Chapter 8 #2
Imogen blinked, taking in the sight of him.
He looked a little windblown, cheeks red from the cold, bundled up in coat and scarf and boots.
He was grinning bemusedly at her, his green eyes twinkling, and she had a sudden startling memory of him looking at her exactly like that in high school, when he’d found her similarly lost in thought over some project or problem.
Imogen blinked, bringing herself back to the present moment, and she felt her cheeks flush a little. “I was,” she admitted. “Off daydreaming. What brought you in? Do you need another order of chocolates?”
“Well, actually, I thought you might need this.” Lincoln held up a paper to-go bag that was marked with the Snowdrift Diner logo, and set it on the counter in front of her.
The smell that wafted up was immediately recognizable and made her mouth water—roast beef, cheese, savory spices.
Some kind of hot comfort food, that was for sure, and Imogen’s stomach rumbled so loudly she blushed.
“What is it?” she asked confusedly, looking at him. “Is that lunch?”
“Yes,” Lincoln said, chuckling. “A French dip from the diner,” he added, as laid-back as if him bringing her lunch was a perfectly normal thing. “Extra au jus on the side, no horseradish on the sandwich because I remember you think it’s too spicy.”
She stared at him, genuinely perplexed. Something warmed in her chest at the fact that he remembered how she liked her sandwiches, but a more pressing question was at the forefront of her mind. “Why on earth would you assume I needed lunch?”
Lincoln grinned at her. “Well, it’s getting to be that time of year when shop owners never get to sit down, and I know you’ll forget to eat if you’re too busy.
You always did back in high school, whenever something was due and you got super focused.
And it seems like I was right,” he added.
“Seeing as how you’re close to chomping down on a peppermint stick, and I know you hate peppermint without chocolate. So my instincts were correct.”
He looked altogether satisfied with himself, and Imogen felt her face flush even deeper.
It was both disconcerting and touching to realize that he still remembered those things about her.
She would have thought he’d have forgotten them after all these years, but he had always understood her so well, even when they were just teenagers figuring out who they were.
And he’d always been kind and thoughtful.
Maybe it shouldn’t come as such a shock that he would have filed away those things about her, even if their relationship had changed so much.
“I…” she started, then stopped, looking down at the peppermint stick in her hand. “I do hate plain peppermint.”
“I remember,” he said with a smile, and something about the way he said it made Imogen quickly look up at him.
She’d forgotten just how good their relationship had been in high school—or maybe she’d wanted to, at least. She’d shoved it to some corner of her mind, because what was the point in remembering the best relationship she’d ever had when it was over?
But for a brief second, she could see the boy who used to bring her snacks during study sessions again, who had always known what to say, and always remembered her favorite things.
It was both touching and slightly overwhelming to realize that some things hadn’t changed.
“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice a little softer than she’d intended. “Really. This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. And I am starving.”
She opened the bag and was hit with another wave of the delicious, warm scent of a hot French dip.
Her stomach growled again, more insistently this time, and she started to unpack the food, hoping she could keep from wolfing it down in front of Lincoln, who appeared to be planning to hang out for a bit from the way he was leaning against the counter.
“So what has you so lost in thought that you’re eating candy you hate for lunch?
” Lincoln asked, watching as she set out the food.
Imogen separated half of it off, holding it out on a napkin to him, and he shook his head.
“I ate already. Grabbed a club sandwich from the diner and ate it on the way over.”
Imogen took a bite of the sandwich and let out a happy sound as the juicy, cheesy roast beef and soft bread melted in her mouth. It tasted like the best thing she’d ever eaten, and it was exactly what she hadn’t realized she wanted. She felt herself start to relax, just a little.
“Sweet Confections just called.”
“Right. The magazine that’s featuring you.” Lincoln cocked his head. “What did they need?”
“They want to do the photo shoot next week,” she said between bites, the words tumbling out now that she had someone to share the news with. “And they want me to create some kind of special exhibit piece. Something that will ‘wow’ their readers and be the centerpiece of the article.”
Lincoln’s face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. “That’s incredible, Imogen! You can absolutely do it. I’m glad that something like this is recognizing how talented you are.”
Imogen smiled at him between bites. “Thank you. I’m thrilled, really, but…
” She set down the sandwich and wiped her hands on a napkin.
“What am I supposed to make? It needs to be spectacular, something that will photograph beautifully and represent everything I can do as a chocolatier. No pressure at all, right?”
“Okay, let’s think about this,” Lincoln said, his expression growing more serious as he shifted into problem-solving mode.
Imogen felt that jolt of warmth in her chest again; she recognized that expression.
She remembered it. Lincoln always looked like that when he was trying to come up with a solution for…
well, anything she’d ever needed fixing back then, when they were together.
“What about… a giant chocolate sculpture? Like, life-sized?”
Imogen nearly choked on her bite of sandwich. “Life-sized of what?”
“I don’t know, a… a life-sized chocolate Christmas tree? With chocolate ornaments?”
She tried to picture it and immediately saw the logistical nightmare.
“Lincoln, how would I transport a life-sized chocolate Christmas tree? How would I build it here with so little space? How would I keep it from melting under the photo lights? How would I even make something that big without it collapsing under its own weight?”
“Right, okay, maybe not life-sized,” he said, clearly thinking hard. “What about… a chocolate replica of the town square? With little chocolate buildings and everything?”
Despite her stress, Imogen couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re very enthusiastic, but I think you’re thinking more like a Christmas display than something that would photograph well for a food magazine.”
“Fair point,” Lincoln admitted with a sheepish grin. “Maybe I’m not the one who should be helping with this. But I know you’ll figure out something amazing. You always do.”
Before Imogen could respond, the shop door chimed again, and Katie bounded in with all the energy that only a twelve-year-old could possess.
“Mom! Oh… hey, Mr. Blackwell!” Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her entire face brightened as if she’d had an idea when she saw Lincoln that completely derailed whatever prior train of thought she’d been on.
“Can we go ice skating, Mom? Please? You said maybe we could go this week, and I finished all my homework last night, and—”
“Breathe, Katie,” Imogen said with obvious amusement, although her tone was affectionate. “You want to go ice skating now?”
“Please?” Katie pouted adorably at her, clearly not at all concerned with things like store hours.
Imogen took a breath, looking around the empty shop.
No one had come in for the last twenty minutes at least, and she’d already done more than the volume she’d set as her sales goal for the day.
And she was overly stressed. Maybe a break would do her good, and it wouldn’t hurt anything if she missed out on a few customers while she stepped away for a little while.
Maybe some fresh air and a little time to think would help to clear her mind about the exhibit piece.
“You know what?” she said, making a snap decision. “That actually sounds perfect. Let me grab my coat.”
Katie let out a whoop of joy that made both adults smile, and Imogen found herself caught up in her daughter’s infectious enthusiasm. As she retrieved her winter coat from the back office and flipped the sign to indicate she’d be back in an hour, she felt some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
Lincoln went out to his truck, and Imogen and Katie followed in her SUV.
They drove over to the ice rink, which was also quiet at this time of day, the inside cold and full of the scent of pizza and other concession foods.
Imogen gave Katie a ten dollar bill, letting her run off to grab pizza and her skates, and settled in at the side of the rink to watch.
Katie came back a few minutes later, balancing a paper plate with a huge, greasy slice of pizza on it in one hand and holding her skates in the other. Imogen helped Katie lace them up, her mind still lingering on the photoshoot.
“Are you going to skate?” Katie asked as Imogen finished with the last lace.
“Maybe in a few minutes,” Imogen said. “I want to watch you for a bit first.”
As Katie pushed off onto the ice with confident strokes, Imogen found herself standing at the barrier next to Lincoln, both of them watching the girl glide gracefully around the rink. All of Katie’s time on the ice had paid off—she looked confident and natural.
“She’s really good,” Imogen observed.
“She is,” Lincoln confirmed, and Imogen could hear pride in his voice. “She’s taken to it so well. It’s like anything else she has going on just slides away and she can just focus on this one thing. Just movement and music and ice.”
“I can understand that. It’s how I feel when I’m making chocolates.” Imogen smiled. “Pretty much exactly how I feel, honestly.”
“So,” Lincoln said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “still thinking about your exhibit piece?”
“Yeah,” Imogen admitted. “It’s like it’s running on a loop in my head. Every time I think I might have an idea, I immediately see all the reasons why it won’t work.”
Lincoln turned slightly to look at her. “Well, what kinds of things have you considered?”
“Everything from elaborate truffle arrangements to chocolate sculptures to some kind of interactive dessert experience. But nothing feels right. It either seems too simple or completely impossible to execute well.”
They continued chatting as they watched Katie navigate the ice, Imogen occasionally calling out encouragement. The conversation was easy and comfortable in a way that reminded Imogen of how naturally they’d always been able to talk to each other.
“Oh!” Lincoln said suddenly, glancing over toward where several boxes were sitting near the entrance. “I wanted to show you something. Come here.”
Imogen glanced at Katie to make sure she was all right before following him over to the boxes. Lincoln unrolled a large printed photo and stretched it out.
“This is my plan for the new display for the rink this year. Everyone in Fir Tree Grove goes so overboard with decorations every holiday, I thought this year I’d join in some of it.”
Imogen peered at the photo. It was a huge North Pole display, she realized, complete with Santa’s workshop, animatronic elves, a sleigh and reindeer, and a train running behind it all. “Oh, wow!” she murmured, as she looked it over.
“Wait until you see it fully assembled,” Lincoln said with a grin. “It’s incredibly detailed. Hand-painted, multiple levels, little windows with LED lights behind them, tiny doors, presents, the whole thing. It blew my mind, honestly.”
“This is definitely going to put your display over the top,” Imogen agreed, looking it over again. And then, like lightning striking, inspiration hit her.
She could make the same sort of design out of chocolate.