she knew I was bubbling below the surface. My father always said my mom babied me, but I didn’t think that was true at all. She was just giving me a healthy space to process my thoughts and feelings. “Thank you.”
“I’m also doing okay,” Peter said. “I thrive on the stress, and I’ve started seeing a girl who works at the library.”
All conversation turned to Peter, which was nice, because it stopped the digs coming my way—and allowed me to eat in peace with my phone on the table, waiting to see if Logan, the mystery man, would text me.
I should’ve just asked him straight up for his number.
That might’ve solved a whole lot of this anxiety and waiting.
Usually guys who were new to town worked quick—and by quick, I meant a pump and dump.
It wasn’t ideal, I wasn’t into a casual hookups, but I had needs, and those needs were all south of the belt.
My type was older, a bit of a dominant with a soft touch, and someone who made those somewhat sickly butterflies appear.
After dinner, I went to my room—my safe space, where I could regress if I wanted. I locked my bedroom door and grabbed my special teddy from the pile on my bed.
“Hey, baby,” I said, squeezing it in my arms, and I lay in bed with it for a moment. “You think I’ll ever find someone who accepts all of me?”
The teddy didn’t respond, but my chubbed cock brushed up against the bottom of it. There was a flap on the bottom—self-made, with a fleshlight rammed inside it. To say this teddy was my favorite might’ve been an understatement, since it was the only one that was . . . you know, pleasing me.
My phone buzzed in my onesie pouch, tickling my belly.
It was him.
Hey, it’s Logan.
Immediately, no thought behind it, I responded. Hi, what took you so long?
I’ve been chasing that note all around town. It got swept away by the wind. That’s no lie. I think I got one hell of a workout in.
I giggled to myself as I rolled around on the bed in excitement over the fact he’d texted me. If it was true—which he said it was—then he’d really gone out of his way to get my number so he could text me.
I hope this isn’t too forward, but if you’re free, I’d love to see you.
I stopped rolling around in my giggles.
Sure, are you at the resort? What’s your room number? I sent.
There was silence for several moments. I didn’t know what to make of it. Had I come on too strong? It was entirely possible that he didn’t actually want to see me like that, but maybe just as a friend. Those butterflies in my belly were replaced by heavy rocks, stabbing at me.
I was thinking maybe we could go for a walk, since I’ve never been here before. I’d love for another one of your tours.
I mulled over being a tour guide as opposed to having him tour my body. It was not what I had planned, and yet, I still accepted it.
Sure. When? I asked. It was just after eight. I had to be up at six to get a start in the kitchen downstairs, because we opened at eight. So I had plenty of time.
Are you free now?
Give me ten minutes. Send me your location. It was all I needed. I wasn’t getting out of my onesie, but I would be heavily layered—the snow out there was no joke.