Bliss and the Art of Forever - Alison Kent Page 0,1

to meet the man who, as a single parent burdened with the baggage of a sketchy past, was rearing such a precious, and precocious, little girl.

Now that she had, well, she had more questions than answers. At the top of her list: Why was this man unattached? It couldn’t be a lack of women throwing themselves at him, based on his looks alone. Then there was his career. His chocolate shop, Bliss, a locally owned small business, was often spotlighted by the Hope Springs Courant. A lot of women had a thing for men whose work drew that sort of acclaim.

More important, however, why hadn’t he found time before now to visit his daughter at school? What about today’s story hour was so different from the other activities she’d arranged to involve her students’ parents?

But mostly, why was she letting herself notice him as anything besides Adrianne Drake’s father when she was very happily single and intent on staying that way? The idea of going through another loss, no matter Artie’s black-humored insistence that should he die in the line of duty, she mourn him no more than two years . . . she wasn’t ready. She didn’t know if she’d ever be.

She supposed it should make her feel better that she wasn’t the only one captivated by the man. The three homeroom mothers had stopped setting up poststory treats—conversation heart–topped minicupcakes and heart-shaped cookies, both from Butters Bakery, and cute little candies with a chocolate shell and a root beer filling, from Callum’s confectionery—to listen to the chocolatier introduce himself to the members of her class.

It was hard for Brooklyn to wrap her head around his transition from biker to candy maker, but she had no trouble picturing him in chef whites, the tats at his nape and the base of his throat suggesting she’d like what she’d find if she freed the buttons of his coat, parted the sides, pushed the garment off his shoulders, outlined the designs first with a fingertip, then her tongue—

“Okay,” Callum said, his deep voice drawing Brooklyn’s gaze and a heated blush. “Are we ready for a story now?”

“Yes!” cried a chorus of exuberant voices.

He looked to Brooklyn for guidance. She picked up a flat marble paperweight carved to look like an owl and nodded for him to begin, because nodding didn’t require her to speak, and the owl gave her something to do with her hands. Good grief. What was wrong with her? Yes, he was pretty. Oh, he was pretty. And intriguing. And so very hot.

But Brooklyn had plans. Big plans. A week after the school year ended, she was going to be on her way to Italy with no idea when she’d return. Ships crossing in the night, she and Callum Drake. Or in this case, crossing in a kindergarten classroom.

He opened the picture book his daughter handed him, facing the pages of The Bunny Who Loved Chocolate toward his rapt audience. Adrianne sat in the center of the front row, her corkscrew blond pigtails brushing her shoulders, her crooked front tooth taking nothing away from her grin. She had eyes only for her dad, and Brooklyn stanched the catch tugging at her heart. He was doing such a good job as a father.

“Opie was a bunny whose fur was colored . . .”

“Blue!” The children called out the answer, and Callum turned the page.

“The same color as the sky where his friends the birds . . .”

“Flew!”

An awkward sentence, but it worked for the rhyme. Brooklyn looked from Callum to his daughter and watched Adrianne mouth the words. They’d obviously shared this story many times. The girl anticipated then mimicked the faces he made and the rhythm with which he read, and Brooklyn couldn’t deny the smile teasing her own lips. Or her fascination with the movement of his.

“Opie loved chocolate, and all candy . . .”

“Too!”

“But he only had lettuce, and didn’t know what to . . .”

“Do!”

Pushing off her desk and leaving the owl behind, Brooklyn circled the room to the snack table still needing to be readied. Callum was through four pages now, and only sixteen remained. She probably knew the story as well as Adrianne did. “Can I help with anything?” she whispered to one of the moms.

“Oh, no, we’re fine.” Bethany Patzka, who’d donated a tray of vegan granola and dried fruit clusters, leaned closer, bringing her fingers to her mouth to hide her words. “Just a little bit distracted, if you know what