A Valentine's Wish

Pastor Mike’s talk on marriage must have put crazy thoughts in Andy’s mind.

“Earth to Andy.” Lori waved a hand in front of his face.

He leaned back in his chair, away from her teasing and the suddenly overpowering scent of her fruity perfume. Combined with the aroma hovering in the shop, she smelled like a chocolate-covered strawberry. What was wrong with him?

This was Lori, the girl who passed hastily scribbled notes to him during church with smiley faces, asking where they were going for lunch. The girl who ganged up with his youth group to spray him with silly string one summer morning on his way into the office. The girl who knew most of his secrets, brought him back to reality when he got prideful, and encouraged him when he felt like a failure.

The girl who’d been so close to his side for so many years that he’d failed to see what was directly in front of him.

BETSY ST. AMANT

loves polka-dot shoes, chocolate and sharing the good news of God’s grace through her novels. She has a bachelor’s degree in Christian communications from Louisiana Baptist University and is actively pursuing a career in inspirational writing. Betsy resides in northern Louisiana with her husband and daughter and enjoys reading, kickboxing and spending quality time with her family.

A Valentine’s Wish

Betsy St. Amant

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“O taste and see that the Lord is good.”

—Psalms 34:8

To my husband, Brandon—you’ll always be my

Valentine. And most importantly, to Jesus Christ,

the true lover of our souls—thank you for the gift.

Acknowledgments

Every author needs a pack of personal superheroes, and my bunch is the best! Special thanks to super agent Tamela Hancock Murray, super editor Emily Rodmell, and super crit bud Georgiana Daniels. Also, thanks to Lori Chally for letting me borrow your first name, your love for shoes and your penchant for chocolate for the heroine in this story! Love you, sister!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Unemployed. Single. And out of brownie mix.

Lori Perkins tapped her nails against the open pantry door. Canned vegetables and peanut butter crackers were nowhere near sufficient for this kind of low. She rested her forehead against the frame and blew a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. It really wasn’t her fault—well, maybe two of the three problems were. She probably shouldn’t have quit her job at the aquarium gift shop before the administrative position across town was a done deal, and she definitely should have gone to the grocery store before her chocolate stash ran out. But her single status was most certainly not of her own choosing. Add the fact that Valentine’s Day was mere weeks away, and it became official. She was broke, hungry and destined to be alone.

The cordless phone on the counter jangled a shrill ring, and Lori snatched it up while peering one more time at the contents of her bottom shelf. “Hello?”

“Lori? I can barely hear you. Are you in a tunnel?” It was her friend Andy Stewart, the youth pastor at her church, L’Eglise de Grace.

She stretched one arm toward the back of the shelf. “No. The pantry.”

“Searching for chocolate, I assume.”

“Funny.” So what if she’d become a little predictable over the years? Lori fumbled around a jar of peanut butter and felt a crinkly wrapper. Maybe a forgotten candy bar? No, just another package of crackers. She let out a huff. Was a little chocolate too much to ask for a girl having one of the worst days of her life?

“Are you all right? I can call back.”

Lori shut the pantry door with a loud click and rested her back against the wooden panels. “I need chocolate.”

“You’re out? How is that possible?”

“Gracie helped me finish the last of my emergency stash.”

“And she didn’t refill?”

“There wasn’t time before the wedding.” She supposed Gracie had more important things on her mind at the time, like planning a honeymoon. Excited as she was for her friend’s new life, Lori couldn’t help the flicker of jealousy in her stomach. Happily-ever-after endings apparently weren’t meant for everyone—her ex, Jason, had proven that point well enough.

She slammed the brakes on her runaway train of negative thoughts. “Look, is there a point to this conversation, or can I finish my desperate search for relief now?”

“Ouch. Bad day?”

“Did you not hear me say I’m out of chocolate?” Men. The cute ones cheated, and the funny ones were dense. Take Andy, for example. They’d been practically best friends for how long now—two years? Three? And he’d never once considered Lori as anything more.

Though it was probably for the best. If bitter thoughts of Jason still crept in her subconscious, she wasn’t ready for more. The need for chocolate intensified, and Lori squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she pretended hard enough she could—

Andy cleared his throat. “How about I bring over some chocolate doughnuts? I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Lori stopped the no from automatically rolling off her tongue. She preferred to indulge in her chocolate bad moods by herself, but without the chocolate, the bad-mood part sounded pretty lonely. “Fine. See you in twenty.”

“You’re late.” Lori snatched the box of doughnuts from Andy’s hands and left him to shut the front door of her town house. Hopefully, the smile she flashed softened her short words. She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but she had yet to consume any chocolate. She’d be nice after the sugar melted in her system.

Lori ripped two napkins free from the stand and tossed one in Andy’s general direction as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Thanks, by the way.” She ripped open the box and inhaled the warm chocolate scent. Finally.

“I only brought a dozen. Hope that’s enough.” Andy’s cheeky grin didn’t even bother Lori as the sugar dissolved on her tongue. Bliss. She reached for a second.

“You know, some people might call this constant craving of yours an addiction.” He plucked a pastry from the box and tore it in half before stuffing one piece in his mouth. Chocolate smeared down the side of his clean-shaven jaw.

“You tell me this like I’m supposed to care.” She grinned back and licked her fingers, deciding not to tell him about the mess on his face. Call it revenge for that time she volunteered at the youth service and unknowingly wore a dot of whipped cream on the end of her nose for two hours.

Andy snorted and tossed a swoop of blond hair out of his eyes. “It’s a miracle you don’t weigh a ton. Even my youth group doesn’t eat like this.”

Lori patted her flat stomach. “Good genes. Now, did you come here to discuss my appetite, or was there something else?” She went for another doughnut, dodging Andy’s attempt to swat her hand. Forget endorphins from exercise. This was much easier.

Andy swiped his face with his napkin before crumpling it into a ball. “I have a question for you, and ironically, it involves chocolate.”

“Mmm, go on.” At this rate Lori could almost forget her bad day. Should she go for a fourth? Her stomach rolled a negative answer, and she quickly tucked the lid back into the corners of the box. Breakfast for tomorrow—hopefully Andy didn’t think he was taking any of these babies home with him.

Andy leaned forward and rested his elbows on the counter. “You remember my aunt Bella?”

“Of course. She owns that chocolate shop in the French Quarter.” Lori hopped onto the bar stool next to Andy. “I’m in there every time I have enough spare change for a chocolate crocodile. Those things are delicious.” Though due to her current unemployed status, spare change might soon be a thing of the past. She sobered.

“Right. Well, she’s had a family emergency. Her sister in Shreveport needs around-the-clock care for a while. She has to leave the store with someone temporarily, and I thought of you when she asked if anyone in the church needed a job.”

Lori raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

Andy ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “You ran the gift shop at the aquarium for years. You have an associate’s degree in business. And you’re currently unemployed, unless something has changed since you told me yesterday. Besides, she’s got a college student working part-time, so you wouldn’t be thrown in there alone.”

Lori nibbled her bottom lip, tasting the leftover remains of doughnut. Working in a chocolate boutique. It did sound perfect for her—but would her fast metabolism hold up to that much temptation? She squinted. Maybe if she limited herself to one piece a day…

“Lori? Are you still with me, or have you slipped into a doughnut-induced coma?” Andy waved his hand in front of her face.

She slapped his hand away. “I’m debating.”

“Another pro/con list?”

“No, I gave those up after my list suggested it’d be smart to go jogging after eating a double cheeseburger.” For now, anyway. She’d never actually be able to give up her beloved lists.

Andy winced. “Sorry I asked. So?”

So. Working around that rich, tantalizing aroma all day, every day. Bringing joy to people’s faces with bonbons and caramel creams and chocolate-dipped marshmallows…and better yet, distracting herself from the fact she hadn’t had a date in over a year.

Lori smiled. “Count me in.”

“A pie in the face is only funny on TV, Jeremy. Not during church.” Andy tried to keep a straight face as he studied the cream-covered teenage duo in front of him. Tufts of meringue rose from the top of the football player’s dark hair and peaked beside his ears. “In my opinion, you sort of had the payback coming.”

“Ha!” Haley, Jeremy’s off-again, on-again girlfriend, stuck out her tongue. Strawberry-pie filling smeared down the side of her cheek, and one hip remained cocked, a sure sign the little spitfire was mad. She tossed her pastry-streaked braids over her shoulder. “I told you he wouldn’t get me in trouble.”

“On the contrary.” Andy struggled to keep his lips from turning up. He couldn’t laugh in front of them. Two of his favorite youth-group members—but also the two responsible for those silver hairs he found in his sideburns last week. He cleared his throat. “You’re both cleaning up the kitchen in the gym from this little war, and you’re on door-greeting duty for three weeks.”

Relief etched across Jeremy’s tanned features as he relaxed against the door frame. “That seems fair.”

“Did I mention you’re also going to bring dessert to next Wednesday night’s youth service?”

Jeremy’s mouth opened.

“Since this pie was sacrificed on the altar of fun and games, it only seems fair.” Andy crossed his arms over his chest, daring him to argue.

Haley laughed and pointed at Jeremy. “You have to—”

“I meant both of you.”

Her arm fell to her side, and she glared.

“I want it homemade. Together.” That would teach them to get along. “And while you’re at it, why not make it red and white to celebrate the upcoming holiday?” He bit back another smile. Maybe frosting hearts on a few cupcakes would get the two of them back in their disgustingly lovey-dovey yet non-food-throwing stage in time for Valentine’s Day. He definitely didn’t want to deal with two heartbroken teenagers.

Jeremy’s eyes widened with panic. A frown dimpled Haley’s forehead. “Homemade? We can’t—”

“Dishrags are in the drawer beside the fridge. Better get to cleaning.” Andy sat in his chair, ducking his head and dismissing them as he pretended to shuffle through the youth calendar on his desk. He pursed his lips. If they didn’t leave now—

Footsteps sounded down the hall, Haley’s angry mutterings at Jeremy drifting in their wake. Andy palmed his hand over his mouth and finally released his laugh. What a couple. If those two made it down the aisle one day, he could only imagine the cake-feeding moment at the wedding reception.

Too bad Lori didn’t get to see their argument. Scratch that—she’d probably have started the food fight. But she’d left early from the youth service, abandoning her usual after-church chaperoning duty to meet Aunt Bella for a job interview.

Andy leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking in protest, and crossed his arms behind his head. Lori should be an easy hire—she’d be great at the position, and Aunt Bella was in a hurry to head north to her family. It seemed like a good match. Hopefully he’d know soon.

A knock sounded on his open office door. Senior Pastor Mike Kinsey held up one hand in a wave. “Andy. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Andy quickly stood. “Come on in, Pastor.” He motioned toward the empty chair across his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Those two…” Mike gestured toward the direction Haley and Jeremy had gone and shook his head with a slight smile. “They must keep you busy.”

“They still arguing out there?”

“Something about cakes versus brownies.” Mike sat.

Andy settled into his chair. “It’s a long, messy story.”

“I can imagine.” The smile slowly faded from Mike’s face, and his expression sobered. “Listen, Andy. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“That serious?”

Mike shrugged, but the crease between his brows gave him away.

Andy drew a steadying breath. Maybe one of the youth had gotten into some minor trouble. Or maybe the pastor was discouraged about the youth group’s sudden drop in attendance these past few weeks. One solemn conversation didn’t necessarily mean his job was on the line. He flexed his fingers in his lap.

“I take it you heard about the youth minister who was fired last week?”

Andy nodded. The incident had been on the news for days. A youth pastor at a church across town had been arrested for inappropriate conduct with a minor—one of his own youth-group members. The ordeal had made Andy sick.

“It’s created talk in our church.”

Andy raised one eyebrow. “Talk?”

“There’s no easy way to say this.” Mike tugged at his tie. The fluorescent light above their heads buzzed, nearly deafening in the sudden silence. Andy’s fingers found a pencil on his desktop, and he gripped it hard. Say it, just say it.

“Some of the parents of our youth have made comments about your single status.” Mike released his tie, and his hands fell limply to his lap.

“Comments?”

“They feel it creates a bad image. That you’d be a better minister if you were, well…married.”

“Married?” he couldn’t stop parroting. His own church doubted his integrity? The room darkened around the edges, and he sucked in a tight breath. “That’s…Sir, I—”

“It sounds harsher than they mean it. They just want to protect you.”

Andy’s throat constricted. “And their children.”

Mike’s shoulders drooped. “That, too.”

“They don’t trust me?” His stomach felt like he’d swallowed the mirrored paperweight on his desk.

“You’ve proven yourself to their kids over and over. They’re just paranoid right now. That scandal really stirred everyone up.”

Apparently. Andy pulled one arm across his chest in a stretch and tried to ignore the way the room closed in like a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare. Marriage. Like it was that easy to find the perfect woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

His eyes drifted to the framed photo on his desk, taken last summer during youth camp in Baton Rouge. Lori stood front and center next to his gang of miscreants, all wearing big smiles and matching yellow tees. His eyes lingered on Lori’s image, then quickly darted back to Mike.

“With all due respect, sir, doesn’t the congregation realize that if it were so easy, I’d be married by now? It’s not like I particularly enjoy going home every night to hot dogs and reality TV reruns.”

“I can imagine. However…” Mike shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Andy’s stomach rolled again. Something was up. He braced his elbows against the edge of the desk. “What are you really saying, Pastor?”

Mike twisted his gold wedding band around on his finger. “That the church board would like for you to get serious about finding a wife.” He cleared his throat, then met Andy’s gaze. “The sooner the better.”

Chapter Two

“What have I gotten myself into?” The whispered words drifted toward the pink-painted ceiling, riding the wake of a delicious chocolate aroma. Lori planted her hands on the glass display counter and eyed the cozy boutique. Black iron tables for two snuggled in various corners of the shop, inviting patrons to linger over their coffee and chocolate. Fresh roses offered a splash of pink in the center of each table, and the black-and-white tiled floor appeared freshly scrubbed. Bella had left the Chocolate Gator in pristine condition—Lori hoped she’d be able to return it in the same shape after nearly two months.

Nice as the New Orleans native was, Lori couldn’t help but wonder if Andy’s aunt Bella was slightly off her rocker. In her mid-fifties, she practically oozed grace and charm with a Southern flair—just like her boutique. But trusting a near stranger with her business, on the sole recommendation of her only nephew, seemed a bit crazy. Sure, there was a chef and a college student working part-time at the register a few days a week, and yes, Lori had often chatted with Bella while buying those signature chocolate crocodiles, but was that enough to merit such responsibility?

Lori strode to the front door and flipped the white cardboard sign to read Open. She shouldn’t complain. Less than a week ago she didn’t have a job, and now she was running one of the trendiest boutiques in New Orleans—not to mention total access to those yummy little milk chocolate and caramel crocodiles. She sneaked a glance at the chocolates arranged on doilies in the display case. Even with her discount, she just might end up eating her paycheck. Literally.

The swinging kitchen door splayed open, nearly banging into the wall behind the register. Lori jumped as a tall, olive-skinned man in a white apron strode across the floor toward her. This had to be the chef Bella had mentioned. It would be in Lori’s best interest to impress him, so that any reports going back to Bella would be positive. She offered a nervous smile. “Hi, I’m—”

“Lori, yes. The new manager Bella sent.” He grinned and dipped into a low bow, the white strings of his apron dangling close to the ground. The scent of mint chocolate drifted to Lori’s nose. “I am Edmondo Renardo Rossi, but you may call me Monny.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Monny.” She offered her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He caught her palm and squeezed. “We shall make—what do they say?—beautiful chocolate together.” He winked.

A half snort, half laugh escaped Lori’s mouth, and she tried to cover it with a cough. When Bella told Lori about the chef, she must have forgotten to mention he was the Italian drama king. “Wow, your accent is strong.”

Monny released her hand and straightened his shoulders with pride. “It should be. I am from Napoli, and am here in America to learn Cajun cuisine and desserts. My family owns a business and wanted me to bring new cultures to our restaurant.”

“I see. So you’re learning the ropes on desserts right now, apparently.” Lori motioned toward the streaks of dried fudge on his apron.

“Ropes?” Two brown eyebrows meshed together as one.

Lori pointed toward the kitchen. “Learning how to bake.” She pantomimed stirring in a bowl, then felt ridiculous. He didn’t need sign language; he obviously spoke English. Her cheeks warmed.

“Ah, si.” Monny kissed his fingertips in a broad gesture. “Before Bella hired me, I worked at the Gumbo Shop. You Southern Americans, you like the spices.”

The bell on the door tinkled. Lori jerked. She’d gotten so distracted trying to decipher Monny’s accent, she’d forgotten she was there to work. She hadn’t even opened the register yet. Or fanned the pink paper napkins on the counter as Bella said she did every morning. Or more importantly, sampled a crocodile before they sold out.

“I’ll have my usual.” An elderly, slightly hunched gentleman in a pinstripe suit hobbled toward the counter, a heavy cane accentuating his steps. A cool winter breeze floated in behind him, stirring Lori’s hair. The door shut with a clank.

“Ah, customers. Time to work.” Monny lightly patted Lori’s cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. “Ciao.”

“Wait, what’s his usual?” But Monny was gone in a puff of flour and charm. Lori hurried into position behind the register, shaking her head to wrench back to reality.

“Good morning.” She put on her best smile. “I’m taking over for Bella—”

“Who are you?” the old man barked, lips nearly hidden behind a thick gray mustache. “Where’s Bella?”

“She had a family emergency. I’m Lor—”

“I said what’s your name, dearie? You deaf?”

Lori winced. “No, sir, I said my name is—”

“Ah, forget it. Young people have no manners nowadays.” He thumped one gnarled hand on the counter. “Give me my usual.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know—”

“Don’t tell me you’re out of black coffee and dark chocolate raspberries.”

Lori exhaled for the first time in what felt like minutes. “Of course not. Right away, sir.” She reached for the coffeepot—the empty coffeepot. “Uh, just a minute.” She opened the white cabinet doors under the coffee station. Where were all the beans? And how was she supposed to work that glittering monstrosity of a coffee machine?

Panic cramped her stomach in time to the impatient tapping of Grouchy Man’s cane. She was going to fail on her first day of work. Make that her first ten minutes of work. She’d never get to eat chocolate again. Why couldn’t the other girl, the college student, what’s-her-name-with-the-eyebrow-ring, have been working today?

Lori shoved her hair out of her eyes with an impatient flick, then paused. The list. Bella had said she would leave a list of instructions in the register since she hadn’t had an opportunity to train Lori in person. Anything else she needed she could ask the chef or Eyebrow-Ring Girl or could call Bella’s cell.

Lori unlocked the register and grabbed the list with a triumphant hand. Redemption, in the form of neat penmanship and sheets of lined notebook paper. Thank You, Lord. She skim-read until she found the section labeled Coffee.

The instructions were two inches long.

Lori licked her lips, darted a glance at the cappuccino machine staring menacingly down at her and then at Grouchy Man. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll serve you when it’s ready?”

She couldn’t tell if the frown was new, or if his wrinkles were permanently knit that way, but regardless, Grouchy Man stomped his cane toward a nearby table and planted himself in a chair, arms crossed.

Lori turned back toward the machine and drew a fortifying breath. She was so having a chocolate crocodile after this.

Andy tried the handle on the door of the Chocolate Gator. Locked. The hours posted informed him the shop closed at six, and it was fifteen past. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the glass into the dim boutique. He could barely make out Lori’s sprawled form at a table, one arm hanging limply over the back of her seat. Her legs were crossed, and she rubbed one bare foot with her free hand. Red high-heel shoes lay on the floor by her chair.