Chapter Ten
FESTIVALS WERE NOTHING new to me.
Growing up in Germany, we had our fair share of celebrations from the famed Oktoberfest in Munich to the Cologne Carnival/Kolner Karnival to the charming Cannstatter Volksfest. We have rock, music and film festivals.
We Germans enjoy our parties as much as the next country.
This little Founders Day festivity was incredibly homey.
No, it was not on par with our Oktoberfest, not by several miles, but the small-town American charm of the goings-on could not be denied.
Edgar and I arrived around noon. The day was warm, not overly hot, with a sky the shade of a certain chocolatier’s eyes.
Those same eyes that had haunted me nightly.
Hell, they haunted me daily as well. Haider’s accusation had sliced deep.
I’d opted to maintain a distance to let things cool.
The same philosophy had been applied to Opa.
I’d not replied to his calls for the past three days.
His head was likely to explode soon. Good.
I was upset with him for his refusal to try to approach this Harmony Chocolates predicament from a different angle.
Sometimes, in order to acquire that which you sought, one must be willing to bend.
Bend was a word my grandfather was unfamiliar with.
Gladly, I was not. Modern business required being able to think outside the box.
And to that end I had spent the last three days recalibrating not only the business aspect of this potential acquisition but the personal side of it.
With time to mull, and apply liberal amounts of self-bolstering balm to my wounded ego, I’d arrived at a crossroads of sorts.
Today, with the blessings of a few deities, I would be able to move forward.
One way or another. Things with Haider would either be resolved and we would see where this wild mutual attraction took us or we would resume our previous relationship.
I was hoping we would be able to work past the rather large chocolate elephant in the room and try to romance each other.
That, of course, would be up to him. All I could do was lay out my current proposal and see if he was interested in a joint venture. Perhaps it would do me good to stop thinking of Haider and I as if we were a merger.
“You seem lost in thought again, Phillip,” Edgar said at my side.
I nodded. He’d sat through a few days of me pacing, muttering, and fussing over options.
His steady aura, as well as the cups of coffee and rich butter cake he brought me every afternoon, had been a boon.
“I’m sure the new train of thought will suit Mr. Gray once he hears it. ”
“Perhaps.” We strolled down Main Street, both dressed casually, stopping to purchase little trinkets from each booth in the name of supporting small businesses.
Despite the accusations of my being a money-grubbing millionaire I did believe in a thriving economy for all entrepreneurs.
I just wanted my company to thrive the most. If that made me a tycoon or magnate then I could wear that title with pride.
We took our time, spending money liberally, even stopping at the booths of the maple syrup farm, the woodworker, and the local fire company.
Each of those three stalls were decidedly chilly, which was funny for a firefighter tent.
I donated generously to the Caldwell Crossing Fire Department.
Conor, protective friend of Haider number one thanked me curtly.
The firehouse dog, and charming spotted Dalmatian name Eldi, was much happier to see me.
The maple man, Sam by name, sold me some maple syrup in a pretty glass decanter but he was not overly happy about it.
And the woodworker, Ryan, looked as if he had been sucking lemons when I bought two beautifully carved wooden roses.
“The details of the petals are incredible,” I said as I held one up to inspect it. “I’d like to buy both of them please.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. I could see the wheels spinning.
It occurred to me that this man seemed more possessive of Haider than the other two mama hens clucking around the local candymaker.
Could he be jealous? I could only assume that Haider had discussed us with his lifelong friends.
Did he mention our night of passion? If so, was this handsome artisan feeling envious?
“They’re a hundred dollars each,” Ryan said as a polka band began to play on the bandstand by city hall.
The beat and tempo reminded me of home. I paid the man in American currency and smiled warmly as he carefully pulled out tissue paper and small gift bags.
“Oh, no need to wrap them. I will present them to their intended recipients shortly.” His brows dropped into a V but he handed them over.
“Thank you. It’s nice to see such craftsmanship thriving in this community. Continue the good work.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted as he studied me closely.
You’d think a rabid badger was standing in front of him dressed in thin tan chinos, a raspberry polo, and white sneakers.
as opposed to a pleasant man. Someday I would have to figure out how to win them over, that is if I could win over the slim man with the auburn curls. First things first as they say.
“Happy Founders Day,” I tacked on then moved into the crowds.
Adults and children packed the street, which had been closed down from one red light to the other.
A parade had come through earlier, filled with local high school bands, the fire company engines plus an antique fire engine that was quite the draw, and a pet parade led by the mayor who walked alongside his Yorkie.
The stalls were busy, the smells of various foods from fried onions to cotton candy wafted past, luring people to various food trucks parked along the curb.
“Would you like me to take our purchases back to the car?” Edgar asked ten minutes later as I finalized a purchase of a beautifully bound leather journal. I did love to jot things down in a notebook. This one had detailed carvings of trees.
“Please, yes, thank you.” He had quite the armful. “I’m going to buy some chocolate now.”
His eyebrows rose but he said nothing. He knew my plans.
“Very good. I’ll be back shortly.” We’d parked several blocks away at a church asking ten dollars per car to park.
A fair price I felt. Once Edgar was off with our packages, I took a moment to pull up all the charm I possessed before I made my way to the Harmony Chocolates stall.
Bright blue eyes followed me as I neared.
A fizzle of attraction bloomed in my chest. Haider, Crocus, and Capucine watched me close the distance; each face etched with a different expression.
Crocus seemed wary, Capucine seemed pleased, and Haider appeared to be on the verge of bolting at the slightest provocation.
“Good day Harmony Chocolates,” I said as I stepped up to the table. The displays were quite nicely done, I could see Capucine’s touch in the delicacy of the candy placement. The French have an eye for fashionable table settings.
“Bon jour, Herr Brauning,” Capucine replied then fluttered a hand to her throat as I presented her with a wooden rose. “How lovely, thank you.”
“A rose for a rose,” I cooed as I bowed ever so slightly.
Then, with a smile that I hoped said how truly happy I was to see him, I offered the ash rose to Haider.
He seemed torn. Then, as if he were reaching out to pluck a necklace off a rattlesnake’s neck, he lifted the stem from between my fingers.
“And a flower for the most beautiful man on Main Street.”
Haider blushed the same shade of crimson as the red chocolate-covered cherries.
“Well, that is most charming,” Capucine said as Haider stood there gawking. “I find that I am parched. Herr Brauning, will you walk with me to the lemonade stand by the library?”
“Mamie, Crocus can get you something to—” Haider began.
Capucine stepped out of the booth, came round the stall, and took my arm.
“Make sure to include the coupons with each sale,” she called over her shoulder as she led me away from the man I had come here to speak with.
Not that I would dare refuse the grand dame.
She was a vision with her silver hair neatly curled and pinned, a summery dress of palest green, dark green sandals, and the yellow shawl I had gifted her with what seemed like years ago. “Now come. We will talk.”
I gave Haider one last look as I was pulled into the Founder’s Day crowds. He was gorgeous. Pale skin, curls playing in the wind, his mouth slightly open. I wanted to peel him out of that green apron and soft jeans then lay him down on a fluffy coverlet so I could lose myself in his perfection.
Capucine made small talk as we weaved through packs of children with balloons or noisemakers, dogs on leashes, and adults chatting while sipping wine slushies from the local vineyards stall.
Once I had bought the lady her lemonade, and one for myself at her insistence, we found a seat on the village green facing the small fountain dedicated to World War I veterans.
It was quieter here, cooler. Several couples were seated in the shade, many elderly, smiling and sipping cool drinks as they enjoyed the antics of the children racing about the fountain.
“This is most refreshing if not a little too sweet,” Capucine commented in French.
I followed suit as my French was quite good even if my German inflections did linger on certain words. “I prefer mine with some tart myself,” I said as I sat back and crossed one leg over the other.