A Taste of Chocolate (2 page)

She cast her gaze on the woman waiting on customers and smiled at the waitress’s choice of footwear, pink Converse high-tops with red-and-pink-striped knee stockings. Black spandex biking shorts and a red T-shirt with the word “Magical” in gold glitter blazing across the front completed her attire.

In her black shorts and white blouse, Hope felt colorless.
Your hair’s not colorless, though, is it?
Her hand fluttered to her new short tresses, and she wondered again how she’d been talked into such a radical change.

“Ah, here we are.” The redhead set a silver tray on Hope’s table. On it were two cups and saucers with a matching coffee service of the same rose-patterned china. “We’ll talk for a spell before I bring you your chicken salad sandwich and a slice of my chocolate decadent cake.”

Hope hadn’t ordered yet, so how did this woman know she loved chicken salad?

The woman extended a wrinkled hand with hot-pink fingernail polish and a large sapphire ring sparkling in the sunlight from the windows. “Hello, I’m Freya and this is my coffee shop.”

“Hello, Freya. I’m Hope. Hope Morningstar.”

“Oh, ’tis a magical name you’ve got.” Freya winked and poured coffee into cups, ancient and delicate-looking. “I save my grandmother’s china for my special guests. Those who need a bit of pampering and direction.”

“Direction?”

Freya nodded. “You’re lost, aren’t you?” Her voice had a lilting quality to it. One that soothed.

“Well, yes, I had to take a different exit for the mall and somehow I ended up on this street. I don’t know where I am.”

Hot-pink fingertips waved in front of Hope’s face. “Oh, we’ll talk of mundane things like the mall later. ’Tis a different kind of lost I speak of. Cream or sugar?”

“Both.” What did Freya mean, a different kind of lost? She was one strange lady. Nice, but strange.

She handed Hope her cup and saucer. “Tell me, how was Ireland when you visited?”

“Ire… How? Fine, it was fine. How did you know I was there?” The woman was weirding her out.

“Ireland touched your soul, my dear, and left her mark as only she can.”

Freya slid a square plate of cookies in front of Hope. Odd she hadn’t noticed them on the tray a moment earlier. Hope blinked a couple times as she stared at the round cookies. She must be more upset over Barclay than she thought. “Those are Irish Lace cookies. I had some in Ireland and fell in love with them.” She picked one up and inhaled the buttery honey aroma. “Brought home five extra pounds from that trip.”

“Tell me what troubles you. I can help, you know.”

Over coffee and cookies and Irish sayings, Hope told her tale of heartache. The customers at the other table left. No one else came in. For a brief span of time, the world seemingly revolved around the wooden booth occupied by Hope and her attentive hostess.

Hope sat back and exhaled an audible sigh. “Up until now, I’ve been pretty pathetic in my choices of men. Maybe I should just cross marriage and children off my bucket list. No doubt I’ll die an old maid in a little apartment, sharing a can of cat food with forty cats.” A crying jag was coming on, and she blinked back tears.

Two cats, one orange and one black, leaped onto the table and rubbed against their owner, their purrs lending a calming serenade. “Worse things could happen, my dear.” Freya ran a hand over the heads of each feline. “Meet Marmalade and Midnight.” She kissed each. “Now, off with you.” Marmalade and Midnight jumped to the floor and sauntered toward a pile of red and pink pillows in the corner. Weren’t there health regulations about having pets in restaurants?

Freya leaned toward her, coffee cup in hand. “Do you really feel you’re not attractive to men? Because if you do, I can’t help you. Men,”—she waved the delicate cup in Hope’s direction—“The good ones, are rarely attracted to insecure women. They enjoy a bit of sass and a lot of confidence.” She took a sip of coffee. “Only weak men seek out insecure women.” Her cup clinked into the saucer while her narrowed eyes regarded Hope.

“What do you mean ‘help me’?” Although she was enjoying her afternoon in this coffee shop, Hope also had shivers of sorcery rippling across her skin. Was she truly here or merely having a dream?

“I often match my special men with suitable ladies. Yes, I serve coffee and sweets, but I also deal in the magic of romance.” Freya’s wrinkled hand covered Hope’s. “To be suitable, a woman must be self-assured, honest, and pure of heart. You must feel you’re worthy of any man I match you with.”

“You’re a matchmaker? Like in the old world?” She’d read about them in some romance novels. Historicals, mostly. Rarely contemporary stories. But this wasn’t a romance novel, was it? No, it was her life.

“How do you know who makes a good pair? Do you go by looks? Age? Education? What?”

“There is magic in the coming together of souls. Sometimes it’s a serene magic.” She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes it’s a magic fraught with lightning and thunder. Either way, it’s a magic I understand and love.”

The older woman reached out to finger Hope’s hair. “I love the color.”

“It’s new since this morning. I normally have mousy brown hair. What do you think?”

Freya tilted her head as if studying Hope’s hair. “I love it. Hmmm, a little redder than mine, I believe. I do love anything red. What’s the name of the color, do you know? My gray roots are showing.”

“Gracie called it ‘wine-red smash.’ My students will go wild when they see it.”

“You’re a teacher?” The pink-shadowed eyes took on a dreamy quality.

“Yes, second grade.”

Freya handed her a slice of a chocolate cake that wasn’t there a minute ago, or was it?
I’m losing my mind.

“Now, my dear, I want to caution you about the kind of men you seem to choose. There’s an old Irish saying: You can take the man out of the bog, but you can’t take the bog out of the man. Quit going to the bog.”

Well, she had met Barclay at LaRogues six months ago. The bar, adjoining a chic female-only zumba and aerobics club, had a reputation of men trolling for willing women, but she’d chosen to believe Barclay was above all that. Evidently he wasn’t. Nor was she, it seemed. Perhaps she was too easy, too desperate, too eager to have someone—anyone. Time she grew a backbone and stood up for herself. It was also time she raised her standards a few notches where her male choices were concerned.

“Tell me, what is it you seek in a man?” Freya’s gaze was full of warmth.

“I’m at a turning point in that regard. Guess you could say I’m working my way through a maturing process.”

“That pleases me. What qualities are beginning to appeal to you?”

Hope sighed and closed her eyes. Twin tears moistened her cheeks as they forged a trail. “Before, I went for looks. A modern, stylish kind of guy. A shaker. A mover. A partier.”

“And now?”

“Now, I want a forever kind of man. Someone I can depend on. Someone who loves me—warts, curves, moods, and all.” She opened her eyes and regarded Freya through a veil of tears. “I…I want to be cherished. Am I expecting too much?”

Freya patted Hope’s hand. “My dear, what you expect is merely what a lady like you deserves.” She shrugged. “What we all deserve.”

She stared at the older woman for a few beats. “You mean that, don’t you?” A total stranger believed she deserved to be cherished. While a man she’d dated for six months didn’t feel she was deserving of anything good. In fact, he’d told her that her role was to please him.

“Yes, Hope Morningstar, I do. Now eat your cake.”

She forked a bite of chocolate cake into her mouth and moaned. Her toes curled in her sandals as the chocolate exploded on her tongue and revved her system. “Oh my! This is scrumptious.”

Freya’s eyes twinkled. “It’s quite yummy, isn’t it? That’s how a man should taste when you kiss him. His flavor should burst in your mouth and do sensual things to your system. You should moan in appreciation, and your toes should curl in your shoes. It should be a magical chocolate kiss. And,”—she slid the plate away from Hope, much to her alarm—“one taste is never enough.” Freya waggled her red-penciled eyebrows. “Your job is to improve on the way you think about yourself. Mine is to make a phone call.”

The woman’s long fingers curled around a red cell phone and punched in a number. Five seconds later, she spoke. “Declan, I’ve found her.”

Chapter Two

Declan wiped the sawdust from his hands and willed his heartbeat to return to normal. After all, he’d waited a long time for this call. “Tell me.”

“Her name is Hope Morningstar, and she possesses all the qualities you need. Perhaps not all you seek, but all you need. She bears the mark of Ireland on her soul. And she loves children.”

From the background of Freya’s phone came, “What are you doing? I…I never said…”

“Is that her? Is that Hope?”

“Yes.”

“Let me speak to her. Let me hear the sound of her voice.” God, don’t let her be loud and brassy.

“There’s power in suspense, Declan. What are you in the middle of right now?”

He glanced at his work bench, where he’d been sanding a table top. “I’m making tables for a customer. Why?”

“Be at the Louisiana Mall in two hours. Your first meeting should be in a public place, don’t you think? Although I know you to be an upright man, Hope knows nothing of you. She’ll be understandably apprehensive.”

“Of course.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know my history. You know I can’t take more lies and deceit.” The two of them had talked of his feelings at some length. Freya had convinced him he couldn’t hold every female accountable for one woman’s lies.

“Her heart is true, Declan. I wouldn’t send her to you otherwise. She’ll be in the food court. Look for a redhead wearing a white blouse.”

He beat a fist against his heart twice, willing it to start beating again. Nearly a year had passed since he’d spoken with Freya. By then he’d suffered through two years of getting over Courtney’s betrayal. He’d left the military to help raise the child she claimed was his. Two months after Cole’s birth, he’d needed surgery to repair his tiny, deformed heart. When Declan tried to donate blood for his son’s surgery, he’d found out his blood wasn’t compatible. Courtney finally admitted the baby wasn’t his. Then she’d taunted his gullibility with her brassy laughter and snide remarks.

The child he’d loved died during surgery, mere days after the death of his marriage. He’d mourned the loss of his son, biological or not, for months, unable to forget the feel of him in his arms or the way he wrapped his little fist around his large finger, squeezing more love from his heart than Declan had ever thought possible. He missed the way his son watched him with those blue eyes of his as he drank from his bottle and the way he’d gift him with a milky smile and a coo when the bottle was nearly drained.

Cole, small and frail though he was, taught him how to love unconditionally. He longed for more children. More than that, though, he needed someone special to love. Someone who would love him in return. His need for love and a family grew, with an edge so keen it sometimes slashed at his soul. Yet his efforts at dating proved fruitless. Where was this special woman who would be true to him? Did such a woman exist?

Nathan, a happily married friend, spoke highly of Freya’s matchmaking services. Matt, his brother, also went to her to find his beloved. After much soul searching, Declan sought her out, too.

Frankly, after another long year of loneliness, he’d given up hope. Now…now, he had Hope. “Okay, Freya. I’ll be at the mall in two hours.”

“And Declan?”

“Yes?”

“Wear a blue shirt to bring out the blue in your eyes.” The matchmaker ended the call.

Two hours. Good, he’d have time for a shower. “Matt, can you close the shop for me? I have some place I have to be.”

“No problem. We don’t get that many customers on Saturday afternoons.”

“Thanks, man. Going to meet a special lady.”

“Freya set you up?”

He nodded before snatching the dog-eared phonebook from a shelf and thumbing through the yellow pages.

Nearly two hours later, Declan walked into the mall and strode with confidence toward the food court. Now that his nerves had settled, determination had shouldered its way into his soul. If Freya approved of Hope, he would too. Using a matchmaker involved a strong degree of trust—and a thorough background check. Even though Matt and Nathan swore by her, he’d used his government and family contacts to check her out. Although a few things didn’t add up, like her sudden moves from one state or country to the next, proof existed of her talent in bringing lost souls together. He stopped at the edge of the tables in the food court, his eyes in constant movement, seeking. There she was. Air whooshed from his lungs. By herself at a table, her red head bowed as if she were praying or too scared to look for him the way he sought her.

Since she hadn’t spotted him yet, he had a minute to take her in. Short spiky hair, slender arms decorated with a dozen or so bangle bracelets, and a lush figure. A slow smile spread when he noticed her one foot bouncing, no doubt from nerves. A movement he found charming for some inane reason. How should he approach her? How could he make this meeting memorable? One they could tell their children and grandchildren about, over and over. Traditions and family tales were important. And if their relationship progressed, he wanted them to have special memories of falling in love.