Chapter 3 #3
She colored and drew back, angry with the handsome Spaniard for stirring a longing that ought to have died. Angry with herself for feeling fire where there ought to be ice.
Having made up her mind to dislike the beverage, Kyra puckered her lips as she raised the mug, determined to abstain from more than a tiny swallow.
But then she experienced the oddest sensation.
The aroma of tropical fruit and roasted spice tickled her nose, the swirling sweetness filled her lungs and caressed her cheeks.
Dizzy, she smiled in spite of her resolve. A splash fell on her tongue, hot and heady. She drew in a mouthful and downed it in a quick gulp.
He looked at her from over the rim of his own mug. “It is good, isn’t it?”
“Delicious,” she said. “I shouldn’t . . .”
“Why not? Chocolate is one of life’s little pleasures.”
Kyra froze. His smile was a reminder that life held little pleasure. Only pain and remorse.
He caught her wrist as she tried to flee. “Please, signorina. Has my faulty English once again led me to make some gaffe?”
“No, you said nothing wrong, sir.” Guilt choked her words to a mere whisper. “It’s just that I must go.”
“First finish your chocolate. My grandmother believed it was bad luck to leave a drop in the cup.”
“What would you know of bad luck?” Kyra fought back tears. “Gentlemen never have a difficulty in drinking their fill of sweet pleasures.”
“Oh, I assure you that I, too, have experienced moments when life seems too bitter to swallow. When your heart is so empty that you feel not even an ocean of chocolate would fill the void. And yet, you must try, drop by drop. Otherwise, you will drown in despair.”
Shame flooded her face. In her own self-absorbed struggle, she had momentarily forgotten about his cousin’s recent death.
“How selfish of me to imply no one else suffers from vagaries of Fortune. As I said, I am so very sorry about Jack. We shared a number of childhood adventures, and though we had seen little of each other over the past few years, I remember him as always having a smile on his face.”
“Always.” Rafael looked away to the lake. Through the fringe of dark lashes, his expression was unfathomable. “Even as he fell after taking the saber slash aimed at my head.” He raised his mug.
A salute? She watched as sunlight danced around its rim.
It seemed unfair to let him drink alone. “To Jack.”
The clink of cups broke his silence. “Yes, to Jack.” He blinked. “Who was not afraid to look the devil in the eye and laugh.”
The steam of the chocolate must have misted his gaze. How else to explain the beads of moisture beneath his eyes.
“I hear his laugh often, you know.”
Kyra nodded. “Like an echo of . . . loss.“
“For our loved ones as well as our innocence.” He lifted the chocolate to his lips. “My grandmother was very fond of a toast she learned from her Jewish friends. Laichayam. It means ‘To life.’ She heartily approved of the fact that food and drink are an integral part of such sentiment.”
“She sounds like a remarkable lady.” Kyra joined him in savoring the last piquant taste of the contessa’s special blend.
“She was.” Rafael smiled, but his voice betrayed a pinch of sadness.
Kyra sensed that the loss was more than a distant memory from the past. He sat on the edge of the bench, his hands smoothing at the dog-eared notebooks spread across the stone.
“I miss her. But in leaving the legacy of her notes and recipes, I shall always have a small part of Dona Maria with me.”
Though his words stirred a great many questions, Kyra was too shy to ask him for any details. Neither of them spoke for some time, but strangely enough, it was a companionable silence, soothing as the gentle lapping of the lake and last little swirl of chocolate at the bottom of her mug.
She made sure that not a drop was left before she set it aside. “Thank you for sharing your chocolate, sir. It was . . .”
“Unusual? Unexpected? Unique?”
“It seems you have no need for help with English vocabulary.
“But like the ingredients for cacao balls of the Paria peninsula, if they are not combined correctly, the results will be disastrous.” He made a wry face. “However, I shall just have to improvise as I go along.”
“If you still wish for me to read your chapter, I suppose I could spare a little time tomorrow.” As Kyra stole a look at the piles of paper, she could not help but add, “Cacao balls of the Paria peninsula? Surely that is a recipe of your own whimsy. I mean, chocolate is chocolate. How many different way may a beverage be served?”
“I think you may be surprised by just how many forms the magic of Theobroma cacao can take.”
Surely he was just exaggerating, she thought as she rose and took up her basket. But just one was more than enough. Surprisingly, she did feel better, though it was hard to describe how.
It was as if the gaping hole in her heart had shrunk just a tiny bit.
Drawing in a breath, she shook off the thought. That would surely be magic. And magic happened only in fairy tales, not in real life.