How Sweet It Is

by Bonnie Blythe

  Embrasser means kiss in French. Delphine D'Arleux, traveling in Belgium for a candy-making class, doesn't expect to have the word demonstrated to her, especially by a stranger. Brad Larsen, an avowed chocoholic, knows he behaved badly by kissing the pretty French girl, but he can't quite regret his actions. Can he show Delphine that a longing fulfilled is sweet to the soul?

  HOW SWEET IT IS

  a Christian romance novel

  by

  Bonnie Blythe

  Copyright 2010

  by Bonnie Blythe

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN 978-1458022400

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Magyar Design

  Photo © Marazem

  Pour Camille

  A longing fulfilled is

  sweet to the soul.

  Proverbs 13:14

  One

  It just doesn’t get any better than this!

  Brad Larsen leaned his head against the front window of a Belgian chocolatier shop in the old Brussels square and inhaled deeply, attempting to smell the chocolate through the glass while gazing at the rows of wrapped chocolates that winked in the slanting rays of the sun like jewels in Aladdin’s cave.

  He wanted to go inside, but the shop was currently crowded with eager weekend customers. Brad decided to wait a few more minutes and bide his time ogling the candy.

  He smiled wryly at the thought. His old surfing buddies back home had ribbed him about his opportunities to ogle pretty European girls. Although he’d done a fair amount of that while he’d been visiting the continent during the last week with his parents, one had to have one’s priorities straight.

  And right now it’s chocolate.

  Brad pressed his hands against the glass, willing some of the customers to leave the store. His gaze traveled around the dim interior. Old brick and bad lighting didn’t hinder the candies from appearing to glow with an inner radiance. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  When he opened them, he saw a female standing close to the window, staring at him. Her quizzical expression was almost comical. She had enormous ebony eyes fringed by thick lashes, set in a heart-shaped face.

  Brad’s gaze widened at the vision she created—made even more delectable framed by shelves and shelves of chocolates. Although he was vaguely aware of the condensation left on the glass from his breath, he couldn’t peel himself away from the window.

  I have to meet her.

  The girl inside the shop suddenly twisted away, melting into the mob of shoppers. He craned his neck, scanning the crowd to find her, but it seemed she’d disappeared. He pressed a hand to his heart. That tyrant, Madame Chocolat, with all her velvety sweet, cavity-inducing wiles, had been eclipsed by the pretty stranger. He made his way into the store.

  Brad edged his way around the people teeming in the small shop. With the advantage of his height, he spotted the girl he had seen where she stood across the room in line near the counter. A dark pink blush on her cheeks made her appear flustered. Brad stood transfixed, ignoring the jostling of customers around him.

  When she was first in line, she stepped up and pointed to the boxed selections displayed behind the counter. Brad listened as she gave her order in rapid French. He grinned. Ooh la la…

  She paid for her purchases with colorful Euro currency, then lifting her bags high, attempted to turn around in the crush of people. After being bumped by a mother with rowdy children, she darted through a break in the throng toward the door.

  Not so fast, mam’selle. Brad stepped neatly to the left to intercept her, pulling his English-French phrase book from his back pocket. She ran right into his chest.

  “Oh! Pardon, monsieur!”

  Brad smiled at her, delighted she was now within reach.

  She gasped—apparently recognizing him from the window—and tried to back up. Brad stared at her. She was even prettier up close. Her irises looked like liquid black ink, her brown hair appeared silken in the low lights. When she saw she was blocked, she frowned at him.

  Brad cleared his throat, his mind casting about for something to say. “Um—”

  The girl bit her lip in obvious frustration, her dark gaze darting as if seeking a way of escape. Brad pawed through the phrase book, feeling a thin sheen of sweat on his brow as he squinted at the type.

  Rats! The book was opened to the airport and customs page. Think, Larsen! Just say hello! “Uh, bonjoor, fair village maiden.”

  He peered over the top of his book. The French girl gave him an outraged glare before shoving her way around him.

  Huh? Did I say ‘good day’ incorrectly? He scowled at the book as if it was guilty of the offense.

  Before he could figure out his mistake, the young woman had slipped through a gap in a group of Japanese tourists and hurried out the door. Brad shoved the book into his back pocket and plunged after her, ignoring the stifled exclamations from annoyed customers.

  He stumbled onto the cobble-stoned street and saw the woman stride toward shadows cast by ancient buildings looming along the square. Brad took a moment to admire the way her hair gleamed in the sunlight. She wore a gray jacket with a matching skirt, and black high heels. Very prim and proper. When he’d stood next to her in the store, he’d noticed a wisp of frilly white blouse peeking from beneath the jacket, which hinted at a romantic side. He jogged after her.

  “Hey, lady! Um, mam’selle!”

  The woman increased her pace, threading her way through wandering shoppers. He neared close enough to almost reach out and touch her. She suddenly dropped one of the smaller bags she carried, and spun around to retrieve it.

  Brad saw his chance. He jumped forward and grabbed the bag. He held it out to her with a flourish, trying to catch his breath.

  The woman snatched it from him. “Village maiden, indeed!”

  Brad opened his eyes wide. “You…speak English?”

  I will not smile. This is not funny.

  Delphine D’Arleux glared at the look of shock on the young man’s face. “I’m bilingual,” she said coolly.

  He had bleached blond, shaggy hair, a lightly tanned face, and merry blue eyes under dark blond eyebrows. She looked away. Just because he’s cute doesn’t mean he’s not a thief or murderer.

  “Can I ask what it was I said that upset you, Ms…?”

  Delphine glanced back to him and arched her brow, experiencing a stab of irritation when she remembered his actions. “Do you always stare at women through windows? Besides, do I look like a village maiden?”

  The man flushed and offered her a lopsided smile. “I meant no harm, really. Your beauty took my breath away.”

  Delphine turned and walked away. I don’t have time for this. The bags in her hands suddenly felt like they weighed a ton. She wanting nothing more than to go back to her hotel room and sleep until her flight later that evening.

  “Wait, please!” the man exclaimed.

  She glanced back over her shoulder. He ran up and came to a stop in front of her.

  “At least let me buy you a cup of tea, chocolate or whatever you want…by way of apology.”

  Delphine stood rigidly and regarded him, wondering why he upset her hard-won equilibrium. Then she surveyed her surroundings. The old square sparkled in the bright, warm sunlight and bustled with natives and sightseers. Striped awnings of the nearby cafés undulated in the light breeze. Soaring Gothic stone structures hedged in the square, their severe lines softened by window boxes frothing over with riotous blooms. She eased out a breath. Here I am in the middle of Grand Place, Brussels, a place of adventure and romance—and I’ve had neither. Maybe that’s why I’m upset. Not only that, I’m broke—again.

  She'd spent the last of her money at the chocolate shop for research purposes and wouldn
’t be able to eat dinner before the flight. Her stomach gave an unladylike rumble. Delphine felt her face heat. She looked at the young man and sized him up. Why not? Why not let this guy feed me? Then I can say I’ve had at least one adventure, although minuscule, while in Europe. Even if it serves the dual purpose of getting something to eat. She forced her lips up in an attempt at a smile. “Merci.”

  The man grinned and held out his hand. “My name is Brad Larsen.”

  She adjusted her bags, reached out, and gave him a limp shake. “Um, Delphine.”

  Brad continued to hold her hand. “Delphine,” he said with his eyes closed. He slowly repeated her name as if savoring the sound.

  She tugged her hand away, regretting her impulse to accept his invitation. Cute…but weird.

  He offered her a charming smile. “Such a beautiful name.” Brad swept his arm in the direction of a nearby outdoor café.

  Eyeing him—half-wary, half-intrigued—Delphine followed him to the clusters of tables and chairs. When they were seated at a small marble-topped table, he yanked a phrase book from his back pocket. After scanning a page, he cocked his head at a waiter and rapped his hand on the table. “Monsoor! Doo chocolah! Toot sweet!”

  She hid a smile behind her hand. His French was appalling. While the stiff-faced waiter took their order, she studied Brad from beneath her lashes. Delphine realized he appeared somewhat older than she’d first thought. She could see faint lines at the corners of his eyes and his face had a more sculpted look up close. His hands holding the phrase book were strong and tanned.

  Perhaps his air of insouciance made him seem younger—not to mention his apparel. His faded Levi’s topped by a loud Hawaiian shirt seemed out of place in the midst of dark-clad natives or the tourists in coordinated sweat suits. He lounged in his wrought iron chair, apparently at ease with the world. His heavy-lidded gaze regarded her with obvious amusement.

  Delphine realized she’d been caught staring and lowered her eyes. Usually she remained imperturbable against the wiles of over-familiar men. Perhaps the old romantic air of the city had infected her common sense.

  Her heart gave a lurch. What would it be like to be frivolous, unfettered by cares? Maybe even flirt with a handsome man?

  Delphine pressed her hands together in her lap, alarmed at the direction of her thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to become careless. She mustn’t forget this was a business trip—not an excuse to entertain silly thoughts about a beguiling young man she’d never see again. She suppressed a sigh. Being twenty-four suddenly felt like eighty.

  When she looked up, she saw Brad watching her. Delphine felt a fresh tide of heat creep up her neck. She took a deep breath, telling herself to relax.

  The waiter appeared, placing two cups of hot chocolate and a plate of croissants in front of them. Brad thanked him in strangulated French and picked up a cup.

  “Since I first saw you in a candy store, I trust you like chocolate,” he said, winking.

  Delphine smiled and took a sip. “Thank you, it’s very good.” She frowned, staring into her cup.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Non, I mean, nothing is wrong.” She set her cup down. “I’m trying to decide if this is made from the Bourbon or Bahia bean.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The type of cacao bean used to make the chocolate.”

  “Tastes like good ol’ Swiss Miss to me.”

  Delphine raised her brows and decided to tease him a little. “Powdered chocolate mixes cannot stand up to the real thing.”

  He grinned. “The real thing being…?”

  “Well, considering the Aztecs developed it and drank it as a beverage, I’d recommend using solid Mexican chocolate with at least a seventy percent cocoa content.”

  “Huh?”

  She continued. “Then I’d grate six tablespoons of the chocolate per cup, melted with milk, half and half, vanilla, a little cocoa powder and salt. Heat it, add cold butter and mix until it has a glossy sheen. After it’s rested, reheat, strain, and serve.” She smiled at Brad’s fixated expression and could almost imagine him drooling.

  “All that for one cup?”

  “Trust me, it’s worth the effort for the quality.”

  Brad leaned forward. “Are you a gourmet or something?”

  She gave a thin smile. “No, I’m a—” Then her smile faded. I’m a what? An foolish girl with dreams too big for her bank account? She swallowed a lump in her throat and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve been in Belgium to take a course on candy making. So, now you could say, chocolate has become something of a science to me.”

  “And also a pleasure, I hope,” Brad said, his eyes shining.

  A melancholy pang made her sigh. I think I’ve forgotten what pleasure is.

  Brad idly stirred his cocoa with a spoon. “That Aztec stuff sounds good. Maybe you could make me a cup of it one of these days.”

  Flirt! “I don’t think so.”

  He seemed unaffected by her prim tone. If anything, the twinkle in his eyes deepened. She forced her expression into a polite mask. “What about you, Mr. Larsen? What brings you to Brussels?”

  “Besides the chocolate, I’m here with my parents. My dad’s here on business. It’s his first trip to Europe, so my mom and I decided to tag along.”

  “And you’re helping your father with the business?”

  Brad stretched his arms above his head. “Nope. I’m on summer vacation. It’s playtime for me. I just finished at Cal State.”

  Delphine regarded him steadily, wondering why she felt a pang of disappointment.

  “I know what you’re thinking, mam’selle,” Brad drawled, revealing a dimple in his cheek. “That someone my age—twenty-six to be exact—is too old to be finishing school. Well, for your information, I didn’t flunk my way through several years. I actually started late. Rushing off to college right after the behemoth task of finishing high school just wasn’t my cup of tea.” He raised his cup. “Or chocolate.”

  While he took a drink, Delphine experienced a spasm of sheer envy. She’d never had such a choice. “So what did you do? How did you support yourself?”

  “Professional surfing. I moved to Hawaii and recruited some sponsors and rode the pipelines for four years.” He made exaggerated surfing motions with his arms. “I earned enough to survive, but not enough to retire.” Brad gave her a self-deprecating smile. “I was good, but not that good.”

  “Sounds...interesting.”

  “So, Miss Delphine. What about you? What’s your story?”

  She gave a choked laugh. “Nothing as adventurous as yours, I’m afraid. After high school, I started college, but had to drop out—to care for my family.” She shrugged and picked up her cup. “Now I have plans to open a chocolate shop, but it might not be realistic.”

  He leaned forward. “If it’s your dream, you can make it happen.”

  “Trite words,” she said tartly over the edge of her cup. “If I can get the funds I need to start, then we’ll see.”

  Brad wondered why he felt chastened by this pretty lady’s words. She hinted at hardship, but surely things weren’t as bad as she made them out to be. What could be negative on so beautiful a day—in Europe, no less? The female sitting across from him, delicately sipping her chocolate, seemed tense and wary, and yet she reminded him of the prim librarian type with a secret, wild and passionate side. What could he say to make her relax, to make her forget about any troubles, real or imagined? Opening a chocolate shop sounded like a shoo-in for success. What could be more romantic than that?

  Yes, this Delphine only needed the right guy to help her shed her worries and embark on a Belgian adventure. And Brad knew he was just the guy to come to her rescue—especially as it coincided with his favorite flavor.

  “Are you opening a shop here?” he asked, somewhat distracted by the intriguing picture she made. He had a sudden mental image of her—exotic yet domesticated—in a ruffled apron, her faced flushed as she labored over her conf
ections…a delicious smudge of chocolate on her mouth just waiting to be kissed away.

  “No, not here in Belgium, if that’s what you mean.”

  Brad’s eyes widened when he realized he wasn’t totally imaging things. The chocolate at the corner of her mouth was real. His knees banged against the table, causing the liquid in his cup to slosh over the rim.

  “Oh! Is everything all right, Mr. Larsen?”

  Brad regarded that smudge of chocolate. He felt his heart pound—the way it did when he was about to do something outrageous. And now that the thought had entered his mind, he couldn’t shake it. After all, by train, they were only half an hour away from Paris, the romance capital of the world. Close enough to justify his impudence. So, when in Rome…or whatever.

  The breeze lifted a strand of Delphine’s hair aloft. Her dark eyes regarded him with solemn curiosity. Brad stood up and stepped over to where she sat. Before she could speak, he bent down, and pressed his lips softly against the corner of her mouth.

  When he raised his head, Delphine sat frozen, her cheeks burning with two spots of color.

  Uh oh.

  Before he could explain his behavior, she slapped him across the face.

  Hard.

  Brad stumbled backward a step when the redoubtable Frenchwoman jumped up, grabbed her bags, and stormed off. As he watched her leave the square, he bemusedly rubbed his hot cheek. Despite the sting, he didn’t regret kissing her. Not one little bit.

  He took a deep breath. Still, I need to explain. Brad dug into his pocket, and tossed some Euros down onto the table. Once clear of the café, he trotted along the square, looking for Delphine’s retreating figure among the flower vendors and meandering tourists.

  After several minutes of fruitless searching, Brad decided she must’ve taken a cab or train from the square. He sighed. Despite Delphine’s obvious assumption, he didn’t go around kissing strangers. He wanted to find her. But how?