Kitabı oku: «The Trouble with Josh», sayfa 3

Candace took a few shallow breaths, then hung up. She didn’t like pleading on tape where strangers could hear. Not that she was above doing it if she had no other choice, but only then.

Feeling as if the day were somehow less bright, less perfect, she crossed the final few feet to the store. Its name, U-Want-It, was emblazoned across one plate-glass window, and a life-size wildcat, its mouth open in a snarl, was painted on the other. The place appeared to have a little of everything—clothing, books, tools, toys, sports equipment, auto parts and even an old-fashioned soda fountain. The electronic bell on the door played the first few notes of a catchy tune, but the voices that greeted her were none too friendly.

They came from the checkout and belonged to two women—one with jet-black hair, probably in her forties, and the other a sullen blonde, maybe half that age. Candace gave them a vague smile, then wandered down the main aisle. That wasn’t enough distance, though, to block out their conversation.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” the blonde snapped in a tone that suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d said it. “My daddy—”

“Your daddy may run everything else around here, but this store is mine. I’m your boss, Shelley, and you know what that means? I do get to tell you what to do. Dusting shelves is a part of your job, as is being here on time and not making personal calls on store time.”

Shelley sniffed haughtily. “Dusting is a dirty job, and it’s hard on my nails, and I’m not going to do it. And I was only twenty minutes late.”

“For the third time in a week.”

“What—are you keeping track?”

“Yes, I am. It’s called a time card,” the woman said impatiently. “That’s how I know how much to pay you.”

“Hey, you can’t hold it out of my check just because I was a minute late! That’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair is you spending an hour a day on the phone, chatting with your—” As if on cue, the telephone rang. As Candace peeked up from the Christmas decorations that filled the center aisle, both women grabbed for it, but the older one was closer and quicker. “U-Want-It, we got it,” she said brusquely. “This is Martha…. No, Shelley can’t come to the phone now.”

“Hey!” Shelley shrieked, trying to get the phone before Martha hung up but failing. “You can’t treat me like this, or I’ll quit, and then you’ll be in trouble. You’ll never find anyone to replace me.”

“Oh, honey, my arthritic grandma over in the nursing home can work circles around you, and without whining, too.”

“That’s it!” Shelley jerked off the red vest that passed for a uniform, tossed it on the counter, then stomped toward the door. There she did an abrupt U-turn and swept back to grab the purse Martha rather loudly plunked on the counter. Back at the door, Shelley faced her once more. “Don’t even think about asking me to come back. You’d have to triple my salary, and even then I’d still rather eat dirt.”

“I’d be happy to serve it up for you,” Martha called after her as she left the store.

The quiet that immediately followed echoed in Candace’s ears. She hesitated a moment, then slowly approached the counter, where Martha was rubbing her temples. When Candace cleared her throat, she looked up, then smiled apologetically.

“Great service, huh? You come in for a simple purchase and instead get to watch the owner and clerk fight. I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Though, honestly, I don’t know how you expect to find good help if you expect them to show up and actually work. That’s a bit unreasonable, isn’t it?”

Martha laughed. “It certainly is to Shelley. Oh, well…I only hired her because my husband works for her daddy. I’m sure he’ll hear about this, but…” She shrugged. “That’s life. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Do you have any lawn chairs?”

“Only the cheap aluminum kind that you usually have to throw away at the end of the summer. All the way at the back on the left.”

Candace headed toward the back, marveling at the variety of merchandise. Besides the Christmas display, inexpensive Halloween costumes and decorations were packed into one section of the main aisle, along with paper Thanksgiving turkeys, tablecloths and such. Women’s clothing was on the right in the front half of the shop, men’s at the rear and kids’ in between. Exactly where Martha had said, she found the last of the lawn chairs and picked up one, then optimistically added another. Who knew? Maybe Patsy Conway would join her for coffee some morning.

Back at the checkout, Martha rang up her total, and Candace handed over a twenty. After returning her change to her wallet, she hesitated. “Will you be hiring someone to replace Shelley—at least, temporarily?”

“I have to. I can’t be here most afternoons right now. My mother just got home from the hospital after having hip surgery, and I’m the only one who lives close enough to stay with her.” Martha’s shrewd gaze swept over her. “You interested?”

“For a while.”

“You have any experience?”

“A little.” She’d worked as a cashier on the three-to-eleven shift at a convenience store back when she was in school—the scariest job she’d ever had. At least here, she wouldn’t have to worry about someone coming in with a shotgun and blowing her away.

“You mind getting your hands dirty?”

Candace laughed. “I’d much rather clean dirt than eat it.”

“When can you start?”

“Today.”

It was that easy. No references, no application. Four questions, and Martha was handing her the red vest Shelley had discarded. “Welcome to U-Want-It. I’m Martha Andrews.”

“Candace Thompson.”

Martha showed her the cash register and gave her a quick tour of the store, including the stock room and bathroom. Then, dust mitts in hand, Candace set to work.

A year ago she’d thought dusting and cleaning so far beneath her that she’d paid someone else quite a lot to do it for her. She hadn’t worked so hard to get through school and then to advance her career just to spend her spare time chasing dust bunnies and scrubbing toilets.

Now the career was on hiatus, possibly gone for good since there wasn’t much demand for a writer who’d stopped writing. Now she supported herself working temporary jobs, and although she still wasn’t fond of scrubbing toilets, she’d found a measure of satisfaction in other jobs she’d once considered too menial.

She began dusting at the back of the store and worked her way up one aisle and down the next. The bell on the door sounded fairly often, but the customers paid little attention to her, and she stayed focused on her work.

When she reached the front, she started on the tall glass jars that lined a display next to the cash register. They were filled with candy—fat, multicolored peppermint sticks, candy necklaces, wax lips, straws that poured flavored sugar, tiny candy-covered chocolates. She remembered many of them from childhood trips to the store with her father, when he loaded her up with so many sweets that she’d often been sick by the time they returned home.

She was on her knees, dusting the jar that held the candy necklaces, when a young child crouched beside her. Prepared to smile, she glanced at him, but the smile wouldn’t form. She’d seen him for mere seconds the morning before, but she would have recognized him anywhere. If she were a better person, she would have been there when he was born, would have been named his godmother and been called Aunt Candace as soon as he’d learned to talk.

Now Natalie would be furious if she so much as spoke to him.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice soft.

She looked around guiltily but saw no Rawlinses close enough to hear. “Hi.”

“I’m gonna buy some candy for me and Petey. Petey’s my horse. I named him myself.”

“Th-that’s nice.” She started to stand up, to retreat someplace safe until the boy and whoever had brought him were gone, but he spoke again.

“What kind of candy do ya think Petey would like?”

“I don’t know. What kind do you usually get him?”

“He likes plain ol’ sugar. And apples and pears and peaches and watermelon.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “But I like candy.”

“Well, maybe you should—”

“J.T.” Seemingly coming from nowhere, Josh Rawlins tossed some items on the counter, then swung the boy into his arms and held him away from Candace as she, too, stood up. “Remember what your mama and daddy tell you about talking to strangers?”

“Not to.”

“And she’s a stranger, isn’t she?”

The boy shook his head. “She’s the one that made Mama say a bad word. She was at our house.”

“But she’s still a stranger, and you’re not supposed to talk to her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—” J.T. took one look at his uncle’s frown, then sighed. “Okay.”

“Good.” Josh set him down. “Why don’t you go sit on one of the stools over there, okay?” He watched as J.T. ran to the soda fountain, then clambered onto a stool. Slowly he turned back to Candace, but before he could speak, Martha, who had apparently witnessed the exchange from the far end of the counter, joined them.

“Teaching a kid to be careful of strangers is a good idea, Josh, but don’t you think he needs to know the difference between your garden-variety stranger and the clerk who’s trying to wait on him?”

Though Candace’s gaze had settled somewhere around his feet, she knew the instant his gaze touched her. It made her face grow hot and her nerves tingle—made her wish she were only three inches tall so she could duck behind the register or crawl into a drawer to hide from his stare.

“You’ve got to be kidding. You hired her?”

“Yes, I did. You want to make something of it?”

His gaze didn’t shift. “Get J.T. an ice cream cone while I pay for this, will you?”

Martha hesitated, then crossed the room to the fountain counter.

His voice low but no less dangerous, Josh accused, “You said you were leaving.”

Candace aimed for mild inoffensiveness. “No. You suggested it. I chose not to follow your advice.”

“No one wants you here.”

Clenching her jaw, she moved behind the cash register and began ringing up his purchases—an air filter for a truck, a pair of boot laces, a spool of white thread and a can of paint thinner. Before she totaled it, she stiffly asked, “What about J.T. and Petey’s candy?”

“He’ll get his candy at the grocery store.”

Candace hit Total, then sacked everything while he pulled his wallet from his pocket. She made change, which he accepted as if touching her might soil him. He didn’t grab the bag and the kid, though, and put some distance between them. Instead, he leaned closer, so close she could smell the faint tang of sweat and the…well, horsey scent of a horse. So close she could hear the short, even rhythm of his breathing and see the muscles tightening in his jaw.

So close she could wonder, just for an instant, if he ever put all that passion into a kiss.

“You’re not welcome here.”

Her presence had been unwelcome to people far more important to her than some Oklahoma cowboy, no matter how cute he was. That fact gave her the strength to keep her gaze level and her mouth shut.

“Natalie’s not going to talk to you, not now, not ever.”

She didn’t have to talk, Candace thought. All she had to do was listen. If she would simply agree to that, then Candace would say what she needed to say, then leave.

But that was between her and Natalie, and no matter how adamantly he might insist otherwise, it was none of his business.

Then he repeated his words from the day before. “Do us all a favor and get the hell out of here.”

She let him turn away, let him take three or four steps, before she softly spoke, drawing him back around to face her. “I’m not interested in doing favors, Josh, and frankly I’m not interested in your advice, your opinions or your threats. I came here for a purpose, and I don’t intend to leave until…” Until she succeeded? Or, more likely, until she admitted failure? “Until I’m satisfied with what I’ve done.”

He gave her a long, scathing look, then scooped up J.T. “How much for the ice cream?”

“It’s on the house,” Martha replied.

With a curt nod he left without looking Candace’s way again.

“Well…” Martha gazed at her from the opposite counter. “You have some talking to do, my friend. Pull up a stool and tell Auntie Martha all.”

Not on her life, Candace thought grimly. She had enough enemies in Hickory Bluff in the Rawlins family. She couldn’t afford one more.

Chapter Three

When it came to precipitation in Oklahoma, it seemed there was no such thing as a balance. Months of drought were often followed by so much rain that the lowlands flooded, the dirt roads turned to mud and a smart cowboy stayed inside.

But no one had ever accused Josh of being smart.

After a day and a half of constant downpours, he’d decided he might as well be antsy someplace else. He’d knocked off work early Friday, cleaned up and packed a bag and was heading for Tulsa. He intended to visit some old friends, maybe catch a movie or two and eat in a restaurant other than Norma Sue’s. Hell, he might even call Jerry Lee and see if they still needed a date for the concert for cousin Stacey.

Or maybe not. He had enough frustration right now without adding a beautiful woman desperately seeking a husband and father for her children.

He hadn’t told Tate and Natalie anything about running into Candace Thompson at Norma Sue’s…or Frenchy’s…or U-Want-It. If one of them had mentioned her, he would have said something, but he hadn’t seen any reason to bring it up out of the blue.

Unfortunately, J.T. wasn’t as big on discretion as Josh was. He’d wanted to know whether the nice lady really was a stranger. Natalie hadn’t been happy that Candace had gotten so close to her son, and Tate had called Josh irresponsible, and things had gone downhill from there.

Josh was irresponsible at times—he knew that, and if he ever forgot, there were plenty of people who were more than happy to remind him. But it had pissed him off, coming from perfect Tate, who’d never made a mistake or failed to live up to a responsibility in his life. Even getting his high school girlfriend pregnant hadn’t been his fault—the condom had failed.

So perfect Tate was staying home with his perfect wife and son, and Josh was going off to spend a few days someplace where no one expected him to be anything but a screw-up. And when he came back Sunday, it would be as if no harsh words had ever been spoken.

Though it was usually quicker to cut across the back roads and catch the highway about eight miles north of Hickory Bluff, because of the rain, Josh headed for the nearest paved road. It took him into town, where the street-lights were already shining and the only people out were the ones who didn’t know better. The Wildcats’ game would start in two hours, and they would play to a full stadium in spite of the weather, but he was grateful he didn’t have to be there. He’d never missed any of Jordan’s or Tate’s games, but his obligation was over until J.T. was old enough to play.

Maybe he’d get him to rodeo instead.

With the radio tuned to a country station and the windshield wipers keeping time, he drove through town, then passed Frenchy’s. About a half mile past the bar, his head-lights glinted off a car on the side of the road—a sleek little silver convertible, with a sleek little blonde crouched beside the right rear tire.

It was a hell of a time for a flat, though he couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more than Ms. Thompson. He didn’t take his foot off the gas as he drove by. She didn’t need help from him. A deputy would be by sooner or later, or some Good Samaritan on his way to the game—or, hell, he’d seen the cell phone on the seat beside her Tuesday. She could call the garage in town. Ol’ Chief Ebersole would be happy to change the tire for her, and he probably wouldn’t charge even half his usual rate, what with her being so pretty. She would make out fine.

And telling himself that didn’t stop him from swearing as he swung onto the dirt road that led to the campground, turned in a tight circle, then headed back toward town.

Pulling onto the shoulder so his truck was nose to nose with her car, he sat there a moment. With the headlights in her eyes, he doubted she could see who he was, but she didn’t look the least bit concerned…until he got out and she recognized him. Then wariness crept into her eyes, her body language, her manner.

Had any woman ever looked at him like a deer caught in headlights? None that he could recall, and it pissed him off that she did. Granted, he’d been unfriendly, but it wasn’t like he would actually hurt her.

“Need any help?” He tried not to sound as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world, but he didn’t pull it off. He sounded rude, hostile and exactly as if he’d rather be anyplace else.

“No, thanks.”

Though her clothes were soaked and water dripped from her hair, she was holding an umbrella now to protect the car manual from the rain. He moved close enough to see that she’d looked up how to change a tire. She’d gotten as far as opening the manual and removing the jack from the trunk.

Ignoring her refusal, he went to the trunk, found it open but pushed down to keep the rain out, and removed the lug wrench and the spare. The wrench wasn’t good for anything besides acting as a lever on the jack, and the spare was an undersize doughnut—one of the worst ideas the auto industry had ever come up with, in his none-too-humble opinion. He tossed both on the waterlogged ground, then stalked back to his truck to remove his own lug wrench.

“I’d really rather do this myself,” Candace said when he returned.

He glared at her in the gloomy dusk. “Why?” If she said one word about him or his behavior, he would get back in his truck and—

“Because I think changing a tire is a good thing to know, and I need to learn.”

He stared at her a moment, all too aware of the cold rain dripping from his hair and down his back. Finally he stepped back and offered her the lug wrench.

She tossed the manual into the passenger seat, then folded the umbrella and left it on the roof. Crouching in front of the tire, she tried the various ends of the X-shaped wrench in search of one that fitted.

Her hair was plastered to her skull, and he would bet whatever makeup she’d had on was gone. Her clothes were plastered, too, her pants clinging to her thighs and calves, her cotton shirt hugging curves and revealing the lines of what appeared to be a pink lace bra. Her breasts weren’t very big, but he wasn’t a breast man himself. There was so much to appreciate about the female body. Why limit himself to one—er, two parts?

She found the right end of the lug wrench, fitted it over a nut and pulled. Really pulled. Put her whole body into it.

Nothing happened.

She tried the next nut, and the next, with the same result. On the fourth one, she pushed on one side of the wrench and pulled on the other with so much force that when it slipped, she tumbled to the ground.

“Well, hell.” She maneuvered back onto her knees, brushed grit from her left arm, then gazed up at him. “If there’s a secret to this, now would be a really good time to share it.”

He held out his hand, and after a moment she gave him the wrench. “No secret,” he said, kneeling and manhandling the nuts loose. “You’re just not strong enough.”

He didn’t miss the face she made at him but ignored it. “You just want to loosen the nuts, but don’t remove them yet. If you do, the tire could come off when you jack the car up.”

After laying the wrench aside, he moved the jack into place, then reached for her hand. Her fingers were slender and cold, and the contact startled her—he could feel it in how stiff she’d become. It wasn’t a good idea—he could feel that in how stiff he was becoming.

He moved her hand along the undercarriage of the car. “Feel that? That’s where you want this part of the jack to go.”

He wasn’t sure if she pulled away or he let go, but suddenly they weren’t touching anymore and she seemed to concentrate unusually hard on positioning the jack. He moved back, then stood up and backed off a few more steps just to be safe.

Safe from what? he wondered cynically as he watched her. She was six inches shorter than him, slender and delicate, like a fragile little china doll that belonged on someone’s shelf. She was beautiful, sure, but that didn’t count for much, considering that she’d betrayed Natalie’s trust and broken her heart.

That was a lot to forgive, and Rawlinses didn’t forgive so easily.

Following his directions, she removed the flat tire, put on the doughnut, then let the jack down. After she tightened the lug nuts, he tightened them another half turn, then lifted the flat tire into the trunk while she got the jack.

When she closed the trunk lid, she was wearing a self-satisfied grin, as if she’d succeeded at something really important. “I know you wish it had been anyone but me, but thank you.”

“Yeah.” He picked up his lug wrench and took a few backward steps toward his truck. “Get that fixed first thing in the morning. That doughnut’s not safe.”

“Okay.”

He was halfway to the pickup when she spoke again. “Hey…I’m staying right up the road, at the campground, if you’d…if you’d like to dry off a bit or…or have a warm drink or…” She shrugged as if she’d run out of words…or courage.

The answer was an easy one. No, he didn’t want to dry off, and no, he didn’t want to share a drink with her. Easy, easy answer…so why didn’t he just say it? Why did he have this feeling that if he opened his mouth, the wrong words would come out?

After a long moment in which he said nothing, she shrugged again. “It’s okay. Thanks. I, uh, appreciate…” She grabbed the umbrella from the roof of the car, then slid behind the wheel and started the engine. By the time he climbed into his truck, she’d already backed up a dozen feet and was easing onto the pavement.

Turning around, he headed for Tulsa once again. Then, for reasons he couldn’t even begin to understand, when the convertible turned off the highway onto the campground road, so did he.

A quarter of a mile in, the road branched, the right fork going to the old Conway house, the left curving another half mile to the lake and a dozen RV sites. Only one was occupied, by a small motor home bearing Georgia tags. Candace parked beside it, in the pool of light cast by a nearby streetlamp, got out and waited for him in the rain as if it were a warm, sunny afternoon.

Obviously, she wasn’t as delicate as she looked, he thought as he followed her to the RV. This was hardly his idea of a good safe place for a woman alone to stay. With no neighbors for more than a half mile and only two street-lights burning, it felt isolated, lonely and spooky. All kinds of things could happen out here, with no one ever the wiser.

She unlocked the door, then stepped inside. When she closed the door behind him, she noticed his duffel bag. “You have some dry clothes?”

He nodded.

“I’ll get some towels and you can change out here.” She headed toward the back of the motor home, turning on lights on the way. A moment later she was back with two beach towels, then she disappeared again.

Josh stripped down, dried off and dressed in clean clothes from his bag. Leaving his shoes near the door, he used one of the towels to dry his hair while he looked around the place.

It was small, cramped, comfortably cluttered. Books were scattered over the dining table—mostly fiction, women’s stuff—and on the built-in sofa across the narrow aisle was a quilt tied with pink ribbons. There were pillows, too, and a small tape player, along with a stack of tapes. He picked up the top one, Becoming the Best You Possible, then laid it down again.

He was standing in the aisle, listening to the rain drum on the roof and thinking he’d be better off going home and giving Tulsa a try the next day, when she returned. She didn’t make any noise that he recalled hearing. He just knew she was there. And when he turned, sure enough…

She wore plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top. The bra strap that edged out from beneath the fabric was pale green and made him wonder why she bothered. Her hair stood on end, as if she’d just crawled out of a bed where she’d done everything but sleep, and her feet were bare and somehow sexy.

She stopped in front of the compact refrigerator and pulled open the door. “I have bottled water, caffeine-free pop, and I can do hot chocolate.”

What kind of woman invited a man over for a drink, then offered him hot chocolate? he wondered, then answered his own question. The kind who didn’t have anything else on her mind. And that was good, because he damn sure didn’t need to have anything else on his mind, either. Not with this woman.

“Hot chocolate’s fine.” He sat down on the couch and watched as she fixed the chocolate. Her toenails were painted red, he noticed, and she wore a ring with a silver heart on the middle one. It was silly and something of a turn-on, and he was starting to think he really should have invited Theresa along this weekend.

Grateful that her hands weren’t shaking, though she could pass it off as a chill if they were, Candace carried the two mugs to the couch. She handed one to Josh, then sat on the bench across the aisle. After one awkward moment, then another, she grasped the first topic to come to mind, gesturing toward the bag next to his shoes. “Were you going somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. If you need to call someone—”

“No.” After a moment he shrugged. “No one’s expecting me. It wasn’t a sure thing.”

Well, that was the extent of her small talk. It amazed her that a reporter who’d asked a lot of tough questions and written a lot of powerful pieces could find herself so completely at a loss for words. But what did she expect? Except for her friendship with Natalie, she’d had no personal life to speak of. If she were interviewing Josh for a story, she would have more questions than he wanted to answer.

But she wasn’t interviewing him. She was quietly admiring him, and maybe even lusting after him, just a little bit, and those weren’t easy for her, particularly when she knew what he thought of her.

At least that gave her something to say. “Why did you come back to help me?”

He glanced at her, then away, sipped his chocolate and plucked at a ribbon on her quilt. After a time he shrugged as if his actions were unimportant. “Around here that’s what we do.”

“So if it hadn’t been you, some other properly raised Oklahoma cowboy would have stopped.”

He nodded.

“So…why did you come back? You didn’t need to, if you knew someone else would help.”

His brow drew together in a frown. “Lucinda Rawlins has certain expectations of her sons and grandsons. Leaving a woman stranded alongside the highway isn’t one of them…no matter who she is.”

She would have been happier if he’d kept those last five words to himself. But none of this was about her happiness—at least, not directly.

Holding in a sigh, she cradled her mug and let the heat seep through her chilled skin. Her fingers had been cold ever since she’d left work…except for those few minutes alongside the road when Josh had taken her hand. She knew it sounded sappy and romancey, but she would swear she’d felt some kind of charge pass between them. For a few moments she’d forgotten that she looked and felt like a drowned rat. For those few moments she’d felt warm and tingly, and she’d wondered how much warmer and tinglier she might feel if he really touched her. If he brushed her hair back from her face or slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close….

How appalled would he be if he knew she’d had such thoughts? Enough to drop the chocolate, leave his shoes behind and run screaming into the night.

“Your arm’s bleeding.”

Though she continued to gaze at him, it took a moment for his words to register. She lifted her left arm from the table and saw blood smeared across the surface, then twisted the arm to one side, then the other, searching for the source. “I must have scraped my elbow when I lost my balance. Excuse me.”

With a tight smile she went to the tiny bathroom that separated the kitchen from the bedroom. It was easier to see the cut in the mirror there. It wasn’t bad, but it continued to ooze blood. After cleaning it with a damp cloth, she located the largest adhesive bandage she had, squirted a dollop of antibiotic ointment on the gauze pad, then tried to gauge the proper alignment in the mirror.

“Let me.” Josh stepped into the cramped space, turned her for a better look, then smoothed the bandage in place. His fingertips were rough when they slid from the bandage to her skin—callused from years of hard work, but gentle, bringing back memories of other times, other hands….

Candace couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t escape. Worse, she didn’t want to escape. She knew it was wrong. Reckless. He was the last person in the world she should want to get involved with, and there were a hundred reasons why. Natalie was between them. Her life was nothing but uncertainties. She was afraid. Afraid, afraid, ninety-five times afraid.

But his fingers were still touching her, lightly stroking from bandage to skin, and she was amazingly warm and aware, and even if it was reckless, she couldn’t recall ever feeling so secure.

A soft sound drifted on the air between them, not really a moan or a whimper so much as a wordless plea. It was heavy with pleasure and need, and she realized when his dark eyes hardened and turned cold that it had come from her.

Embarrassed, she took a step back and felt the commode against her legs. Forcing a smile that felt every bit as phony as it was, she lowered her arm to her side. “Th-thanks for the help. Our, um, chocolate is getting cold.”