Archive of Our Own

“Oh um, I hope you don't mind if my boyfriend joins us?” Heather asks, and David regrets every life choice that has led to this moment.

“I'm sorry?” David is officially panicking.

“Your boyfriend is here?” Alexis says at the same time.

“Yeah,” Heather confirms with the smile of the blissfully ignorant, the smile of someone who has an uncomplicated and cheese-filled existence.

Alexis hums next to him, anxiety buzzing through his ears.

“You know what, I'm realizing that this might be an imposition,” David says as calmly as he can, before whispering to Alexis, “Get in the car!”

“Not an imposition at all.” Heather assures them, and flings David’s hopes and dreams into a fire. “I thought we could eat outside, it’s so mild today for this time of year.”

David and Alexis both nod dumbly, like tandem bobbleheads. Heather is right about the weather. For September, it’s lovely outside.

Heather calls over her shoulder. “Ted? The clients are gonna stay for lunch. Would you mind helping me set the table?”

She turns back to David and Alexis. “Patrick can join us, too, if that’s ok?”

A man in a pristine blue button up and an absolutely wrecked apron emerge from the barn off to the side. One stray auburn curl is falling across his forehead and he has a smudge of what David hopes is chocolate across his cheek. He takes two steps and then abruptly turns back around.  He reappears—apron gone, curl fixed and smudge gone. David feels a flicker of disappointment, there was something about seeing him slightly disheveled.

He gives a small wave, hip level as he crosses the grass. “Hi, I’m Patrick—the chocolate guy.”

“Chocolate guy?” David didn’t know this was a sweet and savory one-stop shop.

Heather chimes in, “Oh yes, this is Patrick—he works out of the commercial kitchen we have, making chocolates. He makes an excellent cranberry and goat cheese truffle.”

“Oh, I—hi,” David manages, and Alexis knocks a bony shoulder into his arm.

“Hey, man.” Patrick holds out his hand.

“David.” Patrick’s hand is warm in his, and his grip is firm and steady and David doesn’t want to let go. “I have—Rose Apothecary. It’s a—my store.”

Alexis dangles a hand forward. “I’m Alexis.”

Patrick tries to shake her hand like a normal person, but Alexis never repositions her hand, so it’s more of an awkward catch and release motion David’s only ever seen on those nature shows Roland plays in the lobby.

Ted joins them and David is caught between wanting to flee and wanting to hear more about the chocolates this new person makes. David looks over at Alexis, and she double blinks at him, in a way he knows is meant to be reassuring but is always unsettling.

Heather gestures at the table, which looks beautiful—a large quiche and an impeccably styled salad sitting in the center. “Shall we?”

Heather and Ted sit down on one side, and Alexis beckons Patrick to their side. “Come sit over here with us.”

David expects Alexis to end up in the middle, and he hopes having a chocolatier in mid-range denim to flirt with will be enough to buoy her through an awkward lunch with her ex and his new girlfriend. Instead, Patrick ends up in the middle, and Alexis shoots him a look and gives him an okay sign behind Patrick’s back. 

“So, Patrick, tell me more about this chocolate?” David asks, trying not to sound too eager. He would love to carry artisanal chocolates.

“Oh, well, um. We make a variety of things—a classic fudge, a handful of chocolate bars, an assortment of truffles.” Patrick rubs a hand across the back of his neck, like he would rather talk about anything else. “Heather’s cheese is the real star.”

“Well aren’t you the most modest little mouse,” Alexis coos. “Hopefully we can try some before we leave.”

Heather serves them each a piece of quiche, which is vivacious and David says as much. There’s an awkward bump when Heather realizes she knows Alexis’s voice, but Alexis saves the day with a kind of grace and skill David imagines kept the number of times he had to wire her money or send a passport to the low double digits.

“Would that include the chocolates?” Heather counters, when Alexis broaches an exclusivity deal with shrewdness that David is impressed with. 

David turns to Patrick. “Are your chocolates as good as Heather’s cheese? Because, then yes. I would be amenable to that.”

“Amenable.” Patrick laughs. “How about you come back tomorrow and I’ll give you a tour, with some samples and you can make a more informed decision.”

David nods, a little too enthusiastically. “Yes, that works.”

“David, I can’t tomorrow, I have class.” Alexis whines from the other side of Patrick.

Patrick keeps his eyes on David as he says, “Tomorrow it is. How’s 10a.m.?” 

David tips his head back in annoyance. He can’t believe he’s about to say this. “The store is open from 10 to 6, so it would have to be before or after. I’m on my own there tomorrow.” Early morning meetings have been the worst part of opening Rose Apothecary. The art crowd kept much more civilized hours.

“How about eight then?” Patrick asks.

“In the morning?” David clarifies, his voice going a touch higher than he’d like.

Patrick smiles then, a smile that is somehow both smug and sweet. “If you want. But I can do 8 p.m. if you’d like.”

“Yes that, please,” David says, probably too quickly. Patrick’s still looking at him, holding his gaze and David feels oddly seen by this person he just met.

The ride back to the store is quiet. David can’t stop replaying the conversation with Patrick in his head, over and over. Alexis is looking out the window, watching the green roll by, a contrast to the concrete and glass they used to inch by to get places. 

“Thank you, I know that wasn’t the most comfortable situation to be in.” David says quietly.

“I’m just glad Ted’s found someone so stable and healthy. He deserves that,” she says, a slight waver in her voice.

“You’re in love with him, aren't you?” David asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes, yup.” Alexis confirms. David glances over, she looks resigned and sort of sad about it and David almost wishes he could hug her. Maybe he will later.

Alexis wiggles her shoulders then, and boops him on the nose. David flinches as much as he can while still keeping the car on the road. “But that chocolate button was very into you. You have even have a lil date-y tomorrow.”

David clears his throat. “No, it’s a business meeting with a potential vendor.”

“Mm, a potential vendor who clearly didn’t want your sister at the meeting.” 

“Well, maybe the rest of his week is busy,” David offers weakly. He liked Patrick, his sure grip and kind eyes and his shoulders looked great in that blue button up.

“David, don’t—you should try. This could be really good for you,” Alexis says, far more serious than David was prepared for, and then turns back to gaze out the window.

“Okay,” David whispers—half to himself, half to Alexis, barely loud enough to hear himself over the tires on the road.

“Good,” Alexis says, like that decides anything.

🍫

When David gets back to the store, he sees Connor has moved several hand creams next to the cash, near the lip balms. David opens his mouth, not sure if he’s going to tell Connor to move them back or praise him for the good idea. Before he can decide, Connor jumps in. “I thought that this might be an appealing last minute purchase for people who didn’t need lip balm. What do you think?”

David takes a deep breath. “I think that’s a good idea, let’s see how it goes.”

Connor nods, a little too self-satisfied for David’s taste honestly, but his shoulders go back with a touch of pride and David knows praise was the right call. 

When the store first opened, Jocelyn pointedly reminded him Connor was a senior this year, and that he would absolutely benefit from an environment like this. Before he could tell Jocelyn he didn’t need help—which was an absolute lie, Stevie and Alexis were already complaining about how this was David’s store not theirs,—Jocelyn said she’d tell Connor to stop by. David ended up hiring him to work three afternoons a week, because while Connor was surly and snippy, he had a good eye and respected David’s vision for the store, if not David. He had a gift for stacking scarves and spotting shoplifters.

“How was the store?” David asks. It’s the first time he’s left Connor alone here, but the opportunity to secure exclusivity with Heather outweighed his fears of leaving the store in less capable hands.

“Ronnie came by and bought more of that overnight mask. And I told her we just got more of that tapenade in, so she bought two jars.” 

David smiles. Connor is also great at upselling. “Lunch went well, Heather is going to sign an exclusivity deal with us, and tomorrow night I’m meeting with a chocolatier that works out of her barn.”

“Oh, that boring guy who hikes all the time?”

“Uh, I don’t know?”

“Like, his face looks like the moon, if the moon had big round eyes? I ran into him a few times when I was hiking with Ronnie. She thinks he looks like a thumb.”

David… can sort of see that. “Wait—you hike with Ronnie?”

David rolls his eyes when Connor disappears into the back instead of answering him. He comes out with an armful of throws, which he silently starts folding. David goes over to the back table to fix the eye serums that are slightly askew. 

“She—uh, Ronnie, said if I didn’t start expending some of my anger it was going to turn me into someone like my dad.” David hears the waver in Connor’s voice, and from what he’s heard— mostly from Ray—Connor’s dad is not a good person.

“Mmm. Dads are complicated.” David is way out of his depth here, but that much is definitely true.

“Your dad is nice though,” Connor snaps back. “And you grew up rich.”

“Very rich,” David corrects. “And it was still complicated. But yes, my dad is nice.” 

Connor turns abruptly to face David. “My dad is not nice.”

David isn’t sure what to say. A decade of doing coke in bathrooms across lower Manhattan has left him sorely lacking in the words-of-wisdom department. “Well, a healthy distrust of men will get you far. And there’s always therapy.”

Connor laughs, sudden and sharp. “For a second I thought you were going to try to offer me some sort of hang-in there type bullshit.” David narrows his eyes, waiting for the rest of the insult.  “That’s basically what Ronnie said, too.”

“Oh, well. It’s true.” David manages, unsure how he successfully navigated this conversation. “If you ever need anything—um, let me know.”

“Yeah, you can bring me some of the moon man’s chocolates.” Connor grimaces, or maybe it’s a smile. 

🍫

The next morning, the store is quiet and David sips his macchiato and updates the store’s Instagram with a photo of the hand cream, shot overhead, in the early morning light. David’s managed to have the store open by 10:05 everyday since the opening, a fact that he is immeasurably proud of. 

The store is officially open Tuesday through Saturday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.. That gives him Sundays and Mondays to do pick-ups, inventory and fill out the spreadsheet Ray helped him make to track the store's sales. Sometimes Stevie or Alexis stops by in the mornings to keep him company, and Connor works Wednesday and Thursday afternoons plus all day Saturday with David. 

This is really all his. This place, this town, this community even, have given him so much more than he ever thought he’d get. David looks around and feels the mix of panic and satisfaction that’s starting to become familiar. He built this store—this brand and immersive experience, out of nothing, and it’s beautiful. But there’s no safety net, nothing to save him from himself.

The bell dings, saving David from his thoughts, and he helps a very pleasant lady who bought some bath salts last week. A priest comes in a little while after to buy some lube, explaining some woman named Gwen told him to come here. David has a lot of questions—firstly, who the fuck is Gwen? 

The rest of the morning passes quietly, so David tries rearranging the vegetables alphabetically, but it looks like some vegetal de Kooning, and he re-re-organizes by color, until it’s returned to its leafy Rothko state.

Stevie walks in, waving a bag of food. “I got you a BLT and onion rings.”

“Is this an olive branch for making me find out you were still banging Jake, pony?” David caught Jake picking Stevie up from work the other day, and won’t be letting it go anytime soon.

“Can’t I just do this out of the kindness of my heart?” She barely finishes the sentence before they both burst out laughing.

“What heart?” is all David can manage to say before he bursts out laughing again.

“Do you or do you not want lunch?”

David grabs the bag. “Oh, I very much want lunch.”

“How was your date night?” 

“You know how it is with Jake.” Stevie gives a little shrug.

“I knew. Past tense. One of us keeps their word.” David opens one of the take out containers and finds a grilled cheese and french fries.

“Wow, Stevie, thank you so much for lunch. That was so thoughtful,”  Stevie deadpans.

David steals three fries and shoves them in his mouth in response before handing Stevie her lunch. 

They settle on the love seat in the back room that Stevie mysteriously got for him, showing up with Darlene’s sons, saying she was tired of her ass falling asleep on that godforsaken chair that came with the store. David opens the box on his knees and bats Stevie’s greedy hands away from his onion rings, which actually look edible today. 

“Are you coming over tonight? I want to finish this season of American Horror Story.” 

“Can’t—have to go back out to Heather’s. Apparently there’s a guy who makes chocolate, so he’s gonna give me a tour and give me some samples.”

“Is this a business thing or your dream date?”

“It’s a business thing, don’t be weird.”

“It’s just you’re making your he’s a snack face.”

“It’s my there will be literal snacks face,” David snaps back. He wasn’t making a face. 

“Okay, David.”

“Are priests allowed to have sex now?” David asks, to change the subject.

“Wait, what?”

“I don’t know. Gwen sent a priest here for lube. That’s weird, right?”

“This is not information I needed.” Stevie grimaces and takes an onion ring.

🍫

David curses Stevie the whole ride over to Heather’s—just because Patrick’s got nice eyes doesn’t mean this is anything more than a business meeting. David has the store, he doesn’t need to complicate his life by getting entangled in some personal drama. The chocolate might not even be good.

He pulls into the farm for the second time in as many days and grabs his bag. Heather and Ted are sitting around a small fire pit, and David feels a pang for Alexis. It’s so domestic, in a way him and Alexis don’t seem to be made for. 

Heather stands up, brushing her hands across Ted's shoulder briefly. “David! You’re here.”

“Here I am. Thank you again for lunch yesterday‚ I’m still thinking about that quiche. It was quite memorable.” 

“I’m so glad you liked it. It was so nice getting to know you and your sister a bit better. I still can’t believe she basically helped me get this guy.” Heather beams at Ted, and David looks at Ted, too, frozen in place. “You have the contract for me?”

That snaps David into motion. “Yes, yup, I do. It’s just….right….here.” David locates it in his bag and pulls out an envelope, white with two small roses embossed on the back. He called in a favor at the printer he used for all the gallery materials and it was worth every awkward second of that call to have such nice stationary.

“Perfect.” Heather steps closer and takes it from his hands. “I’ll stop by the store with the signed copy once I have a chance to review everything.”

“Of course. Let me know if you have any concerns—I’m very excited to be working with you.”

“Me too, David. I won’t keep you! I know Patrick is waiting for you.” 

“Yes. Patrick. I should—” David gestures at the barn, light spilling out of the open door, illuminating the way. “I’ll see you soon.”

David walks across the grass, vehemently not thinking about how many unseen bugs have to be lurking out here. 

David steps into the barn, bright overhead lighting that’s a bit like walking into a lightbox, except it smells like the cobblestoned stretch of Water Street where Jacques Torres’s shop is. David’s a million lifetimes from that moment, buying himself a conciliatory hot chocolate after being unceremoniously kicked out of Leticia’s loft for the last time. 

David focuses on what’s in front of him instead. Patrick is slightly bent over a counter, a white t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, apron tied in a neat bow, accentuating his hips, narrowing into denim-clad perfection.

David stands there for a second, waiting for Patrick to notice him—it feels like he’s intruding on something. Patrick doesn’t notice, though, and keeps doing whatever it is he’s doing. 

“Um, hi,” David finally says, breaking the silence, and Patrick’s concentration. He turns around fast.

“David—you’re here.” Patrick glances over at the stove, where a big clock resides. “I didn’t realize the time.”

“I—can come back?”

“Absolutely not, I’m glad you’re here.” Patrick shuffles the papers he was examining into a stack and walks over to David. “I was just reviewing some recipe notes. I’m developing a new fudge recipe, hopefully.” 

“Fudge? Tell me more.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to make a cheesecake swirl fudge, using goat cheese, and it’s been a bit of a challenge.”

“I very much would like to try that, so I hope you can figure it out.”

“Oh, I’m gonna figure it out,” Patrick says, full of confidence, like he can make the recipe obey just because he wants it to. David thinks he might be able to.

“Okay then.” David grins, staring at Patrick longer than he means to, longer than is okay for a business meeting. “So—I brought you a dossier on Rose Apothecary, so you can get a better understanding of who I am.”

“Sounds good, David. Do you want to go over that first, or do you want to make some chocolate?” Patrick looks at him, really looks at him, like he genuinely cares what David wants.

“Chocolate first, I think.” David tries to keep his voice light, to not give away how much he likes being Patrick’s focus.

“Great.” Patrick claps his hands together. “Let’s get the ball rolling.”

“I don’t—there’s balls?”

“There’s balls,” Patrick says gravely, but his eyes are sparkling.

“Well, as long as they’re not flying at my face.” David jokes back, and then realizes what he just said. “Which is a thing I just said to you, out loud.”

“We’ll keep the balls in our hands tonight, David. Your face is safe.” Patrick’s grinning now, his whole face bursting with joy. David can’t help but smile back.

David waves his hands around. “Should I clean up?” He does not mention balls again because this is going on a little long unless Patrick is actually asking for a hand job, which in this moment David is not necessarily opposed to, even though that is no way to run a business.

“Yup, there’s a sink over there.” Patrick gestures over his shoulder at the giant stainless steel sink David was already heading toward.

“This soap is terrible. It’s so drying. I’ll bring you better soap next time. And hand cream.” David shakes his head. “We have some really nice ones at the store.”

While David was washing his hands, Patrick pulled a stainless steel bowl out of the fridge and put some chocolate chips into a pot on a pot, which—okay.

“So I thought we could make the cranberry goat cheese truffles Heather mentioned yesterday. I’ll temper some chocolate, and you can roll the filling into,” Patrick pauses here for a long moment and David groans, knowing what’s coming. “Balls,” Patrick finishes with a smirk. 

David just looks at him. He doesn’t want to hear the word balls again, maybe ever. He thinks about saying as much, but instead admits, “I’m not sure I should be trusted with actual food prep.”

“I’ll show you.” Patrick grabs a baby ice cream scoop looking thing, and releases a small scoop into his hand. “So you’re just gonna roll it around in your hands ‘til it’s round and then set it here.” Patrick drops a perfect white sphere flecked with pink onto a tray he has set on the counter.

“Okay, I can do that.” David tries to sound more confident than he feels.

“Let me get you an apron first?” Patrick offers.

“Yes please.” David nods decisively. He’s wearing a Neil Barrett sweater he hasn’t worn since he worked at the Blouse Barn and he’s not getting cheese or chocolate on it.

Patrick walks over to a row of hooks, and pulls off a crisp white apron. He holds the neck up for David, and as David ducks to let Patrick place it on him.  David panics—was he supposed to just take the apron from Patrick?  He is capable of putting on an apron. When he straightens back up, Patrick’s smiling at him. Patrick draws a half circle in the air, and David turns around. Patrick’s hands brush against his sides as he picks up the apron strings, tying it around David’s waist just tight enough. “Okay, all set,” Patrick says, smoothing his fingers lightly across David’s back.

“Thanks,” David whispers as he picks up the scoop. It's been a long time since someone touched him so carefully.

“I’m just gonna get this going.” Patrick grabs a rubber spatula thingy and starts stirring the chocolate.

“Why are you cooking that in two pots?”

Patrick carefully explains it’s a double boiler, and shows David the bottom pot just has water. David nods, which Patrick takes a sign to keep going, and explains what tempering chocolate is, something he does not understand in the slightest. He doesn’t even know what questions to ask to make things clearer, so he just mmms his way through it, nodding occasionally as he fills the tray with balls. It does give David time to admire the way Patrick’s forearm flexes as he stirs the chocolate, which is now quite melty.

“So what made you get into chocolate?” David figures given Patrick’s encyclopedic knowledge of chocolate tempering, there’s a story there.

“Oh—the short version is, my grandparents had a fudge shop in Niagara Falls and I spent summers there growing up, and I recently decided to follow in their footsteps.” Patrick is staring at the pot as though he also wants to melt into the steamy bowl of chocolate.

“Ok, did your grandparents really own a fudge shop in Niagara Falls? That sounds like something that only happens in an Amy Adams movie?”

“They really did. It was called Fallin’ for Fudge. ” Patrick laughs. “I swear,” he says, holding up his non-stirring hand like David’s going to make him swear on a cookbook.

“What’s the long version?” David asks, surprised to find he’s actually curious. Usually he tries to keep these vendor meetings at an anecdotal level, but there’s a lot about tonight that’s out of the ordinary.

“Have you ever looked around your life and just felt like it was wrong?” Patrick asks.

“Um. Sort of.” David has, but he also knows that’s not something he’s prepared to get into right now.

“My mom always said, in another lifetime, she’d have liked to be a florist. And instead, she’s been teaching third grade for decades. And I didn’t want to live my whole life wishing I was living an alternate timeline. I always wanted to make chocolate—my grandparents were so happy doing it. They loved getting up and going to work.”

Patrick pauses, and David opens his mouth, about to ask a question.

Patrick starts again, and David presses his lips back together. “And they loved each other. They were—they made love look easy. I wanted that, too. God, I’m really making this the long version.” Patrick laughs.

“No, you’re fine," David reassures him. He means it—it is fine. “I asked—I want to know.”

“I was engaged to my high school sweetheart,” Patrick’s voice does something weird on the word sweetheart, and David doesn’t quite know what it means. “And I was working as an analyst for an investment firm and none of it felt good or easy. It helped when I finally admitted to myself that I was gay, and things were never going to be right with Rachel, and then I saw Heather’s ad for the commercial kitchen and I just—knew it was time to follow that dream.”

Patrick is gay. Oh . Okay then. 

Not that it means anything—just. New information. 

David realizes he’s been quiet too long. “Thank you for telling me that.” It comes out soft and sincere, this time deliberately. 

“I don’t usually tell the long version, clearly it needs some editing,” Patrick jokes.

David shakes his head and resists the urge to pluck an invisible thread off Patrick’s shoulder. “Well you know, talk sober, edit eating chocolate.” 

“Ah, yes, by the author of The Gay Man and the Truffle.” 

They both burst out laughing, the bubble of sincerity popped, and David feels both relieved and disappointed. 

“Here. stir this for me while I grab a baking sheet.” 

“Let me just. Rinse my hands off.” When David returns to the stove, Patrick grabs his hand and puts it on the wooden spoon. He guides David’s hand and the spatula into a slow figure-eight motion. “Just like that.”

David focuses, feeling a lot of pressure to not fuck this up. “Okay, but hurry.”

Patrick returns to his side 19 figure-eights later, with a scuffed up baking sheet and a rolled up piece of vellum. “Why do you have vellum? Do you hand-letter signs?”

“What?” Patrick’s eyebrows furrow. “Oh no, this is wax paper. It’ll just keep the chocolate from sticking.” Patrick is everywhere, moving around him, lining the tray with the wax paper, chopping up some dried cranberries and pistachios deftly, placing them into small glass bowls..

“Okay so.” Patrick wipes his hands on his apron. We’re just going to place these into the chocolate, and coat it and then pop them onto this tray.” David watches as he drops one of his cheese spheres into the pot set-up, covering it completely and then, using two weird two-pronged forks, placing it gently on the wax paper. Patrick does a second one, and David’s mesmerized by his hands moving with a precise efficiency that David can’t help but wonder if he brings to everything.

“Your turn.” 

David takes a deep breath and carefully places a cheese ball into the pot and uses the fork to push it around, but it’s not as easy as it looked when Patrick did it. “I don't think this one knows how to swim.”

“Guess that makes me the lifeguard on duty,” Patrick says. David laughs, but also wonders what else Patrick could save him from. Patrick helps him retrieve the now thoroughly coated truffle, and places it next to Patrick’s, a lumpy long lost cousin bearing little to no resemblance to it’s relatives. “Do another?”

David does, and it’s not much better. A third, with Patrick’s hands guiding his, gentle and confident, yields a passable truffle and an increased heart rate. Patrick is so close, every tiny point of contact making David want more. The fourth nearly escapes and Patrick steps closer, his breath warm against David’s neck, his grip just a little bit tighter, guiding David’s hands where they need to be. They stay that close, and settle into a rhythm, Patrick doing most of the work using David’s hands as a conduit, until there’s just one left.

“Okay, show me what you’ve got,” Patrick says, stepping back, smiling at David. David misses the closeness instantly, the way Patrick fit into him, solid and steadying.

David miraculously gets a decent looking truffle onto the tray and shakes his fist in celebration.

“You did it, David. It looks great.” Patrick bumps his shoulder into David’s. “These need about twenty minutes in the freezer to set up. We can go over the paperwork?”

Patrick sprinkles the toppings over them and puts the tray into the freezer, then motions for David to come join him by a clean work station. David goes over to his bag and gets the folder he has prepared for Patrick and when he comes back there are several small bowls of chocolate and two glasses of water sitting out. 

“Oh—thanks.”

“Wanted you to taste something before you pitched me. Oh—you just have…” Patrick reaches over, his thumb rubbing at a spot on David’s cheek. His thumb is warm and rough and sort of soothing, and David feels like someone just dropped him into a pot of warm melty chocolate. “You just had a little chocolate.”

“Thanks.” David's voice is embarrassingly faint.

They try a bunch of chocolates, including a very delicious dark chocolate and crystallized ginger bar and a milk chocolate that is so good it makes David reconsider his long held opinion that dark chocolate is vastly superior. David gives Patrick his pitch, trying to emphasize why it's a mutually beneficial agreement. All the while, David can feel where Patrick’s thumb trailed across his cheek.

Patrick asks several questions that make David a little flustered, but at the end Patrick’s grinning at him. “It sounds like you’ve really got something there David. I’d be honored to be a part of it. I do want to review the contracts, but I don’t anticipate any major problems.”

“Great—that’s great.” David feels the familiar thread of pride of signing a new vendor, but laced with something more, something unique to Patrick thinking this is a good idea.

“Should we celebrate with the fruits of our labor?” Patrick asks.

“We very much should.”  

He retrieves the tray of truffles and they look amazing. “These look amazing, despite my involvement,” David says, pulling out his phone and snapping a couple of overhead shots.

“Would you mind sending me that? I don’t have a lot of good photos.” 

David is not at all surprised to hear that Patrick struggles aesthetically given his sartorial choices. “Sure—put in your number.” David hands over his phone and Patrick types in his number, handing it back. David sends one of them. “Sent. Well one of them, I need to adjust the other one, I’ll send it later. Can I?” David’s hand hovers over a truffle.

“Go ahead.” Patrick picks one up and holds it up. “To a successful partnership.”

David selects a truffle that looks like Patrick made it, and taps it against Patrick’s. “To a successful partnership.”

David pops the whole thing in his mouth and he’s glad Patrick is excited to sell these at his store. The chocolate is just the right amount of bitter and the filling is like the best cheesecake David’s ever had. It’s creamy and sweet, with the cranberry cutting through goat cheese perfectly. There’s something else, that David can’t quite place and he grabs another one and eats that too.

“I take it you're a fan?” Patrick asks, watching David’s face. David doesn’t even want to think about what his face is doing right now.

“Is there mascarpone in these?” David asks, almost accusingly. “Sorry, that came out way harsher than I meant.”

Patrick laughs. “There is, I needed something in there for balance and the ricotta was never creamy enough.”

“These are astonishingly good.” David takes a third, silently vowing it will be his last. Having these in the store with him everyday is going to require a will-power he doesn’t possess.

“Glad you approve.”

“I haven’t had chocolate this life-changing since the first time I had the Jacques Torres Mexican Hot Chocolate after getting unceremoniously broken up with by someone I didn’t even respect and definitely didn’t respect me, though those realizations came much later.”

Patrick's eyes go wide, processing what David just blurted out.

“Anyway, these are great and I really hope you decide to sell these at my store.”

“I’m glad you like them,” Patrick repeats, his voice unbearably kind and sincere. “I’ll drop off the papers in the next few days.”

“Great. Right, it’s late I should get going.” David clearly overstayed his welcome.

“Oh—yeah, sure. Makes sense.”

“See you soon.”

“See you soon, David.”

🍫

“Can you unpack the tea?” David asks Connor. David hates sorting through Mr. Hockley’s deliveries the most—they are disorganized and are hardly ever what David ordered, and David is more than happy to delegate this to someone else. “I’m going to need you make a list of what he actually sent us.”

“You do know I’ve been working here for like three months.”

“Yup, thanks so much.” David does not have the energy for this today. Last night he hosted a wine and cheese tasting at the store to try to drum up business. It had been quite the success, he sold more in a night than he had in the previous week, but tipsy customers are touchy customers, ensuring that almost every single item in the store was out of place. 

“I assume you want me to restock the cheese boards, too?” Connor asks as he disappears into the back.

“Mmhmm. Yup.” David finishes rotating the last of the cleansers, so all the pumps are facing the same way.

The bell dings and David is not in the mood for a customer, but he plasters a smile on his face and turns to the door. It reaches his eyes when he sees it’s Patrick.

“Hi.”

“Hi, David.” Patrick is wearing sweatpants, a zip up hoodie and a vest, with a toque on his head. His cheeks are flushed and he looks relaxed. “Just wanted to drop by the signed contracts.”

“That’s great. Do you have any—”

Connor tosses open the curtain then. “Do you need to know if—oh. Hi, moo—Patrick.”

“Good to see you. I’ve been hiking in the afternoons lately,” Patrick says.

“Ronnie said she scared you off,” Connor says, in the way he has that makes David completely unable to tell if it’s a joke.

“Nope, I just changed my schedule around, I’ve been helping Heather out with the goats in the morning.”

“You have a leaf on your hat.” Connor points at him and David watches as he blushes and clumsily pats at his head.

“Here let me.” David walks over to him and pulls it off. Patrick watches him with those damn eyes. David holds up the leaf, as if he needs to prove it was real. 

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers.

“So do you have any of those chocolates with you?” Connor asks.

“Um, no, just the paperwork today. I wasn’t sure what exactly you wanted to stock.” 

“Oh.” Connor disappears into the back again.

“He seems like a good kid.”

“He is. It was Jocelyn’s idea and it was one of her better ones. He really gets what I’m trying to do here creatively.” 

“This space is really great David, I love what you’ve done with it.”

“Thanks, it turned out exactly like I wanted it to,” David admits. Sourcing the furniture certainly would have been easier with someone stronger than Alexis, but her ability to bargain came in very handy. 

Patrick nods, with an amused look on his face that David doesn't quite understand but isn’t offended by. 

“So! Your first order. I do pick-ups on Sundays and Mondays, if that works. How do you typically package your orders?”

“Well, the fudge I box in a quarter-pound slice, the bars are 4oz and individually wrapped, and the truffles I usually pack in boxes of six. But boxes of two might be nice to have near the cash?”

“Okay.” David remembers how good the truffles they made were. “What...flavors are available?” David is slowly realizing how many questions he forgot to ask the other night.

“The fudge is currently just classic until I figure out that goat cheesecake swirl, the bars are dark chocolate and sea salt and a milk chocolate with tea, which you tried the other night, and the truffles are the goat-cheese and cranberry—obviously—classic, and a seasonal pumpkin spice.”

David nods, wracking his brain. He remembers eating chocolate but all the flavors are blurring together—and then he remembers Patrick’s thumb lighting moving against his cheek. “Right. Of course.” David hopes he’s not blushing, but he feels hot all over.

Patrick looks at him expectantly. Right. David needs to focus, and tell Patrick what he wants. 

“Let’s start with six boxes of fudge—assuming that has the shortest shelf life?” David pauses, and Patrick nods. “Then let’s do a dozen each of the bars. And then for the truffles. Let’s hold off on the cranberry goat cheese until closer to the holidays? So then, maybe a dozen two-packs of each, and then six each of the half dozen boxes?”

Patrick’s eyes are wide, but he’s nodding so David keeps going. “That’ll give us a good batch of preliminary numbers and then we’ll be able to better assess what we should plan on for the holidays. Thanksgiving is just around the corner and I think the pumpkin will do well. Should I write that down?”

“Nah, I’m good with numbers. That sounds like a reasonable jumping off point. I can have those ready for you at noon on Monday, does that work?”

“That’s perfect.” 

“Ok then,” Patrick says. “I guess I’ll just get going.”

“Wait!” David blurts out. “I promised you soap. Let me just…” He hurries around the table over to the personal care section. There’s a lemon verbena that feels right for Patrick, the leather and germanium is too heavy. David swoops back behind the counter, and wraps them in tissue paper and places them in a tote bag. Patrick watches with a small smile playing across his lips. David can’t help but notice he has nice lips.

“For you,” David says, handing over the bag.

“Thank you, David. See you Monday.”

David nods decisively. “Monday.”

Connor appears the instant Patrick is gone. “Well, that explains why you’re single.”

“Excuse me?” David rears his head back in protest.

“That’s the weakest flirting I’ve ever seen and I’ve watched like every season of The Bachelorette.”

“That was not flirting.”

“Whatever you say boss.” Connor spins dramatically and disappears again.

“That was not flirting!” David calls out.

🍫

David is dabbing under eye serum onto his face and ignoring Alexis. He had way too much wine with Stevie last night and his skin has a patina of regret and dehydration.

“David, if you don’t get out of there right now, I’m taking the car.”

“Absolutely not. I have the keys.”

“Are you sure about that?”

David checks his pocket. “Yes, I am.”

“Fine, if you don't get out of here right now, I’m going to spray Mom’s expired Calvin Klein Obsession on your linens.

“Don’t you dare.” David flies out of the bathroom. “Besides, you sleep right next to me.”

Alexis narrows his eyes at him. “Well, I won’t have to,” she chirps as she sails past him and slams the bathroom shut.

“Alexis, I need my—” 

Her hand emerges from the door, clutching David’s phone. David grabs it with a huff. This room needs a second bathroom. “Byeeeeeee,” he yells as he slams the door behind him.

David has two pick-ups before Patrick’s and he tries very hard not to think about Connor telling him he’s bad at flirting. He’s great at flirting. He's just not flirting with Patrick.

David pulls into the farm a few minutes before noon, and walks straight to the barn, where Patrick is predictably standing at a counter in an apron.

“God, it always smells so good in here. Also, hi.” David says.

“David. You’re here,” Patrick says, his face lighting up.

“It’s Monday at noon?” David is supposed to be here. 

“Is it noon already? I didn’t realize.”

“Busy morning?” David asks, not sure if he should offer to leave.

“I was trying to make an eggnog truffle and four batches later, none of them taste right.” Patrick rubs the back of neck in frustration.

“Oooh, I love eggnog. Is that your next seasonal flavor? I’ll definitely be ordering those for the store.”

“I was thinking for the holidays, maybe we could off a box of six flavors. Like, a special edition?”

“That’s a really good idea, Patrick.”

“You think?” Patrick asks, crinkles forming around his eyes. He looks pleased, and David thinks he likes pleasing Patrick.

David nods. “I do. Eggnog will be perfect.”

“Do you want to try some of the test batches?”

“Mmhmm yup.” David walks over to Patrick’s workstation, and there are white chocolate truffles with a drizzle of milk chocolate all over the surface.

“You’ve been busy.”

Patrick laughs and hands him a truffle. “But not productive. Okay, here try this one, this batch was the best of the bunch.”

David takes a bite and chews thoughtfully, and then eats the other half. “You need more nutmeg.”

“Not cinnamon?” 

“No, nutmeg, the freshly grated kind?” Ted Allen told him one year at his parents’ annual holiday party that nutmeg was the secret to a great eggnog.

“Okay then, more nutmeg it is.”

The next day, David gets a text. You were right, nutmeg was perfect.

🍫

On Saturday, Ronnie walks in, her eyes sweeping the store. “Do you have any more of that chocolate? Jocelyn had some at rehearsal and she said she got them here.”

David nods, gesturing at the table toward the back. “Over there. They’re good right? The goat cheese in the truffle is from Heather’s farm.”

“I thought that tasted familiar. That woman knows her way around the kitchen.”

“Patrick actually makes the truffles. I think you know him, Connor mentioned you’ve run into him?”

“Oh. Him. How unfortunate.”

“He’s nice. And the chocolates are delicious.” David can’t help but defend Patrick.

“I can’t tell if he’s impatient or very sure of himself. He does make a good truffle though.” Ronnie sighs as she grabs the last two boxes of truffles. “Is everything else as good as the truffles?”

“Yes. I tried the chocolate bars last night, and they are sensational.”

Ronnie grabs two chocolate bars and a box of fudge, and heads to the cash.

David grins as he goes to ring up Ronnie. He’ll have to place another order with Patrick, they’ve basically sold out of everything.

🍫

He’s back at Patrick’s on Monday, and this time the rich chocolatey smell has an undercurrent of mint.

Patrick looks up from the pot he’s stirring. “David. You’re early.”

“I guess I am.” David can’t remember the last time he was early for anything . “What are we making today?”

“Peppermint chocolate truffles” 

There’s a tray filled with tiny pieces of bright red mosaic glass. “What’s this?” 

“I made some peppermint candy to sprinkle on top of the truffles. Help yourself.”

David plucks a small piece out and pops it in his mouth. “Mmm. You made that?”

“Yeah, it’s easy.  Basically, just put sugar, corn syrup, peppermint extract, and a couple of drops of red dye in a pot.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” David pops another sugary shard in his mouth. “Can I help?”

“You can stir while I get the order. Do you want an apron?” Patrick laughs. “Nevermind, of course you want an apron. Grab one from the hooks.” 

David puts on an apron and walks back over to Patrick. “Just like last time?” David confirms as he takes the spoon, his hand brushing against Patrick’s.

“Just like last time.” Patrick places his hand over David’s for a brief second before going to box up the order.

🍫

Stevie is sitting on the counter next to the body milk, which David has asked her not to do on more than one occasion. “Can you just—not? This is a place of business.”

“Do people really buy this body milk?” 

“I thought you were getting us lunch.”

“It sounds like a high protein meal supplement. Can you have one of those for lunch?”

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” Stevie asks, all faux-innocence, her eyes going wide and sincere. Sometimes David wonders if having a best friend is worth it. 

The bell dings, and David glares at her and turns to the door. “Welcome to—oh, hi.” 

It’s Patrick. Patrick is here. He hasn’t seen Patrick since the last pick up two weeks ago. The bigger order has lasted a little longer, though he is due for more fudge.

“Hey, David, I was gonna grab some lunch from the cafe and thought I’d see if you needed a restock.”

“Well, I was thinking—”

“We were just about to have lunch. I’m Stevie.” 

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—I was going to text you. I was thinking maybe this Monday would be good, for me to pick up another order.”

“I’m Patrick,” he says, giving Stevie a small wave. “And yes, Monday works. Noon as usual?” 

“Can we do it later? Maybe 3pm? I have to drive to Thornbridge to pick up an order of mugs from Tina.”

“Sure, that’s no problem.” Patrick picks up a body milk. “Should this be refrigerated?”

David whips his head toward Stevie. “Did you put him up to this?”

“We just met each other,” Stevie answers calmly, a glint in her eye.

David turns to Patrick, eyes narrowed. “Did she put you up to this?” 

“Like she said, we just met.” Patrick keeps a straight face but David swears he can see a smile in his eyes.

“I like you,” Stevie says to Patrick. She looks at David. “I like him.”

“I thought you were going to get us lunch,” David snaps. The current social dynamic is very imbalanced, and fries would make him feel a lot better.

“I can get you lunch if you want? I’m going there anyway,” Patrick offers.

Stevie hops off the counter. “I’ll go with you and then we can come back here and ask David to sell us on the merits of applying body milk to your skin versus attempting to drink it.”

“It’s milk! For your body! It’s not difficult,” David yells as they leave the store. 

🍫

“David! Hi!” Patrick calls out before David’s even stepped into the barn.

“Sorry, I’m late. Tina was very chatty and then there was a tractor just—in the middle of the road, driving. Is that even legal?” The kitchen smells different today, richer somehow, with a smell David can’t place. Butter maybe? Or Vanilla? It smells like early mornings in Paris, slanted golden light and pain au chocolat.

“I saw your text. I didn’t answer, I’ve been occupied,” Patrick says, gesturing to the counter, covered in bowls, each labeled with something different—brown sugar, 2x vanilla, 1.5x salt, base, 2x butter, no water. “I’m working on a salted caramel for the holiday truffles.”

“Well, it smells amazing.” David takes off his coat and drapes it over a stool. The winter chill has finally arrived.

“Want to try?” Patrick asks, nudging a cup full of teaspoons toward him.

“Can I?”

Patrick nods and David plucks a spoon out. He’s about to dip it into the closest bowl, 2x vanilla.

“Not that one!” Patrick exclaims, and David pulls back, panicked. He looks up Patrick, who’s barely suppressing his laughter. “Couldn’t help it, sorry. But I actually would start with the base.”

“That wasn’t very nice.” David says, dipping his spoon into the bowl labeled base. David feels his eyes practically roll back in his head. “You made this?”

Patrick smiles, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah. You like it?

“It’s—oh my god.” David reaches for another spoon and takes another taste. “Patrick, this is incredible.”

“You should try them all—tell me which is your favorite.”

“Really?” David doesn't even try to hide his delight. “I wish I could do pick-ups from you every day,” he sighs happily. David works his way across the counter, tasting each version. 

David takes a second taste from the bowl labeled 2x vanilla. “This one.” David points with his spoon. “This one is the winner.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Patrick agrees. “I thought the extra butter was going to be the winner, but it’s too rich.”

David nods. It was—it left his mouth feeling vaguely unsettled. “The extra salt is good too though.”

“I think I’m going to finish these with sea salt flakes, so I think that might get too salty then.”

“God, I can’t wait to try the finished product.”

“Why don’t you swing by next Monday? I’ll have it figured out by then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Patrick gazes at him from his side of the counter, and the moment stretches out. David feels an overwhelming urge to step into Patrick’s space, to be closer to him. 

“Um, the order?” He says instead.

“Right. The order.” Patrick takes off his apron and moves over to the long table where David sees two boxes, the largest order to date. “Everything should be in here. I can help you to the car.”

“If you don’t mind, thanks.” Whatever was happening between them is distinctly over, and they are safely back in the land of business associates. David knows this is where they belong, but it was nice to imagine a different landscape for a minute. David puts his coat on, and tries not to regret leaving so soon. “I’m parked out front.”

Patrick follows David, and David places both boxes in the back seat. He straightens up and turns back to Patrick. “Okay, so I’ll just see you next week.”

Patrick opens his arms. “Thanks for your help today, David.”

David automatically goes, winds his arms around Patrick. He’s a little taller than Patrick and they fit together easily, Patrick’s hands strong on his back. Patrick pats his back a few times, but he doesn't let go. David rubs a small circle on Patrick’s shoulder, feeling how solid he is under his shirt. David contemplates never letting go, just staying here, being held by Patrick but the word business keeps flickering through his brain and he reluctantly steps back.

“Same time next week?” Patrick asks.

“Same time next week,” David agrees, and gets in his car.

🍫

Connor just left, and before he closes for the day, David takes a deep breath and calls Patrick. “So, instead of me coming over on Monday, how do you feel about going on a hike with Ronnie and Connor?”

“David. Hi.” Patrick’s voice is laughter adjacent, it’s right there, David can practically see his eyes sparkling and lips pressed together, trying to hold it together. 

“Yes, hi.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“No, I don’t joke about hiking. Connor asked me and I said I had plans with you and then—Patrick, I don’t know what happened but I said we could both go,” David explains.

Connor had been quieter and more sullen than usual all week, showing up late once and hiding in the back, organizing and reorganizing the shelves. He vaguely alluded to something with his dad, but David didn’t press and Connor didn’t elaborate. He looked disappointed when David said he had plans already and David didn't want to be the reason he looked like that, so he just blurted it out, but now he’s seriously regretting that moment of humanity. 

“I’d love to go hiking with you and your friends, David,” Patrick says, and it sounds like he really means it. “You can come over after, if you want. You know, to try the truffles.”

“I’d like that,” David says, not letting himself think about how much he wants that.

🍫

“Explain it to me again,” Stevie says. “So he asked you and said yes, and then you called Patrick on the phone, like some sort of time traveler, and invited him to come along and watch you huff and puff your way up a mountain while Ronnie and a teenager make fun of you?”

“Basically. Yes. I regret everything.” In particular, he’s regretting his choice to wait for Patrick in the front office, not in his room.

“So, you just had plans with Patrick today? Interesting.”

“I was going there to sample a new flavor truffle for our potential holiday collaboration.”

“And instead of rescheduling this business meeting, you went ahead and invited him on a very non-business activity.”

“It would appear as such.”

“As such,” Stevie parrots. “Of course. And now Patrick is picking you up?”

“Mmhmm, that’s correct.” David’s phone buzzes in his hand. “He’s here. Byeeeeeee.”

David walks to the car and climbs in, suddenly feeling nervous. Stevie is right. What was he thinking inviting Patrick instead of just rescheduling? 

Patrick reaches over and gives his shoulder a squeeze, and David remembers Stevie is an authority on nothing except flannel and sarcasm. “Hi.”

“Hi,” David grins. “So um, thanks for doing this.”

“Not a problem, it’ll be nice. Been a long time since I got to hike with people.”

“Yes, well, I’m a very generous person.” 

🍫

Patrick grabs a backpack from his trunk and Ronnie predictably has one, but even Connor has a black canvas Herschel backpack resting by his feet. David feels very unprepared in his joggers and Converse. 

“Should I have...brought water? Or something?” David whispers to Patrick. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. 

“I have a water bottle for you, and some snacks if we need.”

“I just didn’t know—” David doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know here. 

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re doing a good thing,” Patrick says, lightly touching David’s arm. 

Patrick’s not wrong, it is okay, but David definitely doesn’t like it. At first, it’s fine. The path wide and flat, but then it narrows and the incline increases and literal branches are brushing against David’s arm.

Ronnie and Patrick take the lead, both of them clearly set out to prove something David is sure he doesn’t care about. 

“Shirt’s a little on the nose,” Connor says. 

David looks down at his sweatshirt, the words Love Me Tender written across his chest, visible under the Canada Goose Vest he bought for a day trip to Storm King. He fights the urge to cross his arms and cover what he can, feeling suddenly on display. He doesn’t really want to examine this particular sartorial choice. “I don’t know what that means,” David says instead. “So you like this? Walking outside up hills?”

“Sometimes,” Connor says, like that clears up anything.

They listen as Ronnie tells Patrick about the Cafe Tropical baseball team, and how they're always willing to take on eager, if inexperienced, players. David can tell by the set of Patrick’s shoulders that he is not amused.

“She really doesn’t like him,” Connor whispers. “She was surprised you invited him.”

“He’s not so bad,” David says. 

“You like him,” Connor says, matter-of-fact.

“I...do.” David isn’t sure where this is going but it’s becoming clear that Connor is starting to circle around to whatever reason he invited David up on this godforsaken mountain.

“How do you know when to trust someone?” Connor blurts out, his voice loud in the quiet around them. Ronnie speeds up and Patrick follows, leaving Connor and David mostly alone. David hopes there aren’t any bears.

“Um, I am… not sure I’m qualified to answer that.” David is not this kind of adult.

“But you’re willing to like, spend time with Patrick?”

“Yes, but it’s just business.” David blocks the memory of that hug from his mind.

“Forget it,” Connor says, speeding up. David is definitely doing this wrong.

“What did Ronnie say?” David calls, and Connor slows to match David’s pace again.

“She said you can just tell when someone is worth your time. Which is bullshit.”

“She’s not wrong, but yeah, that’s kind of bullshit.”

“So then, why Patrick?” Connor challenges him. “How can you tell?”

David can see Patrick, just through the trees, walking with Ronnie.  She’s probably being mean to him, and Patrick is here anyway—just because David invited him. Patrick, who always makes sure he has an apron and trusts him to stir chocolate and never makes him feel like his questions are dumb. Patrick smiles at him like he matters. “He’s nice,” David says, lamely. 

Connor doesn’t say anything which is somehow worse than if he said something insulting.

David tries again, this time treating Connor with the same respect he seems to have for David, however misplaced. “I’ve met a lot of people. Historically, I don’t have a very good track record of trusting the right people. I ignored a lot of things that I knew mattered because I thought having someone was better than being no one.” David takes a deep breath. “Patrick makes me feel like I might be someone that matters.”

“Oh. That makes sense actually.” 

David exhales, a knot of anxiety he was barely aware of loosening, glad he said something to Connor that was right—good. Something that might even help him. The relief is short lived, though, because there’s Patrick, paused just ahead, holding out a bottle of water for him.

They catch up to him and David takes the water. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“Are you cold? I have an extra hat if you want?” Patrick offers.

David looks over at Connor, who looks how David feels—bewildered at this basic human kindness.

“You can wear it home if you’re worried about your hair,” Patrick teases. David nods, taking the hat. This sweatshirt vest combo, in addition to betraying feelings he didn’t know he had, is not very warm.

“The view here is amazing,” David admits. “I can almost see why you like coming here.”

Down is somehow harder than up, though the light is beautiful, filtering through the bare trees casting long interesting shadows. David takes a few photos, maybe he’ll post one to the Rose Apothecary stories. Ronnie gives them a curt nod as she gets into her car and Connor gives a sincere wave. David resists the urge to cry out in relief when he is finally sitting in Patrick’s generic sedan. David tips his head back and closes his eyes, letting the sound of the car and the music wash over him.

“Still want to come over?” Patrick asks, his voice suspiciously even.

David’s eyes snap open as he scrambles to remember the plan. Oh, the truffles. David is torn. He’s hungry, but he’d actually like some proper food first. But. He does want to keep spending time with Patrick.

“I thought we could pick up a pizza on the way home?” Patrick adds.

“From the place in Elmdale?” David asks. The pizza from the café veers toward inedible.  

“Unless you wanted it from the café?” Patrick teases.

“No, if you want the pizza from Enzo’s, I’m amenable to that.” 

“Ah, yes, I forgot how amenable you are.” 

“I’m known for my acquiescent nature.” David is unclear as to why he chose to flirt by sounding like his mother, and presses his lips together. 

Patrick laughs though, bright and happy as he drives them toward the pizza place. 

When they get back to Patrick’s, David autopilots toward the barn. He’d imagined them sitting on stools, at one of the long stainless steel tables, but instead, Patrick veers left and David scrambles to keep up. 

“I thought this would be more comfortable,” Patrick explains, letting them into a small cottage set back between the kitchen and Heather’s house. David had assumed this was storage the whole time.

“You live here?” It’s cute—one big open room with a galley kitchen and small gray couch and a bed off to the right, with a black wrought iron headboard. There are more plants than David would have expected, one with a single red ornament hanging from it. It smells faintly of chocolate, like it’s a part of Patrick.

“Yeah, I needed a place to stay when I left Rachel, and Heather mentioned a guest cottage in the ad. It felt like it was meant to be.” Patrick sets the pizza down on the table. “Wine?”

“Yes, please.” David is hovering near the table, not sure if he should be helping or sitting. He stands there and watches Patrick reach for plates and competently open the wine with a soft pop and pour them each a glass. He hands him a glass, and gives him a small nudge toward the table. “Sit.”

David sits, and the pizza smells amazing. “What’s in the small bag?”

“Probably, mozzarella sticks, sometimes Enzo throws them in.”

“He just gives you mozzarella sticks?” The last time he had mozzarella sticks was at the café with Alexis, to celebrate his birthday and her graduation, and they were sad and freezer-burned and somehow both soggy and chewy.

“Yeah, I helped him streamline his QuickBooks. It’s no big deal. ” Patrick shrugs. “We should eat those first though, they have a pretty short shelf-life.”

David mmms around a bite. “These  are much better than the ones at the cafe.”

“Glad you approve. We should eat there sometime, they’re even better if they don’t have to travel quite so far.”

This is the perfect time to say yes, to admit that he would very much like to have many, many more dinners with Patrick, that he very much likes Patrick. To tell Patrick what he was willing to admit to himself and Connor earlier. Instead, he nods noncommittally and grabs another mozzarella stick, because friendship and fried cheese is still a pretty good deal.

The pizza is delicious and Patrick is charming and they have a second glass of wine and Patrick pulls out a plate of truffles. 

“I think I nailed these. You’re gonna love ‘em.” 

“Oh, really?”

Patrick nods, exuding a confidence that fits him. 

David picks up one, a perfect round ball with a drizzle of caramel and delicate white flakes on top. Patrick’s watching him carefully as he takes a bite, and whatever he sees on David’s face makes his eyes radiate a kind of joy that David’s not sure he’s ever had directed at him before. Patrick added whiskey to the filling, which cuts the richness of the caramel perfectly, and he was absolutely correct, less salt in the filling is balanced by the additional sprinkle of sea salt on top.

“Good?” Patrick asks, a note of nervousness creeping into his voice that wasn’t there before.

“So good. Patrick, these are—how did you? They’re spectacular.” David takes another one, savoring it.

“I’m glad you like them.” 

“You should offer these year-round. Or maybe a limited edition box for Valentine’s day.” David wants to have another one, but doesn’t want to look greedy. “You could even put two of these in the holiday box?”

“Oh, I’m working on something else for the last flavor.”

“Intriguing. What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” David says, a little more petulantly than he means to.

“I think you might like this one.”

David knows he probably will, because he trusts Patrick, but he scowls in response instead.

“Do you want to take the rest of the salted caramel truffles home as a peace offering?”

“Very much.” David is going to have to secretly eat these when Alexis is out running, because he is absolutely not sharing. 

“Let me pack those up for you then before I take you home.” 

David watches as Patrick puts them into a box for him. He can’t tell if Patrick is brushing him off or—oh. It’s nearly 9 p.m. David has been here for hours. Patrick is probably—definitely tired of him.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, but not in a bad way. David can tell Patrick another day that he has feelings, in the light of day, when he’s wearing a shirt that doesn’t have his emotions printed across his heart.

Patrick pulls into the parking lot, right in front of his door. He looks weirdly beautiful in the glow of the horrendous flood lights. 

“Thanks for inviting me today David, I’m really glad you did,” Patrick says, turning toward him.

“Well that is a lovely thing to say.”

“And I’m so glad you came Patrick, because without you I would have been cold and thirsty.”

“There might be some truth to that,” David teases, ignoring the other truths he’d like to lay bare. 

Patrick holds his gaze, his eyes flicking down to David’s lips, and he angles forward the tiniest bit. David tilts toward Patrick, leaning in to what he wants, and then Patrick’s leaning over, too, his lips warm against David’s. He tastes like the chocolate they just had, and David feels some secret part of himself melt. Patrick pulls back, eyes sweeping over David’s face, a small smile on his lips.

“Thank you for making that happen for us,” David says. 

Patrick quirks his head to the side, in a way that makes David want to kiss him again. But first. He takes a deep breath. “I was a little concerned that tonight was going to end without us having done that. And… I wanted that. To happen.”

“David,” Patrick says it so softly, so earnestly, like a promise, like he knows David. David leans forward this time, wrapping his hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, into a spot it feels like was meant for him. David tries to kiss Patrick with every feeling he tried to outrun today, with everything he hopes they can be. 

He pulls back, breathless, and Patrick cups his jaw so gently. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Patrick,” David whispers.

🍫

The next day, when David goes to open, Patrick is sitting on the front step of the store. He kisses David hello and hands him a coffee. This is definitely the healthiest first day of a relationship David has ever had. “I’m on my way to Ray’s but I just wanted to get my hat back.” 

“Oh, right, your hat.” David teases as he unlocks the door. 

“Yes, my hat.” Patrick says, following David into the store, and then he’s kissing him again, his hands sliding under David’s coat, as his mouth moves against David’s. He tastes like tea and chocolate, and his tongue is teasing and light and David doesn’t think he’s here for his hat.

The day after that, he shows up right after Connor gets in, and takes David to lunch at the café. Connor gives him a thumbs up when Patrick isn’t looking. The day after that, Patrick calls to invite him out for dinner Sunday night. “A proper date, David, just so we’re clear.”

Patrick takes him to a bistro owned by a French couple, Lisette and Alexandre, who orders dark chocolate raspberry tarts from Patrick. They have them on special on Friday nights. Patrick has on a navy blue blazer, which needs to be tailored, but like all of Patrick’s wardrobe, it suits him anyway. 

The food is impeccable. It reminds David of a dinner he had in a small town just south of Avignon. Patrick holds his hand across the table, feeds him a bite of his coq au vin, and listens intently as David tells him about the store. 

Lisette comes over with a glass of champagne for each of them after dinner. “I’m sure our Patrick has a much better plan for dessert, but just a little something to tide you over.”

Patrick blushes a little as he holds his glass up. “To us,” he says simply, clinking his glass against David’s. The champagne is crisp and fizzy, and there’s not a single mention of a raisin to mar the experience.

“I thought—you could come over after this,” Patrick says.

David raises an eyebrow, he didn’t expect Patrick to be this forward.

“Not for that—not that I don’t want that. When we’re ready.” Patrick looks very cute when he’s flustered, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I think the last flavor is ready for your approval.”

“I want that, too,” David says. “When we’re ready. And also the truffles.”

Patrick gives his hand a squeeze, and David tries to hide his smile behind his champagne flute. 

Lisette kisses David on both cheeks as they leave. “We’ll see you soon, yes?”

David looks at Patrick and nods. “I’d like that.”

🍫

Patrick settles him on the sofa with a glass of wine. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, pressing a lingering kiss to David’s lips. He returns with his own glass of wine and plate of truffles.

“So what is this mystery flavor?”

“Try one,” Patrick says, holding the plate out. 

“Should I be nervous? It’s not something rose flavored is it? Because historically, I don’t like that.”

“I think I know you better than that, David.” 

David swallows back a retort, Patrick does know him better than that. He carefully picks up a truffle, this one dusted in cocoa powder. With the first bite, David is transported back to Brooklyn, to a windy, cobblestone street and a perfect cup of hot cocoa, but this time the warmth is coming from Patrick, not a beverage. 

“You remembered—” David trails off and gestures helplessly.

“I’ve been paying attention, David.”

“I know—thank you. For that.” David sets his wine down and takes the plate from Patrick, putting that on the table, too. David leans in, and kisses him, giving in to all of it—to the moment, to the future, to Patrick.