Celebration's Baby. Nancy Thompson Robards
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Maya glanced around the room. “I suppose it does look rather empty in here, doesn’t it?” She sighed and went behind the wrap stand. “Alas, the increased demand for chocolate has forced me to be less hands-on with the manufacturing process. I still make some special made-to-order candy—like this batch I made especially for you this morning.”
She presented a three-tiered glass-and-silver dessert plate brimming with confections in various shapes and colors. Bia’s mouth watered at the sight.
“I thought I smelled chocolate in the air. But then I worried that I’d simply imagined it.”
Maya laughed. “It is a lovely fragrance, isn’t it? Some say the mere smell of chocolate causes a woman’s body to release hormones that simulate the feeling of falling in love.”
“Ha! All of the feelings and none of the heartache,” Bia said. “Sounds like the perfect relationship. I just wish chocolate didn’t love me back so much. It tends to stay with me. You know, right here.” She patted her left hip.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you are reed-thin. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Gosh, makes chocolates, gives compliments...I think you and I could be good friends.”
Maya’s eyes shone. “I certainly hope so.”
“You will have chocolate for the grand opening, won’t you?” Bia asked.
Maya nodded. “Of course. I was fortunate enough to find a stateside manufacturer who was able to duplicate my family recipe in bulk, the one my grandmother used to start the business three generations ago. The candy for the shelves and case will be delivered the day before we open. That way it will be as fresh as can be. We’ll have to work extra hard to get everything in place, but it will be worth it.”
Maya gestured toward the plate. “But please, don’t let me detain you. Help yourself.”
Reverently, Bia approached the manna. She paused to give the illusion of self-control, so that it didn’t look as if she was about to bury her face in all that deliciousness. But then she found herself genuinely appreciating the sheer artistry of Maya’s offering.
Yes, this definitely could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
Maya placed a silver cocktail napkin on the counter next to Bia. She also produced a small crystal pitcher of water, a matching glass and a plate containing bread, crackers and apple slices.
“What is this?” Bia asked.
“These are the palate cleansers for the chocolate tasting,” Maya said. “To fully discern the differences between the chocolates, you must cleanse your palate between each tasting.”
Oh. Bia suddenly felt a little out of her element. “You treat chocolate like some people treat wine?”
“Pourquoi pas?” Maya asked.
“You’re right. Why not?”
“May I recommend that you start with the chocolates on the first tier? It has a lower percentage of cocoa and a milder taste. The chocolate on the upper tier will overpower those on the bottom. I suggest you let the chocolate melt on your tongue rather than chewing it, and in between different bites, enjoy a bit of apple or bread washed down by the water. That way you will taste all the nuances of each piece.”
Maya gestured to the plate and gave Bia a few more tips on how to proceed: to observe the chocolate, to smell it and to break it, feeling the way the pieces of solid chocolate snapped, before finally tasting it. Those were all indicators of good quality.
Finally, she said, “That is enough instruction. Please enjoy.”
Bia started to choose a chocolate from the bottom, but she paused. “Will there be a quiz when I’m finished?”
Maya laughed her perfect, crystal laugh. Bia breathed in deeply, savoring the mélange of scents from the plate. For the first time in a long time, a sense of peace and well-being washed over her.
“Only questions about which are your favorites,” Maya answered.
“It’s all gorgeous. I’m sure they will all be delicious.”
First, she selected what looked like a classic chocolate truffle dusted with cocoa powder. She bit into it, and flavor exploded on her tongue. She closed her eyes and had to make a conscious effort not to let a moan escape.
Oh, Maya was wrong. This chocolate didn’t simulate love; it was better. Way better. Better than kissing. Better than sex.
Oh, my God, I’m in public and I’m making virtual love to a French truffle. And I don’t care.
She opened her eyes, and her gaze automatically found the dessert plate. She was tempted to pluck up another piece—a handful—even before she had finished the first. Somehow she managed to restrain herself.
She popped the rest of the first truffle into her mouth. She had the same urge to moan over the chocolate. It was too good. So she quit fighting and gave in to the unadulterated pleasure.
Finally, after blissfully indulging in several pieces from each level, Bia forced herself to take a step back. She had to put some space between herself and her vice. If she didn’t, she was going to eat too much. Although, with the lingering flavors of chocolate, orange, cinnamon and cloves teasing her taste buds, that seemed unlikely. With one last wistful glance at the candy, she said, “That was delicious, Maya. I wish I could say I’d eaten myself sick, but I think I may want more later.”
“And you say that like it’s a bad thing?”
The two laughed like old friends.
“Your decor looks exquisite. Who did your decorating?”
Maya beamed. “Thank you. I did it myself. I tried to give the front of the house a similar feel to my shop in St. Michel. Similar, but maybe a touch more modern. More American. I wanted it to feel like home, since I will be spending a great deal of time here.”
“Let’s see,” Bia said, flipping through her reporter’s notebook, searching for the brief bio she’d gathered on Maya. “You’re from St. Michel in Europe. Are you moving to Celebration?”
Maya stopped, considering the question. “I will be here for the time being. Because my heart is telling me Celebration is where I belong right now, especially while I am getting the new location off the ground. I must make sure it does well.”
Bia jotted down more notes and anecdotes for use in her story. “Who is looking after your St. Michel shop while you’re away?”
“I have promoted my assistant, Grace, to the managerial position. If anyone knows the shop as well as I do, Grace does. I trust that the place is in good hands.”
Maya paused again, as if weighing her words. “As you can imagine, the Celebration location will need much tender loving care while I get the business off the ground.”
Bia nodded. “I’m curious, though. Why in the world did you choose Celebration, Texas, as the location of your first U.S. retail store? I mean, no offense to this town. It’s a great place. It’s my home. But of all the places in the world...why Celebration?”
Maya’s eyes shone as she regarded Bia, and for the first time Bia noticed that the older woman’s eyes were a gorgeous shade of hazel infused with intriguing flecks of amber and green, accentuated by the color of her skirt. The same mossy color was also echoed in the silk scarf that she had artfully arranged around her neck. Leave it to the French, Bia mused. They could create something enchanted out of a yard of silk and a bolt of tulle.
Maya’s hair was magical, too. Bia’s hair, when left to its natural devices, was almost as curly as Maya’s. But Bia straightened hers since it never wanted to do the same thing twice. A few months ago, she’d opted for a keratin treatment so she wouldn’t have to fight with it during the humid days of summer. It was only May, but the oppressive damp-heat days