Mama’s Boy by Avery Flynn

Chapter Twenty-Five

Fiona

Her belly full of roasted chicken warmed up over the fire, Fiona smooshed two graham crackers together so that the marshmallow and chocolate between them squeezed out the sides, then ate it while it was still gooey and warm. It really was the perfect dessert. Holding back her sigh of satisfaction was impossible.

“Careful there,” Dixon said, “or you’ll get mistaken for someone who takes pleasure in eating.”

Damn it. She sucked at pretending to be someone else. “S’mores are the exception.”

“I guess that means you aren’t interested in hot cocoa?” He held up a bar wrapped in exquisite lilac-and-silver wrapping. “It’s drinking chocolate from some place my assistant said I had to try. Have you heard about it? People seem to like this stuff.”

She had. People had raved about it so much that each batch sold out immediately. The boutique chocolatier in the Breakwater neighborhood of Harbor City who made it couldn’t keep it on the shelves—and that was before celebrity Instagram had totally fallen for it. Now it was impossible to get. Unless, it seemed, your name was Dixon Beckett.

On a teacher’s salary with no chocolate connections, there was no way she’d get another chance to try it in this lifetime.

“It is getting cold out,” she said, trying not to let any desperation sneak into her tone. “It would be medicinal.”

“Medicinal?” he asked, sounding as if he believed that just about as much as he should, as he handed her the bar.

Oh man, the smell of it was amazing. She had no hope of selling this, but damn she had to try. “Exactly.”

“Not unless you tell me what you really do for a living,” he said, holding out his hand. “Give ’er back.”

She handed over the chocolate bar, the brief brush of her fingertips against his skin sending a delicious shiver she had absolutely no business feeling zipping across her nerves. “You don’t think I’m a brothel madam?”

“I know you’re a terrible liar, and there’s drinking chocolate on the line.” He held up the bar so the light from the fire caught the silver threads and made them glitter. “Come on, admit defeat and tell the truth.”

The man was evil. He had her and he knew it, the hot jerk. “Anything to win?”

He smirked. “Always.”

Fuck. She was so screwed.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I’m a third-grade teacher.”

“That explains the crayon smell.”

“What?” She dipped her head down close to her shoulder and sniffed, not sure whether that was a compliment or if her deodorant had given up the fight.

“Your perfume, it reminds me of crayons. Well, that and sugar cookies.” Dixon’s eyes went wide. “That didn’t come out right. You smell good. I like the smell of crayons.” His head fell back and he let out a groan. “I’m not some weirdo who goes around smelling crayons in the store; it’s just that it’s a nice smell. It’s comforting and—” He held up the chocolate bar. “I’m shutting up now and making the chocolate.”

So that’s what he did, right over the fire in a little camping pot, melting the chocolate and adding milk from an honest-to-God glass bottle that had been tucked inside the picnic basket.

She had the advantage and really, she should be relishing it, but all she could notice was the way the tips of his ears had turned red every time he glanced over at her, as if he was reliving the whole you-smell-like-crayons thing. She knew how that felt. The secondhand cringe of it was more than she could take.

“There’s nothing as good as opening a brand-new box of crayons,” she said, scooting down the log so they were sitting next to each other in front of the fire. “Every year on the first day of class, I give each of my students the big box—you know, the sixty-four-count one with the sharpener—and they’re the first people to open it. At least ninety percent of the students give the box a good sniff. It’s a very good smell.”

They sat together in a comfortable silence as the hot chocolate heated up. By the time he was pouring it into two metal camp mugs, the ease of the moment had sunk in. It was just the fire, the million stars above, and the two of them on this island away from the rest of the world. They were just two people drinking the most amazing hot chocolate on the face of the earth, and it was good.

Even if she could have called up her inner Fallon at that moment, she didn’t want to. This was a Fiona Hartigan kind of moment, and she was going to savor it.