Chapter Five #2
Amy, who’d already fed Robin his yogurt and applesauce, broke off a piece of a freshly glazed currant scone and handed it to Robin.
Concentrating hard, he used his uncoordinated fingers to get a piece of the scone into his month. His eyes popped wide. “Num.”
“Want some more?”
He nodded vigorously and they all laughed. Amy tried not to feed him too much sugar, but how could she deny him scones fresh from the oven? At least these were home-baked, with none of the additives or preservatives found in packaged treats.
It was a nice relaxing moment in a busy day, and Amy felt trepidatious when she heard footsteps approaching from the hall. Please let this be Chet, home early from his work. Or maybe her brother?
Instead, Gibson Adlington entered the dining room. As always, he was dressed neatly in slacks and a button-down shirt. But his dark hair was ruffled, and his characteristic frown was deeper than usual. Arms held oddly behind his back, he crossed the room to the kitchen entrance.
“Do you have a rodent problem at Bramble House?” he asked.
“No,” Amy said quickly. “Of course not.”
“Then why did I find this in my bathtub right now?” And from behind his back, with fingers protected by a wad of tissues, he pulled out a dead mouse, which he was holding by the tail.
As luck would have it, Larkin and her grandmother picked that moment to come home from lunch, followed immediately by the Kettles. Hearing the commotion in the dining room, they came investigating, stopping short at the sight of the limp, pathetic mouse dangling from Gibson’s fingers.
“Cat!” Robin exclaimed, pointing at the dead creature.
“Not quite, sweetheart,” Amy said faintly as she delved in a drawer for a sturdy plastic bag. When she found one, she held it under the mouse and Gibson dropped it, along with the tissues. Carefully Amy secured the bag and put it outside on a mound of snow, to go in the garbage bin later.
“We’ve never had something like this happen before,” she told her guests. “Gibson, I’m so sorry. I’ll ask Ella to have your bathroom disinfected right away.”
“Ella’s left for the day,” Shelley said quietly. “But I can do it.”
“Thank you,” Amy said gratefully. “Again, Gibson, I do apologize. We’ll comp this evening’s stay. Something like this should never have happened.”
“To be honest, I’d be checking out if it wasn’t Christmas,” Gibson said. “I’m sure every decent hotel, and bed and breakfast, in Marietta is full.”
Amy wanted to groan. What was going on here? So many things seemed to be going wrong. At first, they were minor problems, like the overbaked cookies. But now this. Why did that mouse have to pick Gibson’s bathtub? She was sure any of her other guests would have been more understanding.
*
When Larkin suggested walking the short distance to the chocolate shop that evening, Carson readily agreed. He’d been surprised to learn all the guests at the B & B had signed up for the event, except Kris. The Kettles and Gibson had already left, the Kettles in their upscale sedan, Gibson on foot.
The moon was just a thin crescent, but most houses had festive Christmas lights, which, in addition to the streetlamps, provided more than adequate illumination for walking.
The air was crisp and cold, scented lightly with woodsmoke and faint notes of Christmas baking.
Carson wanted badly to take Larkin’s hand.
But she had both of them buried deep in the pockets of her puffy red coat.
He wondered if she would have preferred staying back with her grandmother.
“Your grandmother seems to be doing a little matchmaking,” he commented.
Larkin gave a dry laugh. “You think? I’m sorry. Making chocolate, or doing anything in a kitchen, is probably not your idea of a good time.”
Anything he got to do with Larkin would be his idea of a good time. But Carson played it cool. “I’m not a bad cook. If it can be made on a barbecue or a cast-iron frying pan, I’m golden.”
“I don’t think we’ll be using either of those tonight. If you want to beg off—”
He didn’t, but he suspected she did. “If we’re going to be friends again, this is a good place to start, don’t you think?
” He paused at the storefront for Copper Mountain Chocolates.
The front window display was a chocolate lover’s paradise.
The feature was a huge cornucopia overflowing with assorted artisanal molded chocolates, each of which looked like a mini piece of art.
“Can you imagine what that cornucopia must cost?” Larkin asked, in awe. “It would make a terrific centerpiece for Christmas dinner.”
“My brothers and I would probably destroy it.”
A gust of wind reminded them that they were still outside. Carson opened the door, and they were greeted with the delicious aromas of chocolate, caramel, and vanilla, and also a tall dark-haired man wearing a copper apron over jeans and a black T-shirt.
“Hi, I’m Austin. Are you here for the chocolate-making class?”
“We are. Carson Wilcox and Larkin Carrillo.”
“Got you on our list,” Austin said, checking their names off with a felt pen. “Head on to the back where you can wash your hands and put on your aprons. Sage is almost ready to start.”
The cooking classes were held in the back of the chocolate shop in the large kitchen area.
Carson assumed Sage was the woman at the front of the room with red hair in a thick braid, and a copper-colored apron over her tall, slender frame.
When he met her gaze, the woman smiled at him and waved him forward.
“Come on in, everyone. There’s a sink for washing your hands at the back, and we should have enough aprons for everyone.
You’ll see we have eight cooking stations, so we’ll need two people at each station.
Gibson and Janice, you’ve both come as singles so do you mind sharing?
Beside the ingredients, each cooking station should have a hot plate, a marble slab, small pot and glass bowl, and finally a thermometer, which we’ll use for tempering our chocolate. ”
“Why do we want the chocolate to have tempers?” Carson couldn’t resist asking.
Larkin rolled her eyes, but she also laughed.
They claimed the station next to Marjorie and Peter Kettles. Larkin placed her crossover bag on one of the stools at the station, then followed him to the back of the room to wash their hands.
Carson hesitated before slipping the apron over his head.
“Not macho enough for you?” Larkin teased.
She’d called it. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Oh, come on. Be a good sport.” She took the apron and slung it around his neck, standing on her toes to reach.
“Like roping a calf,” he quipped.
“That’s not so bad, right?”
“Just don’t take any pictures. My brothers would never let me hear the end of it.” His spirit was buoyed when Larkin laughed. Was it his imagination or was Larkin actually starting to enjoy herself?
They returned to their station, and Carson looked over the equipment, feeling a little lost. “Hey, where’s the cast-iron skillet? You’re going to have to cover for me, Lark.”
“I’ve got you,” she promised. Then she bumped his hip to get his attention and said quietly, “Do you see Gibson? He’s actually talking to the woman Sage partnered him with.”
Carson took a casual look around the room, eventually landing on Gibson and an older woman with her gray hair pulled up in a bun. Sure enough they were chatting in what seemed to be a convivial manner. Something the woman said actually made Gibson laugh.
“I haven’t been able to get more than three words out of that guy since he checked in,” Carson whispered.
“Me either. He almost looks like a nice guy when he smiles. Did you hear he found a dead mouse in his bathtub this afternoon?”
Carson chuckled. “Chet told me. Serves the guy right.”
“I wouldn’t laugh. If he mentions the mouse in an online review, that could really hurt Amy’s future bookings.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“You can bet Amy has.”
Promptly at seven Sage began the class. She explained about tempering chocolate. Why they needed to do it and then how to do it. It all went over Carson’s head, frankly. He was too busy watching Larkin, who had the same intense expression he remembered seeing during their physics class.
Glancing over at the Kettles’ station, he noticed Peter was likewise taking a hands-off approach.
When he caught the older man’s eye he winked, and Peter chuckled.
Meanwhile both Marjorie and Larkin were diligently melting a portion of their chocolate in a glass bowl that sat over a pot of boiling water.
“I’ll be like an operating room nurse,” he told Larkin. “Tell me when you need something, and I’ll pass it to you.”
“More chocolate, stat.”
He handed her several small bars.
She stirred those in then held out her hand. “Thermometer, please.”
“I don’t think surgeons say please.” He passed it over. “Personally, I think food thermometers are for sissies. Any guy worth his salt should be able to tell when a steak is done by the firmness of the meat.”
“That technique doesn’t work for chocolate.” Larkin checked the reading, then turned off the heat. “It’s time to cool the chocolate now.”
As it cooled, she stirred and stirred. Sage came by and peered into the bowl.
“That looks good, Larkin. I like the sheen.”
“She’s been following my instructions to the letter,” Carson said.
“Oh really?” Larkin offered him the spatula. “You want to take over then?”
He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m the operating nurse, not the surgeon.”
Sage laughed, then moved on to Gibson. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, is it?”
“I worked as a pastry chef at one time,” Gibson said. “But I’ve never attempted bean to bar chocolate like you do here.”
“That was definitely a trial-and-error process.” Sage laughed. “But very satisfying. If you want to stop by the store tomorrow morning, I’ll tour you around my kitchen. I’ve got some beans fermenting right now. Next step will be roasting.”
“I’d love that,” Gibson said. “What time?”
Carson could tell Larkin was as astonished as he was. Gibson was actually being pleasant, both to his cooking partner and to Sage.