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"Belle, I remember everything you've ever said about chocolate. Which is apparently more than most people say about their actual careers."

Her laugh had been warm and genuine, and when she'd agreed to meet me at Marseille's Chocolaterie, I'd spent the rest of the evening researching chocolate making techniques like I was preparing for a client presentation.

Now, watching through the shop window as Belle approaches down the sidewalk, I'm struck again by how beautiful she is. She's wearing a soft cream sweater that makes her skin glow and jeans that hug her curves in ways that make my mouth go dry. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, catching the afternoon sunlight, and when she spots me through the window, her face lights up with a smile that could power the entire downtown district.

"Felix!" she calls as she pushes through the door. "I can't believe you actually planned a chocolate date."

"You seemed pretty passionate about the subject at the ball," I say, stepping forward to greet her. "And I wanted to understand what makes Belle Hartwell so excited about confections that she develops entire philosophical frameworks around them."

"Oh god, you're never going to let me live down the chocolate theory, are you?"

"Never," I confirm, grinning. "In fact, I've been looking forward to seeing it in action."

The shop around us is like something from a fairy tale with warm woods and copper accents, glass cases filled with handcrafted chocolates that look more like jewelry than food. The air smells like cocoa and vanilla and something indefinably rich that makes my mouth water despite the fact that I rarely eat sweets.

Belle takes a deep breath and actually sighs with contentment. "This place is perfect, Felix. How did you even find it?"

"Research," I admit. "I may have spent last night reading reviews of every chocolate shop within fifty miles and cross-referencing them with your stated preferences for 'ethical sourcing and artistic presentation.'"

She turns to stare at me, and there's something soft and wondering in her expression. "You researched chocolate shops based on things I said at a ball?"

"I researched chocolate shops because I wanted to see that look on your face," I say honestly. "The one you're wearing right now."

Her scent shifts slightly, becomes warmer and sweeter, and I have to fight not to step closer just to breathe her in more deeply. Even with her suppressants, Belle's natural fragrance is intoxicating with vanilla and honey with something uniquely her underneath that makes my alpha instincts hum with satisfaction.

"Welcome to Marseille's!" A cheerful voice interrupts my Belle-induced trance, and I turn to see a woman in her fifties approaching with a warm smile. "I'm Claire Marseille. Are you here for the tasting experience?"

"Actually," I say, an idea forming, "do you offer private chocolate making classes?"

Belle's eyes widen. "Felix, you can't be serious."

"Completely serious. Claire, would it be possible to book a private class for two? Something hands-on where we can learn about the process while actually creating something?"

Claire's face lights up. "Absolutely! We have a wonderful couples' truffle-making class that includes tasting different cacao origins and learning about flavor pairing. It takes about two hours and you'll leave with a box of truffles you made yourselves."

"Perfect," I say, then turn to Belle. "If you're interested, that is. I don't want to assume you want to spend two hours making chocolate with me."

"Are you kidding?" Belle's voice is bright with excitement. "Felix, this sounds incredible. But are you sure? This is definitely more adventurous than I expected from our date."

"Belle, everything about you makes me want to be more adventurous."

I've spent my entire adult life following carefully planned schedules, creating detailed blueprints for every aspect of my existence. But something about Belle makes me want to throw the plans away and just see what happens.

Claire leads us to a small workshop area behind the main shop, where copper-topped tables are arranged with all the tools and ingredients for truffle making. The space is warm and intimate, designed for exactly this kind of hands-on experience, and I can see Belle already cataloguing every detail with the focused attention she usually reserves for new book acquisitions.

"First," Claire says, tying aprons around both of us, "we'll taste different types of chocolate so you understand how origin and processing affect flavor. Think of it as building your chocolate vocabulary."

She sets out a tray of small squares, each labeled with information about origin and cacao percentage, and Belle's face takes on the expression of someone approaching something sacred.

"This is like wine tasting, but better," she murmurs, picking up the first sample.

"Better how?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Wine tasting is about subtlety and sophistication. Chocolate tasting is about joy and comfort and the way sweetness can make everything feel possible."

She takes a small bite and closes her eyes, and the expression of pure pleasure that crosses her face does absolutely nothing good for my self-control. Her scent spikes with happiness, and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep from reaching for her.

"Try this one," she says, offering me a piece of what looks like very dark chocolate. "It's from Madagascar. It has single origin with vanilla notes."