“Gloves are there; dipsticks are here,” she said, pointing to each. “These are to temper chocolate.”
I slid on the gloves and picked up a stick, wholly unsure what to do with it. I eyed the fruit. I’d use the skewer to dip the fruit in chocolate, obviously, but…how? Probably there was some secret candy maker method.
“You’ll want to skewer from the top,” she said, donning her own gloves and stabbing a strawberry through the hull. “Then dip once, pull it out and let it harden, then dip it again.” She demonstrated quickly. “Then set them over here on the parchment paper. Once you get a few dozen done, I’ll show you how to decorate them.”
“I can do that,” I said, beaming at her. She patted my shoulder and went back up front while I got to work.
It was a simple job, but I was grateful for the opportunity to help the shop in a meaningful way. Everything needed to be done, so I didn’t mind taking the easy work off the professionals’ plates.
I picked up a strawberry, skewered through it, and stabbed my thumb with the sharp end of the stick, ripping my glove.
I sighed, tossed the berry, the stick and the gloves into the trash, and started over. I thought the next berry got skewered properly, but then it fell off the stick into the pot of chocolate…along with the next three.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was nervous; that was all. This was not going to turn into anI Love Lucyepisode. I just needed to focus.
Stick. Berry. Dip. Pull. Dip.
“Yes!” I cried as I stared at the perfectly dipped strawberry on my skewer. Relief flooded me as I realized I wasn’t a completeidiot. I turned to set the berry on the parchment paper, but I had to use my fingers to slide it off. Naturally, my hand slipped, leaving a perfect thumb indention in the coating on the strawberry. Dang it!
It took me almost a half hour, but finally, I got my head around the process and was happily dipping berries by the time Maple returned to check on me.
“How’s it going?” she asked. She glanced down at the tray of about a dozen completed berries, and her brows furrowed.
“Um, good,” I answered. “I’m getting the hang of it.”
“That’s lovely,” she said kindly.
My stomach dropped as I realized she was placating me. She’d given me the easiest job in the entire shop, and I was screwing it up.
“I’m sorry,” I told her.
“Whatever for?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I said.
My eyes burned, and I blinked hard against the tears trying to burst free. Disappointing Maple seemed like disappointing my grandma.
“Oh, honey.” She pulled me into her arms, hugging me tightly, and I stood there with my hands outstretched, not wanting to get chocolate on her clothes as I fought not to cry on her shoulder. “You’re doing wonderfully.”
I sniffled as I pulled back and wiped a tear away on the back of my gloved hand. She was so kind. Micha was right. Maple was a very special lady.
“No one is expecting you to come out of the gate at a sprint, my darling girl,” she continued. “These people have been doing this for years. It takes time to get your rhythm.”
“I don’t have time,” I insisted, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. “But I can do this.”
“I know you can,” she agreed. “I’ll just…leave you to it.”
She walked away again, and I changed my gloves. Determined to succeed, I got back to work. Since I mostly had the hang of it, things moved more quickly. I wasn’t exactly ready forThe Great British Baking Show, but I had strawberries, damn it, and I could probably be okay onNailed It.
“Good morning!” Micha chirped happily as he waltzed through the shop’s back door around seven-thirty. I smiled at him, my breath catching. He looked…delicious. More delicious than my chocolate-covered strawberries. As he hung his coat on the hook, I studied his wide shoulders and the way his green shirt hugged the lines of his nicely muscled torso. My gaze drifted down to his slim hips and firm ass before I snapped my attention back up. I met his eyes as he turned.
“Hey, good morning,” I answered, smiling at him as if i hadn’t totally been checking him out. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought maybe you could use help,” he said, heading directly to the sink to wash his hands.
“Did Maple call you?” I asked, narrowing my gaze at him. It seemed possible. She’d seen how inept I was.
“No,” he said, his voice raising in a way that told me otherwise.
