Hearts and Llamas (Chocolate Lovers #3.5)

Hearts and Llamas (Chocolate Lovers #3.5)

Tara Sivec





As I'm trying to plan the featured dessert items this week at the shop, the ringing of the phone interrupts my concentration. It's the week of Valentine's Day and that means we're going to be slammed with walkins—people that have waited until the last minute to get something delicious for their loved ones.

"Hello?" Carter answers.

I listen to his one-sided conversation as I try to remember if the caramel chocolate chunk cookies were featured on last week's menu or the week before and if covering them in red icing would make them "Valentiney" enough.

"No, Gavin isn't home right now. He's at his grandpa's house. Sure, I can let him know you called, Brooklyn. Does he have your number? Okay, got it. Bye."

I stare at Carter with my mouth open as he hangs up the phone nonchalantly and goes about his business of filling his travel coffee mug for work, humming to himself.

"Um, who the hell was that?" I ask, squeezing the pen so hard in my hand I can feel the plastic starting to crack.

"Brooklyn. Some girl in Gavin's class at school," Carter replies, finally turning around and noticing the look on my face. "What's wrong?"

My jaw drops and I stare at him angrily, wondering if he even knows me.

"Brooklyn? Some girl? Who the hell is this slut and why is she calling our son?" I demand.

"Claire, she's ten. I'm pretty sure she hasn't reached slut status yet." With a laugh, he walks over to the table and sits down next to me.

"She's calling our house. What ten-year-old girl needs to call a boy's house? A slutty ten-year-old girl, that's who. She's got her sights on our son, and before we know it, she's going to be giving him blow jobs on the back of the bus and forcing him to watch porn with her. This is our BABY, Carter!"

"Blow jobs and porn? When did fourth grade turn into a brothel?" Carter asks, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Oh, just you wait. It starts out innocently enough. She calls the house acting all sweet and harmless and then BAM! Gavin gets the shit kicked out of him by her pimp because he's poaching on the guy's territory!"

I can't stop the word vomit no matter how hard I try. This is Valentine's Day week— one of the most romantic weeks of the year and our busiest at the shop. I should be concentrating on how much I love Carter and the oodles of money I'm going to make selling sweets, but instead I'm worried about my son being led astray by a harlot. A harlot named Brooklyn. Her parents probably named her that because skank was too obvious even though they knew what her future career would be.





"Let's give a great big Bearded Clam welcome to BROOKLYN as she takes the stage! Brooklyn's parents knew she'd be working the pole some day and thank God for that! She's quite bendy and she's dancing for us tonight because, well, she's a great big ho!"





Carter gently reaches over and pries the pen from my hand, pulling me out of my pole-dancing thoughts, and sets the pen down next to my list. Glancing around the table, he thinks better about leaving the butter knife from my bagel earlier within my reach and slides it closer to himself.

"She's just a little girl who likes our little boy. No big deal. I'm going to work now, and you are going to get back to your list and NOT think up ways you can cut this girl's hair off without getting arrested," Carter tells me as he stands up from his chair and places a kiss on the top of my head before walking out the back door.

"Please. Like I would really spend my time thinking of ways to cut her hair off," I mutter to myself as I reach for the pen, tear off the top sheet of paper from my pad and start a new list: Ways of Putting the Fear of God in Ten-Year-Old Girls.





"So, what are you getting the old ball and chain for V-Day?" Drew asks me as we head to the lunchroom on break.

"I don't know. I haven't decided. I could always send flowers to the shop."

Drew shakes his head at me as we grab a table in the corner.

"Nope, too boring. Try again," he states.

"Um, jewelry?" I suggest, opening up my insulated lunch bag and removing my ham sandwich.

"Nice, but too over the top. Ooooh, what about chocolate?" he asks me excitedly around a mouthful of chips.

"Seriously? Did you just suggest I get Claire chocolate for Valentine's Day?" I ask in astonishment.

"What? She doesn't like chocolate or something? That's like, totally un-American."

Before I can tell him what a jackass he is, Jim walks over and plops down on the chair across from me.

"What are we talking about, dick bags?"

"We're talking about the stupidest holiday in the world and what we're getting our wives," Drew tells him.

"Ahhh, so Valentine's Day," Jim states.

"Hey, did you know Claire doesn't like chocolate? She must be allergic to it or something," Drew informs Jim.

Jim pauses in the process of opening up a bag of Doritos and stares at Drew a few seconds before shaking his head and sighing, then turns his attention back to me.

"What are you getting Liz this year? Any fun plans?" I ask him.

"Hold on, I have a list," he tells me, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out a folded piece of paper.