Celebration's Baby. Nancy Thompson Robards
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comes to pairing up others, it doesn’t work so well for me personally.”
“So, does this intuitive gift of yours carry over into other areas? Would you go as far as saying you have the gift of second sight?”
Maya laughed. “If I had the second sight, I would’ve already won the lottery. I wouldn’t be agonizing over rollout budgets and marketing campaigns. But that’s strictly off the record, oui?”
“Fair enough,” said Bia. “Back to the business of chocolate. I understand this is the first of two new Maya’s Chocolates that you’re opening stateside. Where will the other location be?”
“I want to get the one here in Celebration off the ground, and then I’ll look into opening another, possibly in New York. However, it’s important that I ensure the fiscal health of the current locations. Especially the one in St. Michel. That’s where my grandmother started the business. It has been a fixture in downtown St. Michel for three generations. All of the recipes have been passed down through the years from mother to daughter.”
“And will you continue the tradition?”
Maya nodded.
“Do you have children?”
For a fraction of a second, Bia thought she saw a shade of sadness color Maya’s eyes.
“Come with me,” Maya said. “I want to show you something.”
The woman led the way to the kitchen, which was hidden behind a double-layered curtain made of silver gossamer backed by heavy white satin. When Maya parted the drapes, allowing Bia her first glimpse behind the scenes, Bia half expected she would glimpse the great and powerful Oz or some other secret to which mere mortals weren’t privy. If they were, wouldn’t every chocoholic have her own in-home chocolatier?
But when Bia stepped over the threshold, she didn’t see anything that looked extraordinary. In fact, the kitchen, with its sterile stainless-steel countertops and run-of-the-mill industrial sink, refrigerator and gas range, looked quite...ordinary. Well, with the exception of the gleaming copper pots hanging on a rack over the sink, and the adorable pink-and-black box that was festively tied with a ribbon and waiting on the counter. Bia eyed the package.
It looked like a box of Maya’s famous chocolate.
For her to take home? She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking the question out loud.
As if Maya had read her mind, she picked up the package and handed it to Bia. “This is for you.”
“Ah, thank you,” Bia said.
She gestured around the kitchen with a motion of her hand. “So this is where the magic happens?”
Pride straightened Maya’s already admirable posture. “Oui. My mother and grandmother passed on those copper pots over there. That’s what I wanted to show you. The recipes are proprietary, guarded jealously and handed down through the generations with the copper pots and the family Bible, from mother to daughter to granddaughter.”
She walked over and took down one of the three gleaming vessels, running the pads of her manicured fingers lovingly over its shiny surface. “My grandmother gave them to my mother, and, in turn, my mother gave them to me. Everything in this shop is brand-new, but I brought these with me as a symbol of the past, to remind me of the importance of family. I use them to make special smaller batches. Personal chocolates. Like those you sampled earlier and the box you will take home.”
“Thank you,” Bia said.
But the burning question, the one that Maya had quite deftly skirted, was the one about children. While Bia hated to assume, she couldn’t bring herself to press Maya for an answer. Wasn’t it obvious? If Maya had an heir, she would’ve said so. Judging by the look on her face when Bia had originally asked the question, she knew she’d struck a nerve. No, it was definitely better not to go there.
“Your grandmother founded the business? She named it Maya’s Chocolates?”
“She did.”
“So, you were named after the family business?”
“No, I was named after my grandmother. Her name was also Maya.”
A bittersweet taste caught in the back of Bia’s throat, replacing the cinnamon and cloves. How lucky Maya was to be so connected to her past. It was a luxury that might not be afforded to Bia, unless she chose to go out searching for the woman who’d given her up all those years ago. Would it really be worth it? Walking into someone’s life, disrupting—or possibly upending—the world to which they’d become accustomed?
If an attempted reconnection ended in rejection, maybe it would be better to leave well enough alone. She’d had a happy childhood with a father who’d done his darnedest to give her the best life he was capable of giving. Maybe there was something wrong with wanting any more than that.
She put her hand on her stomach. If Bia could get blind health records from the adoption agency, maybe it would serve everyone best to look forward rather than backward.
“Do you have extended family who will carry on the Maya’s Chocolates tradition in the future?”
“That remains to be seen.”
There was that look again. Bia glimpsed it before Maya turned away to hang up the copper pot.
She was just about to ask Maya to clarify the remains to be seen comment, when a patch of cold sweat erupted on the back of Bia’s neck. She tugged at the neckline of her dress. Good grief, it felt as if someone had turned up the heat in the kitchen at least twenty degrees. A dizzying wave of nausea passed over her, and she grabbed on to the edge of the counter to steady herself.
Maya reached out and touched Bia’s arm. “Are you all right? Let me get you some water and a chair so you can sit down.”
Maya pulled over a wrought-iron chair from a small glass-topped table for two that stood in the corner of the kitchen. Bia had been so busy ogling the box of chocolates she hadn’t noticed the dining set until now. Shaking, she lowered herself onto the seat. What the heck was wrong with her? She’d heard of morning sickness, but it was midafternoon. This was ridiculous. She’d just have to power through. She had so much to do she didn’t have time for the indulgence of a sick day. As she’d done since she’d first felt the symptoms, she made the choice to buck up and push through.
Mind over matter. She always managed to feel better when she decided not to think about how she felt, not to give in.
Maya returned with some ice water. Bia gratefully accepted it and took a sip. She pressed the cool glass to her forehead. It helped.
How embarrassing was this? She took a deep breath and reminded herself she just needed to tie up loose ends for the article and then she could leave. She might even work from home for the rest of the day as she wrote the story.
“Thank you, Maya. I’m sorry about the interruption. I’m just feeling a little light-headed.”
Maya walked over and put a cool hand on Bia’s cheek. The breach of personal space was a little startling, but at the same time, it was sort of touching.
“No fever,” Maya said. “Here, give me your hand.”
Bia hesitated for a moment, then complied. Maya held Bia’s hand. If the hand on the cheek had been a little weird, this made Bia want to squirm. But the thought of moving caused a new wave of nausea to crest.
“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Maya asked with the same casual tone she might use if she were asking if Bia had ever tasted chocolate-dipped bacon.
Bia jerked her hand away from Maya’s and tried to stand up, but the rush of blood to her head landed her right back on the chair—hard.
“That’s a very personal question,” Bia insisted as alarms sounded in her head: Maya and her intuition. But what audacity for the woman to even suggest something like that to someone she barely knew?
Bia