Page 2 of Little Treat

“Sure,” I said. “I’m Logan, by the way.”

He pushed a shoulder forward slightly to reveal the name tag on his apron. “I’m Jamie, or Jam, sometimes Jammy.”

“Jam?” I asked.

“Yeah, when I was a teen, I was super into making homemade conserves and jams, and it’s kinda part of my name,” he said.

“Then I guess this is the perfect place for you to work,” I said.

As he led me into the shop, he snickered. “Hard not to work here, my dad owns the place.”

The chocolate shop smelled like heaven. A sweetness cloud hit me, and I could’ve fallen into a pile from the sugary contact high I was getting. There were several people inside, and a couple of kids picking out single chocolates at the counter.

“So, we make a whole bunch of different chocolates here,” Jamie said. “And chocolate-adjacent things. We were actually featured on one of those reality shows. You know, where those rich women come in with their camera crew, do something dramatic, and then leave.”

“Real Housewives?” I asked. My guilty pleasure—nobody knew about it. In fact, it was the first time I’d said it out loud, admitting that I even knew what it was. Relief dropped from my shoulders.

“You knowReal Housewives?” he asked, gasping and placing a hand to his chest. His face was tinged pink—probably from coming in out of the cold—but it only added to how adorable he was.

I shrugged, feeling the heat come up into my cheeks. “I guess, it’s everywhere,” I said. “It’s probably difficult not to know who they are.” I think I might’ve saved myself with that one. Although Jamie was now eyeing me with a curious smile that seemed to have me melting right out of my skin, as if I were the chocolate itself. It was playful, teasing, fun. It was everything I needed.

“So, what types of chocolate do you like?” he asked. “Or should I just give you the tour?”

“I—uh—”

“Say less,” he snickered. “I’ll give you the tour.”

He was looking around at the customers, and yet his focus and eyes were on me. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Besides, I think you’ll be walking out of here with a large bar of chocolate,” he said.

And he was probably right. At this moment, I felt like he could try to sell me absolutely anything and I would buy it. It was almost infectious, the energy he was giving out. Half of me didn’t want to buy anything so he’d keep on talking to me, but in the end, I walked out of that store with a large bar of milk chocolate filled with nougat and whipped caramel. It was divine from the taster.

The intense cold of the outside hit me hard. It was much darker now, although I could’ve sworn I only spent half an hour in there at the max. I walked around town as the townsfolk were cradling cups of hot cocoa and mulled wine. I went right up to the Christmas tree and felt the warmth of all its lights glowing intensely. I pulled out the small paper bag that I’d folded around the bar of chocolate and slipped into my green puffer jacket, andas I removed the chocolate from the paper, the receipt came out with it, something scrawled in black pen across it.

I read the note.Here’s my number. I’m Jamie, don’t forget it.

Looking around to see if I was beingPunk’d, I slipped the chocolate and the note back into my pocket. Now I had a decision to make—call the attractive younger guy, or don’t, and mull over that for the rest of my life. Clearly, it was a difficult decision. I chuckled to myself with the decision made, but as I pulled the note out, it was whipped up into the frenzied breeze around me.

Damn.

2. JAMIE

The chocolate shop was hectic; it always was. Between dealing with customers, working in the kitchen, and occasionally take a working break out in the snow to offer samples, I was literally never off my feet. And sometimes all I wanted was to be... well, on my back, knees to my chest, ass up and... you know the rest.

“Jamie,” my father called to me after I’d finished dealing with the handsome mustachioed man who’d come in. There were two sections to the kitchen, one where people could stand at the window and watch as my father and older brother made these Santa models from chocolate, and the other where he stood now out of view of the public.

“Yes,” I said, dusting my hands off on my apron and smiling.

“I think you might’ve spent a little too much time with that one customer,” he said, nodding as if trying to get me to nod along in agreement. I did agree, but I’d spent a long time with him for a reason—he was attractive.

“He was looking for something in particular,” I said. “I can’t help it if a customer is picky.”

“But you can encourage them to look on their own,” he said.

“I know, I know, but I was just trying to be helpful.”

My father nodded, clicking his tongue. “You should be getting as much training in as possible. You’re an apprentice, and you’re incredibly lucky to be part of this legacy. I want great things for you and your brother.”